Page 6

Amelia

The lockdown was easy enough. What wasn’t easy? Keeping tabs on Sebastian, whose sneaky ass had somehow roped Kent—the Lounge Bar Manager—into a covert alcohol operation straight to his apartment.

Every time I tried getting a hold of Kent, he was conveniently “busy.” I was getting seriously pissed off.

In just one week of us ‘fake-dating,’ I’d already disposed of three bottles of scotch, two crates of beer, and a couple bottles of gin. And yet, here I was, knocking on Seb’s door, and he still managed to be drunk.

He looked rough. Not his usual suave, charming rough—no, this was real. The kind with the heavy bags under the eyes and a thousand-yard stare.

“Seb, I told you to call me when the urge hits.”

He gave me a tired smile, stepping aside wordlessly to let me in. I headed straight for the kitchen and began opening cabinets. Two more whiskey bottles. Jesus.

I dumped them down the sink and joined him on the couch. He was slouched back, eyes closed, head tilted.

“Seb.” I placed a hand on his knee. “What’s going on?”

He jolted, groaning and rubbing his temples. “He sat down.”

I blinked, confused. “What?”

“During our meeting yesterday,” he explained, eyes still closed. “Everyone was standing. Then, twenty minutes in, Logan’s legs gave out and he sat down.”

I sighed. “You’re tying yourself too much to his recovery. He’s healing, Seb. That’s not a failure.”

He shrugged. “I know. I just—”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Yeah. Usually, he’s just scolding me”

I shifted closer, the smell of alcohol hitting me instantly. “It’s just after breakfast. How are you even drunk right now?”

He gave me a sheepish, lopsided grin. “You asking because you care, or because you’re cutting off my supply?”

I gave him a look that said both.

“Fine,” he said, hands up in mock surrender. “Kent spikes my morning ‘tea’ sometimes. And he leaves a few bottles hidden around here when we’re in meetings.”

“So, he has access to your apartment?” I nodded to myself. “Noted. He’s done.”

“As for the tea,” I added, “you’re drinking mine from now on.”

Seb groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “How the hell did I let it get this far? Fuck! I wanted to take you out, remember? I keep planning it in my head but forget I have to actually ask you.”

He wasn’t wrong. A few mornings ago, he’d whispered something about dinner plans that evening while buttering his toast. Right in front of Kabir.

Then… silence. He never showed up. I’d found out later he was holed up in his apartment.

“You need to talk to Dr. Mendoza, Seb,” I said gently. “I’ll be here, I’m not going anywhere. But you need real help. Professional help.”

He frowned, but it didn’t look defensive. Just… worn. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he muttered. “But I know I’m close to a full-on crash. At least I can see it coming now.”

“Awareness is step one. But there’s a big difference between knowing and acting.” I softened my voice. “Still… I’m proud of you.”

He didn’t respond. Just let the silence sit. I didn’t press. I knew he wasn’t letting himself feel proud.

Since he’d told me about his addiction, he’d been showing more of his vulnerability—delegating more, trusting Zarek to take over briefings, leaning on me without realizing it.

But he never mentioned hangovers. He was simply tired.

Drunk. Never hit the gym anymore either, no matter how many times I nudged him.

Maybe Logan could take over gym duty. He was the only other one who knew.

“I’ll take you out tonight.”

I blinked. “Seb—”

“No, let me. ” He sat up straighter, like he’d made up his mind. “I’ll nap. I’ll flush out the alcohol. Just one evening.”

I smirked. “Seb, it’ll take more than one nap to detox your system.”

He chuckled, a little hollow but honest. “I know. But maybe a reason to show up clean is exactly what I need.”

I sighed, relenting despite myself. “Out where? I’m on lockdown, remember?”

“Shit. I forgot.” His face fell, and I leaned back, equally defeated—until something clicked. He sat up straighter.

“No,” he said firmly, “you know what? I’ll figure it out. Just be ready by six.”

I blinked, surprised, and then nodded slowly. A boyish smile tugged at his lips, warm and a little crooked.

It pulled mine out, too.

???

Shit. I was late.

It was already 5:56 PM and I still hadn’t gotten fully ready.

I’d called Seb earlier, telling him I’d meet him at the south end of the courtyard at six, instead of him swinging by my side of the building.

Work had taken longer than expected—Chariot had been glitching again.

Or maybe not glitching. Just… being too damn smart.

This new drone was a masterpiece, sure, but it lacked something crucial—obedience. Control. The little quirks that came from my own configurations. But I didn’t say anything to Zane or even Sebastian. They’d given me Chariot as a gift. I had to figure it out on my own.

I rushed through my final touch-ups—my gloss was on in a single swipe that probably missed half my lips—and sprinted out of my room, heart racing.

And then I stopped cold.

Kabir.

He was standing in the hallway, keycard in hand, eyes already locked on me.

His gaze dropped from my face—slow, deliberate—taking in the dark green dress I’d thrown on in a frenzy. His eyes swept over the neckline, the hem, the slit riding high up my thigh.

And lingered.

It wasn’t just a glance. It was cataloguing.

Like he was storing it—comparing it to every crop top, every baggy pair of cargo pants I usually wore. As if this version of me didn’t compute.

For a second, something flickered behind his expression.

Something dark. Possessive.

And then it vanished. Replaced with that frustratingly blank mask he wore far too well.

“A date?” he asked, voice flat, lips curling into a tight, polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Like he hadn’t just scanned every inch of me like I was a goddamn threat to his equilibrium.

I nodded. My heart thudded so hard it echoed in my ears. Ask me not to go, I wanted to yell.

But I didn’t.

Because he wouldn’t.

He hadn’t even looked in my direction properly this entire week. After all that—after telling me he’d wingman me—he’d vanished from my orbit like I didn’t even exist.

“Heading in for the night?” I asked, trying to sound casual despite the storm brewing inside me.

Kabir didn’t answer right away. He looked at me again, but this time his gaze stayed on my face.

“Do you like him?” he asked, his voice lower now. Tight.

I blinked. Heat rose up my neck. “Excuse me?”

He swallowed, his jaw ticking. “Sebastian. Do you… like him?”

And just like that, my anger hit a whole new temperature.

I let out a short breath, shaking my head. “Wow. That’s the question you want to ask me?”

“Lia—”

“No, really. You barely speak to me for a week and now you want to know if I like him?” My voice was rising, but I didn’t care. “What difference does it make to you, Kabir?”

He stepped closer, his eyes pleading now. “I just… I miss you, okay? We haven’t talked. That’s not us .”

“You think I don’t miss you?” I snapped. “And there’s no us . Your rejection made sure of that.”

He flinched like I’d slapped him.

“Also, I do like him,” I said finally, quieter. “He’s a nice guy.”

And that was the dagger.

Kabir’s face fell, his whole body seeming to deflate. His next words came out in a whisper. “I’ve lost you.”

I wanted to scream. No, you haven’t. Not yet.

But I didn’t get the chance.

He gave me one last look, one that almost shattered me, then stepped past me and slipped into his room.

And I just stood there, halfway dressed for a date with one man… and already broken by another.

???

My first date. Ever.

The realization hit me like a slap. How had I managed that?

Sure, I’d fooled around as a teenager and later indulged in the occasional meaningless hookups. But I wasn’t the kind of woman who slept around. In fact, I’d only slept with three men in my entire life—and had been on zero actual dates.

Zero.

It was mind-boggling.

I found myself blaming it on being career-driven. I was so consumed by the grind—first building my career as an FBI profiler, then throwing myself headfirst into drone operations—that time just slipped through my fingers. Days blurred into months, months into years.

And then, of course, came Alpha Squad Six.

Between navigating the dangerous insanity of my job, dealing with the fact that my brother was in the same damn squad, and falling hopelessly— pathetically —in love with Kabir, dating never even stood a chance.

Which brought me here. Staring at a beautiful bouquet of pink and yellow tulips, wondering if I even liked tulips.

No one had ever given me flowers before.

Apparently, my expression said it all, because Sebastian’s smile faltered slightly before he lowered the bouquet and gently placed it on the table between us in a quiet corner of the courtyard.

He had planned this date perfectly. The lighting, the music, the space. Everything.

But my stupid brain was full of Kabir and fucking flowers—or lack thereof.

“You don’t like tulips?” he asked gently.

I blinked. “No. I mean, I do. I love them.” The words felt tight in my throat, like I was feeding him something hollow. I sighed, then corrected myself. “Actually… I don’t know. I’ve never been given flowers before, so technically, I have no clue if I have a favorite.”

He frowned slightly, thoughtful. “It’s not uncommon, Amelia. People like us, we don’t always get the chance to slow down and figure out things like that. It’s natural.”

I shook my head, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “Maybe. But I thought by now, I’d have a preference. I mean… Leora wants magnolias for her wedding arch. Not lilies or roses or… I don’t even know what other flowers exist.” I let out a short, nervous laugh, realizing I was spiraling.

Sebastian stepped forward and gently placed his hands on my shoulders, grounding me mid-ramble. I was already flustered after running into Kabir fifteen minutes ago—and now, this whole date felt like a bad idea wearing a pretty outfit.

“Leora was a civilian until a few months ago,” he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You need to remember that.”

The touch felt too intimate—too much for a fake date—so I subtly stepped back, creating just enough space to breathe.

“I know,” I said, nodding quickly. “Sorry… I’m being ridiculous.”

“You’re not, sweetheart,” he murmured, the corners of his mouth lifting as he pulled out his phone. “One sec.”

He tapped something quickly and tucked it away before pulling out a chair for me, his eyes kind and patient, silently asking me to just sit and give this a chance.

I sat, the tightness in my chest easing just a little.

When he joined me, the lounge chef approached with a trolley—two covered plates, champagne glasses, and a chilled bottle tucked into an ice bucket. The soft flicker of candlelight on the table added to the warmth.

For a moment, the anxiety faded, replaced by a quiet awe.

Okay , I thought. Fancy fake date or not… this was really, really nice.

“Is that a non-alcoholic bubbly?” I asked as Chef Matthis began setting the food down.

He shot Sebastian a questioning glance, which I quickly intercepted.

“Don’t look at him, Matty,” I said lightly. “Just tell me—does it have alcohol?”

Matthis chuckled. “I’m not Kent, Ms. Desmond. I can’t be swayed.”

I hummed, flashing a victorious smile. Seb just shook his head, smirking like I was both exhausting and amusing.

“Just making sure,” I said with a shrug as Matthis walked away.

We slipped into an easy rhythm, the conversation flowing naturally. We laughed about the old days—how Dylan hadn’t changed much, still the same quiet, brooding wall he’d always been.

The food disappeared quickly, and the bubbly fizzed cheerfully in our glasses. It was easy with Seb. Maybe because we’d known each other for nearly two decades. That kind of history lent itself to comfort, even if the circumstances had shifted.

His phone buzzed loudly against the table, pulling his attention. He straightened instantly, alert.

“Something urgent?” I asked, curious. My phone was quiet, so I knew it wasn’t mission-related.

He gave me a casual smile, but there was mischief in his eyes. “Nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart.”

That grin—that damn conspiratorial grin—made me narrow my eyes.

He was up to something.

I didn’t know what he had planned, but considering we couldn’t leave the compound, his options were limited.

Still, I wasn’t expecting a surprise.

But damn… was I wrong.