Page 10 of Forever His Favorite (Possessive Billionaires, Precious Sweethearts #3)

The lobby was massive. Marble floors polished to a flawless sheen, crystal chandeliers scattering light like diamonds, every edge sharp, cold, perfect.

Her heels clicked across the vast space, but no one stopped her.

Not a guard. Not a receptionist. Instead, one of the women behind the sleek counter actually smiled in welcome, as though Emily’s presence was expected.

Emily gave a polite nod in return, though confusion pressed heavier against her ribs. Why was no one asking for her name, her purpose, her appointment?

Behind her, the two receptionists exchanged a look.

The first one leaned in, brow furrowing. “Aren’t you going to stop her? Who is she?”

Before the words even faded, the second one’s hand snapped out, gripping her arm. Her voice was sharp, urgent, laced with warning. “Don’t you dare! Did you forget? Leon sent her photo to all senior staff last month.”

The first woman’s frown faltered. Her lips parted. “Wait… that’s—” Her breath caught, eyes going wide with dawning realization. “Mrs. Graves?”

The second receptionist gave a single, grave nod.

As if on cue, both women’s gazes followed Emily in awe. Like royalty had just swept through their lobby.

“She’s really pretty,” the first receptionist whispered, a dazed look flickering across her features. Without thinking, her hand lifted her phone, thumb brushing over the camera screen.

“Hey! Snap out of it.” The second one hissed, snatching the device from her grasp before she could take the shot.

The first one scowled but didn’t fight, letting the phone clatter back onto the counter with a sulky huff.

Both pairs of eyes remained glued to the tall figure gliding across the lobby until the elevator doors closed behind her.

Inside, the world seemed to narrow to a hum of machinery and gleaming steel. The elevator climbed swiftly, numbers flashing one by one in a steady rhythm. Emily’s pulse matched each chime, frantic, uneven, rising higher and higher.

The elevator ascended in smooth silence, a low hum vibrating through the steel walls.

Emily’s pulse hammered in sync with each chime as the numbers climbed higher, higher.

Her reflection in the polished doors stared back at her: wide eyes, parted lips, fingers clutching the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles blanched.

Then came the final chime.

The doors slid open with a soft rush of air.

She stepped into an expansive corridor. Two paths stretched before her.

To the left: a flood of noise—ringing phones, voices overlapping, employees bustling through rows of open workstations, heels and shoes drumming a steady rhythm across the floor.

To the right: silence. A long corridor, wide and polished, lined with subtle lighting that led to a single, imposing door at the far end.

She hesitated only a moment before choosing the quieter path.

Each step echoed against marble, the sound ricocheting in the quiet like a heartbeat made audible. The hush pressed in around her, amplifying the sharp click of her heels.

When she reached the door, her hand hovered above the handle for a fleeting second, trembling with hesitation. Then she knocked once, firm, and pushed the door open before she could lose her nerve.

The office swallowed her whole.

The office was vast, sunlight spilling in through floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the glittering city skyline. Every detail exuded power—sleek furniture, dark wood, steel accents—but it wasn’t the room that made her pulse race.

It was the man standing near the desk.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stood near the desk, his back to her, a tablet in hand, head bent in focus.

The tailored suit framed the cut of his body too well, fabric stretched over muscle, posture radiating command.

A shiver slid down her spine before she could stop it.

Her throat went dry, her pulse skipping in disarray.

She dared only a glance, terrified that even looking too long might unravel her composure completely.

Steeling herself, she stepped forward, her voice even, though clipped with nerves. “Hello. I was asked to meet you for the Trinity Project. Did Mr. Nox inform you about my arrival?”

The words had barely left her lips when he moved.

With deliberate calm, he set the tablet on the desk, a soft thud echoing in the silence. Then he turned.

Her breath caught like a snare tightening.

“Sebastian?”

His gaze locked on hers—dark, consuming.

In three powerful strides, he was in front of her, circling the desk with the ease of a man who owned everything he walked upon.

Before she could retreat, his hand curved around the back of her neck, tugging her firmly into his orbit. Heat seared through her skin from the strength of his grip, every nerve in her body jolting awake.

“Welcome, baby.” His voice was a low drawl, rough, possessive—the kind of tone that could strip the air from her lungs in a single breath.

Emily’s lips parted, her words tumbling out in a rush of shock.

“I didn’t even realize Jacob had sent me to your company.

I didn’t know until I got here.” Her surprise hardened into frustration, her mouth tugging into a small pout as she looked up at him.

“But why am I working here? If people see me, they’ll think I only got this project because of you.

That it wasn’t my own achievement, even though I worked for it myself. ”

Sebastian tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer, his thumb grazing the delicate curve of her jaw. The touch was gentle, but his gaze was anything but.

“Mrs. Graves,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous caress, “you announced to the world just days ago that you are a famous designer. Even your own husband didn’t know about it.

” His eyes held hers. “So tell me, why would anyone believe you slipped in through the back door? You’ve already proven you don’t need me for something like this.

” His thumb lingered, his tone softening but no less commanding.

“Though I’d be more than happy to bend the world in your favor. ”

Emily’s cheeks flushed, warmth spreading as embarrassment tangled with affection. Her voice softened, almost shy. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just… I wanted to keep it a secret. I don’t like the spotlight. But it backfired when Amelia started stealing my designs.”

“I am not upset,” Sebastian muttered warmly. “I’m proud my wife is so talented.”

The words landed on her chest like a warm hand. Just a few simple words from him, yet they suddenly made her feel as if she had accomplished everything in the world.

Her throat tightened with unspoken emotion, but a smile broke across her face anyway. She threw her arms around him, hugging him with all the strength she had, her head pressing firmly against his broad chest.

His steady heartbeat pounded beneath her cheek. His hands rose from her waist to cradle her head and shoulders. Drawing her closer, he dipped to press a soft kiss to the top of her hair.

After a beat, she tilted her head upward, resting her chin against his chest, her eyes shining.

“I can’t believe you’re this affectionate with me now.

All those years, whenever I was near you, all I saw was that deathly stare of yours.

You seemed so cold, untouchable. But since we married, you’re… different.”

Sebastian’s gaze softened, his hand cupping the back of her head while his other palm brushed against her cheek, thumb stroking lightly over her skin as though it was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

“If I’m not affectionate with my wife,” he murmured, voice dipping low and warm, “then who else would I be affectionate with?”

Emily’s lips curved into a tender smile, her chest swelling with warmth. She rose on her toes, her arms sliding higher around his neck as she pulled herself closer, arching up into him. Their lips met in a kiss that melted into softness.

The rest of the day blurred like a dream.

Emily found herself drifting away from the work she had meant to focus on, instead curling against Sebastian on the couch.

His arm rested lazily around her waist, his thumb idly tracing circles over the fabric of her dress while he spoke.

She listened intently as he explained the intricacies of his world—stocks, boardrooms, new acquisitions, and expansion strategies.

What fascinated her most was not the size of his empire but him.

The way his deep, confident voice carried weight when he spoke, the way his eyes sharpened when he shifted into work mode, and yet, no matter how endless the responsibilities seemed, he always returned to her.

He always came home, always made it to dinner, always found ways to show her she mattered.

He was tireless, relentless, but never too busy to make space for her.

By afternoon, she was in his lap, straddling him, his strong hands anchoring her against him as he roughly licked and sucked all over her neck. And then, within moments, he was over her, taking her until she could barely breathe, over and over for hours.

He spent the entire afternoon with her, making her moan and shiver as he filled her with his shaft, claiming her completely on her first day at his office.

As evening draped itself across the windows, they finally walked out of the building, returning home hand in hand.

Exhaustion clung to Emily like a heavy coat, weighing down her limbs.

She dropped her purse onto the bed without a second thought and disappeared into the bathroom.

Steam soon clouded the air, wrapping around her as she sank into the bath.

The water was blissfully hot, the scent of lavender curling around her senses.

She let it wash over her, soaking away the day’s tension until her body felt boneless.

When she finally stepped out, a towel wrapped around her damp hair, her phone buzzed insistently in her hand. She glanced down. An unknown number flashed across the screen. A flicker of unease tightened her chest. For a moment she hesitated, then she swiped to answer.

“Ms. Crawford,” Dillon’s voice came through, strained and heavy. “Mr. Cantrell is heavily drunk. Could you please come to meet him? He’s refusing to leave the bar unless you come here. He keeps saying he needs to talk to you.”

Through the faint static of the line, Emily caught the background noise—the clinking of glasses, the low, throbbing bass of music, and a muffled voice.

Dillon’s jaw tense as his gaze slid to Lucas, slouched carelessly in his chair. A half-empty bottle dangled loosely from his hand, his knuckles white from how tightly he gripped it. His eyes, sharp despite the alcohol clouding them, were pinned mercilessly to the phone in Dillon’s hand.

Emily’s lips curled into a cold, sharp smile, her voice dripping with venom. “Then let him rot in that bar until he dies! I don’t care. Isn’t Amelia supposed to be his most loving, gentle, innocent fiancée? You should call her. Why are you even calling me?”

On the other end of the line, Lucas’s hand jerked violently.

His grip tightened on the neck of the bottle before he tipped it back, swallowing a brutal gulp that burned all the way down.

His throat convulsed with the harsh motion, his jaw tightening like a vice.

Each swallow was punishment, each drag of alcohol a desperate attempt to extinguish the ache gnawing at his chest. Fury simmered beneath his skin, dark and molten, until his eyes narrowed into slits.

Dillon exhaled sharply, the tension pulling at every line of his features.

‘This woman is completely out of control. Mr. Cantrell had already lowered himself, already revealed the truth. She should be begging as usual, falling back into her old pattern of desperate pleas. But now she is acting bold, arrogant, throwing tantrums as if she has the upper hand.’

Forcing his voice into calm, Dillon smoothed each syllable into measured politeness, though irritation grated through every word.

“Ms. Crawford, you already know that Ms. Jones and Mr. Cantrell were only pretending to be a couple for that project. He’s already cleared everything publicly, even canceled the project entirely—losing millions because of it. Doesn’t that prove that he loves you the most?”

Emily’s laugh burst out, like glass shattering.

“Loves me? He made me look like a mistress for five years—even when I was his legitimate girlfriend! And now you want me to clap my hands and kneel in gratitude? You have the nerve to tell me everything’s fine just because he finally admitted the truth?

What a favor ! How could anyone possibly tolerate that much goodness in one person? ”

Her tone dropped to ice, every syllable slicing. “I’ve told Lucas a million times, I’m done with him. I’m married now. Tell him not to bother me again.”

Lucas’s glare darkened into something murderous, his veins bulging, fingers flexing violently around the glass bottle.

She continued, “I have already tolerated enough. If Lucas continues to bother me, my husband isn’t going—”

“Who is it, baby?”

The deep, velvety voice drifted through the receiver.

Lucas’s head snapped up violently. Blood thundered in his ears, adrenaline flooding his veins so fast it felt like his skin would rip apart. His grip on the bottle convulsed until it rattled in his hand, veins straining against his skin as white-hot fury seared through his body.