Page 11 of Forever His Favorite (Possessive Billionaires, Precious Sweethearts #3)

Emily froze, pulse stuttering when Sebastian appeared behind her. His arms slid around her waist. Startled, she turned in his embrace, tilting her face up to him, eyes wide with a flicker of guilt.

Sebastian’s gaze moved from her expression to the glowing screen in her hand. “Who are you talking to?”

Emily forced a nervous laugh. “It’s just… someone I knew from the past.”

But his eyes lingered on the phone. He had already heard enough on his way into the room to know exactly who was on the other end.

With one smooth motion, he plucked the phone from her hand and tossed it carelessly onto the bed. His arms tightened around her waist, and before she could react, he swept her up effortlessly, lifting her off her feet.

She gasped when her back hit the mattress, the sheets cool against her skin. A second later, his weight followed, his body caging hers, one knee digging into the bed beside her hip. His mouth descended, crashing onto hers with a rough, consuming force.

The sound of it carried through the still-active call. The wet clash of lips, her muffled gasp, the scrape of his teeth against her mouth, Sebastian’s low, guttural growls—all of it bled into the receiver and straight into Lucas’s ear.

Lucas’s fury detonated. His vision went blood-red, the bar dissolving into nothing but the torturous sounds funneling into his skull.

With a vicious snap of his wrist, he hurled the bottle downward.

It shattered across the floor, shards scattering as liquor splashed over his shoes, the harsh stench of whiskey filling the air.

His chest heaved, his breathing ragged and uneven, fury spiraling into madness.

Snatching Dillon’s phone from his hand, Lucas slammed it to his ear, every muscle trembling with rage. But all he caught were Emily’s breathless moans.

With a savage curse, he flung the phone down. It exploded against the floor, the screen fracturing into a spiderweb of cracks. The sound may have died, but it kept echoing in his skull, shredding the thin thread of sanity he still clung to.

“She’s already sleeping with that bastard?

” His voice tore raw from his throat, disbelief and rage burning it to shreds.

His jaw locked until his teeth ground, pain lancing his temples.

Grabbing another bottle, he tilted it back in one violent motion, whiskey spilling down his chin, burning his throat as if it could drown the fire tearing him apart.

Dillon shifted uneasily, watching the man unravel before his eyes. He swallowed hard, then ventured, “Mr. Cantrell… Miss Amelia is still here for you. She’s your childhood friend, always loyal. Why not let go of Miss Crawford and give Miss Amelia a chance?”

Lucas’s head snapped up, his bloodshot eyes blazing with fury and grief. The veins along his temples throbbed violently, his ragged breathing loud enough to cut through the uneasy silence of the bar. Dillon faltered under that feral glare but forced himself to continue, his words halting.

“Miss Crawford is already married to Mr. Graves. The whole world knows it by now—”

“She loves me!” Lucas roared, the sound tearing raw from his chest. He slammed his palm down onto the table with such brutal force the wood groaned and glasses rattled, one nearly toppling over.

“We were together for five fucking years! She was going to marry me! My love, my bride! What fucking marriage?”

His voice cracked on the last word, the anguish bleeding through his rage like a wound that refused to close.

Dillon staggered back, startled by the explosion. Around them, the once-lively bar froze. Patrons gawked in wide-eyed silence, whispers darting between them. The bartender stiffened mid-pour.

Lucas, drunk beyond reason, registered none of it. His fury consumed him whole. His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the table, head bowing for a second before jerking back up with a snarl.

“Mr. Cantrell,” Dillon tried again, his voice careful, cautious, each word chosen like stepping barefoot across shards of glass.

“But you proposed to another woman. You declared Miss Amelia your fiancée in front of everyone. How could you expect forgiveness after that? Even I knew that after that announcement, there was no chance Miss Crawford would come back to you.”

The words struck deep. Lucas’s lip curled, a feral sound rumbling in his throat.

His whole body trembled with violence barely restrained.

In a flash, his hand shot out, fisting Dillon’s collar.

He yanked him forward so abruptly Dillon’s feet slid across the polished floor, choking him against the fabric’s strain.

For a heartbeat, Lucas’s raised fist hovered in the air, trembling, knuckles white, veins bulging, ready to strike and cave Dillon’s skull in. His jaw clenched, every muscle coiled like a drawn bow.

But with a guttural growl, he forced the punch down. His chest heaved with the effort, sweat beading on his brow, his breath rasping through clenched teeth.

Shoving Dillon back so hard he nearly stumbled into a chair, Lucas staggered to his feet.

His rage twisted his handsome features into something savage, unrecognizable.

Without another word, he stormed toward the exit.

The bar door slammed behind him with a violence that rattled the frame, leaving only the echo of broken glass, spilled liquor, and stunned silence in his wake.

***

Sebastian held the car door open. Emily stepped outside the house, her heels clicking softly against the pavement before she slipped into the plush interior of the Mercedes.

The solid thud of the door closing behind her sounded final, protective.

Rounding the sleek hood, Sebastian slid in beside her.

Now that Emily was working on his company’s projects, there was no reason to take separate cars anymore.

The cityscape blurred past in streaks of glass and steel, distorted through the tinted windows.

The steady hum of the engine and the hypnotic rhythm of the road lulled her into a daze.

Slowly, her head drifted sideways until it found its place against Sebastian’s shoulder.

Her lashes fluttered shut, her breathing evening out.

Sebastian’s lips curved faintly, the faintest flicker of warmth breaking through his usual steel composure.

Sliding an arm around her waist, he drew her closer, tucking her into the solid heat of his chest. His other hand lifted, fingers brushing featherlight along her cheek.

Leaning down, he pressed a slow kiss against her temple, his breath stirring her hair as he murmured in a low, teasing drawl, “Mrs. Graves, how long are you planning to sleep? I didn’t even tire you out last night. ”

Her cheeks flushed, a delicate warmth coloring her skin, though her eyes remained closed. She brushed weakly at his chest with her hand, her voice muffled with drowsiness. “Is it a crime to be tired?”

His smile deepened, his gaze darkening, hungry. He angled lower, lips hovering just above hers, ready to steal a kiss.

But before he could, her phone buzzed sharply in her hand, the sudden vibration slicing through the quiet intimacy. The screen lit up with an unknown number.

Emily’s lashes fluttered open, just in time to find his eyes already on her.

A flicker of irritation crossed Sebastian’s sharp features, the muscle in his jaw tightening.

But instead of retreating, he caught her jaw in his hand and claimed her mouth in a hard, possessive kiss.

The kiss was consuming, punishing, almost feral.

His lips moved over hers with rough insistence until she gasped against him, the phone still buzzing between her fingers.

She pushed lightly at his shoulder, breathless, breaking the kiss. But Sebastian wasn’t ready to let her go. His hand slid to the back of her head, keeping her close, his thumb stroking possessively along her hairline.

“Let me pick up the call first,” she whispered, softening her plea with a stolen peck against his lips.

Reluctantly, he eased his grip, though his gaze burned as she lifted the phone to her ear.

The line clicked, and Lucas’s voice came through.

“Didn’t you want your designs back? They’re being exhibited at the Manhattan Elite Private Yacht. Come take them.”

Emily’s blood turned to ice. Her fingers clenched around the phone, pulse thundering. Before she could answer, the line went dead, the abrupt silence more chilling than words.

Silence pressed inside the car.

She glanced at Sebastian. His jaw was taut, his expression dark, though his voice was calm when he asked, “Do you want them back? If you don’t want to go, I’ll get them for you.”

Emily swallowed, shaking her head. “Seeing him hurts me. Just thinking about my past with him hurts. But I can’t keep running away every time I see him. I want to move on.”

Sebastian’s features softened. He reached over, threading his strong fingers through hers. “Then I’ll go with you.”

Her eyes shimmered with gratitude as she nodded, squeezing his hand.

An hour later, their Mercedes pulled to a stop at the harbor.

Together, they stepped out, the salty wind rushing over them, carrying the faint perfume of sea and champagne.

Ahead, a massive yacht loomed like a floating palace, its gleaming white exterior glowing beneath the late sunlight, strings of lights already shimmering like fallen stars along its rails.

Music and laughter spilled across the water, carried on the breeze.

Sebastian and Emily ascended the steps hand in hand. Emily’s heart was steady—until the moment her heels touched the polished deck. She had expected emptiness, silence. Instead, what she found made her breath falter.

The yacht wasn’t quiet. It was alive.

Guests in glittering gowns and tailored suits roamed the deck, champagne flutes in hand, their laughter mingling with the music. Inside, the hall was ablaze with light and admiration. All eyes on the displays in the room. And everywhere she looked—

Her chest squeezed violently.

Her designs that Amelia had stolen.

Every piece stood proudly on its pedestal, each jewel catching the fire of the crystal light. Beneath them, engraved in bold letters, was her name:

Designer and Owner: Emily Crawford

Her chest tightened. Lucas had poured a fortune into this. Since the designs were officially credited to her, they were unsellable. These weren’t for business, they were for show.

For her.

A gallery built entirely in her name.

As Sebastian and Emily stepped further inside, a wave of whispers rippled through the crowd.

Heads turned. Conversations clipped mid-sentence. One by one, the crowd’s attention swiveled to the entrance, to them—no, to her. Emily Crawford. Her hand laced securely with Sebastian’s.

Across the hall, Dillon stiffened, his glass nearly slipping from his fingers. He leaned to Lucas, voice sharp and urgent. “Ms. Crawford is here. But she didn’t come alone. She came with Mr. Graves.”

Lucas froze. His body locked, shoulders rigid as if struck by lightning.

He had expected Emily to come alone. Not with him . That man. That bastard who now held her hand.

“Lucas?” Taylor gripped his arm, concern flashing across his face. “Are you alright?”

But Lucas couldn’t answer. His eyes were chained to the entrance, his entire being suffocating in the sight of her smile, soft and unguarded, turned up at Sebastian.

A current rippled through the hall. Guests pressed closer, their murmurs sharpening.

“Miss Crawford,” one gentleman greeted warmly, bowing his head with a reverence that prickled Lucas’s skin, “these designs are extraordinary. The best work I’ve seen in years. It’s true. No copy can ever match the original. I’m sorry you had to suffer such injustice.”

Another leaned forward, brows arching. “Though I must admit, I’m surprised. This entire exhibition was arranged by Mr. Cantrell, wasn’t it? And yet you’re standing here with Mr. Graves. Did he perhaps commission these works for you?”

A third man’s gaze flicked between Sebastian and Emily.

“As expected of Mr. Graves. You must have recognized her talent long before the truth came to light. No wonder you placed your trust in her even before Amelia was exposed.” His eyes flicked deliberately toward Lucas before adding, “But, Miss Crawford… if I may ask, when Amelia was accused, did Mr. Cantrell truly not believe you? Even though you were his girlfriend at the time?”

Emily’s chest tightened. She shook her head once, her voice quiet but clear. “No.”

A heavy hush fell instantly, the kind that pressed against the walls and seemed to steal the very air from the room.

Sebastian’s arm tightened around her waist, drawing her closer. His gaze swept the hall.

“My wife loves designing. But she despises conflict.” he began, “She suffered quietly, tried to endure, tried to remain kind even when wronged.” His jaw hardened, the muscle ticking, his tone deepening to a dangerous edge.

“But those days are over. I am by her side now. She will never again need to explain herself to anyone ever again.”

The crowd erupted with murmurs of admiration.

“What a perfect match, Mr. and Mrs. Graves.”

“You can see the devotion between them.”

“You two look incredible together.”

“It’s amazing—Mr. Graves never attends small private events like these, but he came to this one, just for his wife.”

Emily’s cheeks warmed. The lights overhead made her dress shimmer; the sweet tang of champagne and perfume folded into the afterglow of compliments. For a heartbeat she let herself lean into it — the soft gossip, the small, approving smiles. Her palm felt cool in Sebastian’s at her side.

Emily’s cheeks flushed, overwhelmed by the supportive words around her. But before the moment could settle, a sudden disruption shook the crowd.

Lucas shoved through the crowd, shoulders barging past bodies, eyes locked on Emily like a man possessed. His face was drained of color, jaw clenched.