Page 45

SEBASTIAN

O livia’s arm slips through mine like it’s second nature. No hesitation. No ask. Just hers. Her shoulder knocks into mine with every few steps, but neither of us bothers to fix the rhythm. It’s crooked. It fits.

The night’s cooled down since dinner. She pulls her jacket tighter with her free hand, but keeps the other looped through mine. Doesn’t let go.

“You barely touched your food after that guy came over,” she says, her voice low but direct. Not accusing—just knowing.

I grunt. “Wasn’t hungry.”

“You were before.”

“Some things just ruin your appetite.”

“I don’t know how you get used to that,” she says after a beat. “People walking up like they own a piece of you. Like they can say whatever the hell they want.”

“I don’t,” I mutter.

She glances up.

“Get used to it,” I clarify. “I don’t. I just…deal with it. Part of the job.”

Her fingers slide into mine. Not gentle. Certain.

“Like concussions and getting chirped by twelve-year-olds online."

She rolls her eyes, then looks up at me. "Doesn’t count as a joke if you’re using it to dodge the truth.”

We hit the crosswalk just as the light turns red, and she leans into me.Her fingers brush my wrist. Not holding. Just resting there. Bare skin on bare skin. Quiet. Certain.

“Ever wish you’d gone for something simpler?” she asks, a smile tugging at her lips. “You know, normal, boring. Like…accounting or data entry. Something with a desk and zero chance of a concussion.”

I snort. “You think I could sit still long enough to balance a spreadsheet?”

“You’re pretty focused when you want to be,” she says, teasing as we start to walk again.

“Focused, yeah. Patient? Not so much. I’d be the guy getting fired on day three for punching the copy machine.”

“I don’t know,” she says, chuckling. “I think I could see it. Button-down shirt. Glasses. Desk plant you keep forgetting to water.”

I glance down at her, one brow arched. “That’s your fantasy? Me in khakis, slowly losing my mind in a cubicle?”

“No,” she says, grinning up at me. “But it’s a fun visual.”

I’m about to tease her back when I hear it.

A voice behind us, quiet and unsure.

“You’re Sebastian Wilde, right?”

I don’t turn right away. My jaw tics. It’s always like this—on the sidewalk, in restaurants, even mid-conversation. But it hits different when I’m with Olivia. When I’m here . Because I don’t want to share this version of me with anyone else. Not anymore.

I know she feels it—my shift. The tension that folds itself into my shoulders like a reflex. Her thumb brushes the inside of my wrist.

Grounding. Steady.

But the spell’s already broken.

We turn. A young woman—maybe twenty, wearing jeans, an oversized coat, and a nervous kind of energy threading her posture.

I nod slowly. “Yeah.”

She shifts, then says, “I’m Hannah Durant.”

I freeze.

Olivia doesn’t move. But I feel her hand tighten around mine.

Hannah clears her throat. “Elise’s daughter.”

My jaw goes tight. Breath shallow. All the shit I thought I buried claws up my spine.

“Look,” I start, already fumbling. “I’m sorry. About everything. About?—”

She shakes her head quickly. “I didn’t come to get an apology.”

I blink.

“I came to thank you.”

That rocks me. I open my mouth, but no sound comes.

She exhales slowly. “My brother...what he did. The vandalism, the charity event..." She looks away, then back at me. "He’s been struggling. With everything. Since Mom died. Since Dad too.”

My gut punches inward. “Jesus. I didn’t know. About your dad.”

“Cirrhosis,” she says quietly. “Two years ago. He drank himself into a grave.”

The silence hangs. Cold. Heavy.

Olivia's hand is still tight around mine, and I can feel her gaze on me, watching, worried.

I drag my free hand through my hair and mutter an apology, "Sorry."

“That's why...why I'm here. Cause you keep apologizing. I heard what you told the media after everything went down," The way you blamed yourself. I just...I needed to say something.”

She meets my eyes. Steady.

“My mom, she was, well, complicated. Beautiful, but hard. Bipolar. Unmedicated most of the time. My parents fought constantly. My brother was too young to remember most of it, but I do. I remember the shouting. The way she’d disappear. Come back. Disappear again.”

I can’t speak, just swallow over a huge lump that's formed in my throat.

She presses on. “You weren’t the first affair. You probably weren’t even the last. You didn’t destroy their marriage. It was already broken.”

Olivia’s hand is still on mine. Anchoring.

I clear my throat, not knowing what to say. What to feel.

"I just thought, with what you did. for my brother. Not charging him and all. That you deserved to know the truth."

"Thank you," I manage.

Hannah nods, and begins to turn.

I stop her. “Wait.”

She glances back.

“If you or your brother ever need anything. Anything at all. Call me.”

“I doubt we will." She gives a weak smile. "But thanks.”

She walks off. Her steps soft. Her presence lingering.

When she disappears around the corner, I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath since she first said her name.

Olivia turns to me, her voice gentle. “You okay?”

I nod. Then shake my head. Then nod again.

“I don’t know what to feel.”

She brushes her fingers down my arm. “Try starting with proud.”

"What the hell for?"

“No. Listen. You didn’t shut down. You didn’t run. You stood there and took it, all of it, because you thought you had to. Because somewhere deep down, you still think you’re the villain in a story that was never yours to begin with.”

She pauses, her fingers tightening just slightly.

“But you protected that kid. Even after everything. You saw his pain for what it was and didn’t make it worse. That’s not weakness. That’s strength. That’s character. That’s you , Sebastian.”

Her voice softens, but it doesn’t lose weight.

“That girl came here to tell you the truth, and I need you to hear it—really hear it. You didn’t break her family.

You weren’t the reason her mom disappeared or her dad drank himself to death.

You were one piece of a much bigger, much sadder puzzle.

And you’ve carried guilt that was never yours to carry. ”

She reaches up and brushes her thumb across my jaw.

“So yeah. I think you should be proud. Because the man I’m looking at right now—he’s not running from his past anymore. He’s facing it. And that’s the bravest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

I let out a breath that’s half laugh, half tremor. Then I lean down and kiss her. Not rushed. Not desperate.

Grateful.

Maybe I am proud.

Of the man I am when I’m with her.

Of the man I want to be.

I rest my forehead against hers, her breath warm against my mouth. Her thumb still brushing the hinge of my jaw like she’s memorizing the shape of something that finally healed.

And I whisper, “Thank you for seeing me.”