Page 13 of Trained In Sin

Saphy

I sit on my stripped bed, staring at the bare pillow in my hands. The missing pillowcase is proof. Concrete, undeniable evidence that someone was in my flat. That he was in my flat.

My hands shake as I examine the pillow for the third time, hoping somehow, I'll find the missing pillowcase tucked underneath or fallen behind the bed. But it's gone. And I know exactly who took it. What I don’t know, is why.

The thought makes my stomach churn. Sebastian Blackwood was in my bedroom. He touched my things, went through my personal belongings, and took something that had been against my face every night. The violation of it is almost overwhelming

I force myself to breathe slowly, methodically. Getting hysterical won't help. I need to be smart about this, strategic. I need help.

My phone feels heavy in my hands as I scroll to Damon's number. I've been trying to protect him from this nightmare, but I can't handle it alone anymore. Not when Sebastian is escalating again.

"Hey babe," Damon answers on the second ring. "How was your day?"

"Not great." I close my eyes, steeling myself for what I'm about to ask. "Damon, I need a favour. Remember that guy I mentioned? Sebastian Blackwood?"

"Yeah, what about him? "

"He's... he's been texting me. A lot. And I'm getting really freaked out." The lie comes easier than I expected, but it's simpler than explaining about break-ins and stolen pillowcases. "I need to know more about him. About what he's capable of."

There's a pause. "What kind of texts?"

"Just... persistent. I keep blocking his numbers, but he gets new ones." I'm improvising now, but it's believable enough. "Could you use your work to look into him? Find out anything you can about his business, his connections, anything that might help me understand what I'm dealing with?"

"Saphy, if he's harassing you, we should go to the police…."

"No!" I say too quickly, then force my voice to calm. "I’m not wasting their time over some texts. I just want to know what I'm up against. Please, Damon. I need to understand who he is before I decide what to do."

Another pause, longer this time. "You know I don't like using work resources for personal stuff."

"I know. And I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." I grip the phone tighter. "I'm scared, Damon. Really scared."

"Okay." His voice softens. "Okay, I'll see what I can dig up. But if this escalates any further, we're going to the police. Deal?"

"Deal." The relief in my voice is genuine. "Thank you. I love you."

"Love you too. Be careful, all right?"

After we hang up, I feel marginally better. Damon is good at what he does, at least I'll know what I'm really dealing with .

I call Beth next, needing to hear a friendly voice.

"Twice in two days?" she answers. "This must be serious."

"He was in my flat, Beth."

Silence. Then: "What do you mean, he was in your flat?"

"I came home early today and I could just... feel it. Someone had been here. And one of my pillowcases is missing." I know how it sounds, but I push on. "I know it was him."

"Jesus Christ, Saphy. That's a serious crime."

"I know."

"You need to call the police. Right now."

"And tell them what? That I suspect someone was in my flat because a pillowcase is missing? They'll think I'm insane."

"Then come stay with me. Tonight. Right now. Pack a bag and come over."

I look around my flat, my sanctuary that no longer feels safe. The temptation to run to Beth's is overwhelming. But something stubborn in me rebels against the idea.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I mean no. I won't be driven out of my own home by some... some entitled psychopath." My voice grows stronger as I speak. "If I run now, if I let him chase me away, then he wins. He gets exactly what he wants. Me scared. ”

"Saphy, this isn't about winning or losing. This is about your safety."

"My safety depends on me being strong. On not letting him think he can intimidate me." I'm not sure I believe it myself, but saying it aloud makes it feel more true. "If I show fear, if I give him that power over me, it'll only get worse."

Beth sighs heavily. "You're being stubborn and stupid."

"Maybe. But I'm being stubborn and stupid in my own home."

"Fine. But we're going out tomorrow night. Somewhere public, somewhere safe, somewhere that isn't one of his clubs. And you're not arguing with me about it."

Despite everything, I smile. I need the release. "Deal. Where did you have in mind?"

"Fabric. They're having that indie night you love. Definitely not Blackwood's scene."

"Perfect."

After we hang up, I spend the rest of the evening systematically checking my flat for anything else that might be missing or out of place. I find nothing obvious, but the feeling of violation lingers. Every shadow and every creak could be him returning.

I barely sleep.

*

The next morning brings an unwelcome surprise. I'm barely at my desk with my first coffee when Miranda appears with a memo.

"Board meeting today," she announces, looking both excited and nervous. "You're on the preliminary research team for the riverside development project."

I blink at her. "What? Since when?"

"Since yesterday apparently. Seems someone forgot to pass on the memo." She hands me the sheet of paper with the details. "Meeting's at two. Boardroom A. Wear something professional, there are external investors attending."

I scan the memo, noting the lack of detail about who these external investors might be. "Thanks. Any idea who the external investors are?”

“Not a clue. But lucky you, getting your face in front of the board. You’ll be dropping the ‘junior’ in your title quicker than anyone else at this rate!”

Lucky me indeed. I've barely been promoted to junior editor, and now I'm being thrown into high level development meetings. It feels like too much too fast, but I can't exactly refuse.

I spend the morning preparing, reviewing every document I can find related to the riverside development.

The project is massive. A complete regeneration of the old industrial district, turning it into luxury residential and commercial space.

The kind of project that could define a company's reputation for years.

At five minutes to two, I make my way to Boardroom A, clutching my folder of research and trying to calm my nerves. I've never been in a board meeting before, never presented to external investors. My stomach churns as I approach the heavy oak door .

I step inside and immediately scan the room, taking in the mahogany table, the wall of windows overlooking the city, the serious faced men in expensive suits seated around the table.

And then I see him.

Sebastian Blackwood sits at the far end of the table, looking perfectly at ease in a charcoal grey suit that probably costs three times more than my monthly salary. His dark hair is perfectly styled, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He looks like he belongs here, like he owns the room.

When his eyes meet mine, he smiles. It's a predator's smile, all teeth and no warmth.

"Ah, Ms. Jenkins," Gordon Reeves says from his position near the head of the table. "Please, take a seat. Let me introduce our external investor, Mr. Sebastian Blackwood."

I force my face into professional neutrality, though my heart is hammering against my ribs. "Mr. Blackwood."

"Ms. Jenkins." His voice is smooth, controlled. "I've heard excellent things about your work on the acquisition briefs. Particularly your attention to... the finer details."

The emphasis on the last word sends ice through my veins. He knows I know. And he doesn't care.

I take the indicated seat across from him, setting my folder down with hands that barely tremble. "Thank you."

"Mr. Blackwood has expressed significant interest in the riverside development," Gordon continues, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. "His investment could accelerate our timeline considerably. "

"How fortunate," I manage, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

Sebastian leans back in his chair, studying me with those intense grey eyes. "I find the preliminary research fascinating. The level of detail, the personal touch, it's refreshing to see such thorough work."

Personal touch. The bastard is talking about his invasion of my flat, and no one else in the room has any idea.

"I believe in being comprehensive," I reply carefully.

"Oh, I can tell. The way you... organize your materials. Everything in its proper place. Very meticulous." His smile widens slightly. "I imagine you're quite attached to your work environment. Your personal space."

Gordon nods approvingly. "That's exactly the kind of dedication we value at Hartwell."

I want to scream. Want to stand up and tell everyone exactly what kind of man Sebastian Blackwood really is. But I'm trapped by professionalism, by the need to keep my job, by the impossibility of explaining without sounding insane. Sebastian gives me that smile again.

"Shall we begin?" Gordon says, opening his own folder.

The meeting proceeds with agonizing normalcy.

Plans are discussed, timelines reviewed, profit projections analysed.

Through it all, Sebastian contributes thoughtfully, asking intelligent questions, making strategic suggestions.

To everyone else in the room, he's the perfect investor. Wealthy, engaged, professional .

Only I see the way his eyes never leave me for long. Only I hear the double meanings in his words.

"The residential component is particularly interesting," he says at one point. "The importance of creating spaces where people feel... secure. Where they can truly relax, knowing they're safe from unwanted intrusion."

I grip my pen so tightly it's a wonder it doesn't snap.

"Absolutely," agrees the head of development. "Privacy and security are paramount in luxury residential design."

"Indeed. Though I've always found that true security comes from understanding who has access to your space. Who might have... keys, as it were." Sebastians's gaze meets mine again. "Don't you agree, Ms. Jenkins?"

"Security is definitely important," I reply through gritted teeth.

"So I assume the residentials will either be gated, or have on site security, yes? Which leads me to my next question. Will a show home be available to view? Or will viewings be done solely through digital designs?” Sebastian continues smoothly, "I've always felt a show home is the better option. Show potential buyers what their home could be, down to every detail. From every candle, to cushion, to pillowcase.” He raises an eyebrow at me.

My blood runs cold. He's talking about the pillowcase. Right here, in front of my colleagues, he's taunting me about stealing my pillowcase.

"I'll have to look into that," I manage.

The meeting continues for another hour, each minute feeling like an eternity. Seb participates normally, but periodically drops these bombs that only I understand. References to home security. Comments about unexpected visitors. Observations about the importance of privacy.

By the time Gordon finally calls the meeting to a close, I'm ready to either scream or be sick.

"Excellent progress, everyone," Gordon says, closing his folder. "Mr. Blackwood, I think this partnership will be very beneficial for both parties."

"I'm certain it will be," Sebastian replies, standing gracefully. "Ms. Jenkins, I wonder if I might have a word? I have some specific questions about the acquisition timelines."

Every instinct I have screams at me to refuse. But I'm surrounded by colleagues, trapped by the expectations of professionalism.

"Of course," I hear myself say.

The others file out, leaving us alone in the boardroom. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken threats.

"You seem tense," Sebastian observes, moving to close the door.

"Don't." My voice comes out sharper than I intended.

He pauses, hand on the door handle, then deliberately pushes it shut. "Don’t what, Sapphire. Be specific."

" This meeting is over."

"This meeting is just beginning." He approaches slowly, like a predator closing in on prey. "You've been avoiding me. "

"I haven't even thought about you." I reply, allowing the ice I feel in my chest, settle in my voice.

"Haven't you?" He stops just close enough to be intimidating without being obviously threatening. "How odd. And here I thought you might want to discuss our mutual interests. The riverside development, for instance. Or perhaps your interest in classic literature."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." His smile is cold. "Just like you don't know anything about missing household items. Such a mystery, these disappearing belongings. Though I imagine they turn up in the most unexpected places."

I stand abruptly, gathering my folder. "I need to get back to work."

"Saphy." The way he says my name stops me cold. Soft, intimate, possessive. "We both know this isn't over. You can play the professional, you can pretend this is just business, but we both know better."

"I know you're a stalker who breaks into people's homes."

"Such harsh words. I prefer to think of myself as... thorough. Detail oriented. Committed to understanding the things I invest in." He steps closer. "And make no mistake, I am very much invested in you."

"I'm not interested."

"Your interest is irrelevant. This isn't about what you want, Saphy. This is about what's going to happen. You can make it easy or you can make it difficult, but the outcome will be the same. "

I reach for the door handle, but his hand covers mine, stopping me. His touch burns through my skin, like fire in my veins. Heat floods my system, and I can feel my face flush,

"Let go of me."

He releases my hand and steps back, his expression returning to that professional mask.

"Thank you for the productive meeting, Ms. Jenkins. I look forward to our continued collaboration."

I flee the boardroom, my heart pounding, his laughter following me down the corridor.

As I reach my desk, one thought echoes in my mind: if he knows about tonight, what else does he know? And more importantly, how?