Page 47 of Trained In Sin

Beth

"I still can't believe you're giving me a tour of Sebastian Blackwood's business empire," I tell Matthew as we walk through the gleaming lobby of one of Sebastian's office buildings in Canary Wharf.

"He thought you might appreciate seeing the legitimate side of what he does," Matthew replies, his tone carefully neutral. "The side that employs over three hundred people and contributes significantly to London's economy."

"As opposed to the side that kills paedophiles?"

Matthew's step falters slightly. "As opposed to the side that makes headlines, yes."

I've been spending more time around Sebastian and Saphy over the past month, and I have to admit, grudgingly, that my opinion of him has been shifting. Not because he's become less dangerous, but because I've started to understand that his danger serves a purpose.

"This building houses his property development company," Matthew explains as we enter the elevator. "Completely above board, fully licensed, employing architects, engineers, project managers. They've been responsible for some of the most innovative housing projects in East London."

The offices are impressive, modern, efficient, bustling with activity. People who look nothing like the criminals I'd imagined working for Sebastian. Just normal professionals doing normal jobs.

"And this is his restaurant group headquarters," Matthew continues as we move through the building. "Twelve establishments across London, employing nearly two hundred people. All legitimate, all profitable, all operating within the law."

"You're trying to humanise him."

"I'm trying to show you that there's more to Sebastian than the man who eliminates threats. He's also someone who builds things, who creates jobs, who contributes to society in ways that matter. "

We spend the next hour touring different departments, meeting managers and employees who speak about Sebastian with genuine respect. Not fear, but respect. The kind that comes from working for someone who values competence and loyalty.

"He's not what I expected," I admit as we leave the building.

"What did you expect?"

"Someone who rules through fear. Someone whose employees are terrified of him."

"Sebastian can be terrifying when he needs to be. But he's also fair, generous with people who work hard, and surprisingly protective of anyone under his care." Matthew pauses. "You've seen what he's like with Saphy. That protectiveness extends to everyone he considers his responsibility."

We walk through Canary Wharf in comfortable silence, and I find myself stealing glances at Matthew. He's different when he's not in bodyguard mode, more relaxed, more thoughtful. More... attractive.

"Can I ask you something?" I say eventually.

"Of course."

"How do you reconcile it? Working for someone who does what Sebastian does?"

Matthew considers the question seriously. "Because I've seen the alternatives. I've seen what happens when good people refuse to get their hands dirty while monsters run free. Sometimes the world needs people like Sebastian, people willing to do what others can't or won't. "

"And you're okay being part of that?"

"I'm okay protecting someone who protects others. Sebastian eliminated a paedophile who was hurting children. He saved Saphy from a monster she didn't even know she was living with. If that makes him a criminal, then I'm proud to be a criminal too."

The conviction in his voice surprises me. This isn't blind loyalty, it's conscious choice.

"You really believe in him."

"I believe in what he stands for. Justice when the system fails. Protection for people who can't protect themselves. Love that's strong enough to kill for." Matthew looks at me directly. "Don't you think those are things worth believing in?"

I don't answer immediately, because the truth is complicated. Three months ago, I would have said no. Now, after seeing what Damon really was, after watching Sebastian fall apart when he thought he'd lost Saphy, after witnessing the way they've found balance together...

"Maybe," I admit.

*

We end up at a small café near the Thames, continuing our conversation over coffee and pastries. The afternoon has shifted from business tour to something more personal, and I'm not entirely sure how it happened .

"So," Matthew says, stirring sugar into his coffee, "what's your honest assessment? Now that you've seen more of Sebastian's world?"

"Honestly? You're all completely insane. Sebastian, Saphy, you, all of you operating in this morally grey area like it's perfectly normal."

"And?"

"And... it works for them. Saphy's happier than I've ever seen her. Fulfilled in a way she never was with Damon. Even if their relationship is intense enough to power a small city."

Matthew laughs. "That's one way to put it."

"Last week, I walked in on them in Sebastian's kitchen, and I swear the sexual tension was so thick I needed a machete to cut through it. They've been together for months, and they still look at each other like they're about to devour each other whole."

"Sebastian's not exactly known for his restraint."

"Neither is Saphy, apparently. I think she might be even more possessive than he is at this point."

"Is that a problem?"

I consider this. "It should be. By every conventional standard, their relationship is unhealthy. They're obsessed with each other, completely codependent, probably toxic by most definitions."

"But?"

"But they're also desperately happy. And after watching Saphy settle for lukewarm contentment with Damon for three years, seeing her burn bright with Sebastian..." I shrug. "Maybe some people are meant for extraordinary love, even if it comes with extraordinary risks."

Matthew nods thoughtfully. "Sebastian deserves someone who can match his intensity. Someone brave enough to love him and challenge him despite what he is."

"And Saphy deserves someone who sees her as worth killing for. Worth dying for. Worth burning the world down for."

"Exactly."

We drink our coffee in comfortable silence, watching people walk past the café windows. Normal people living normal lives, probably thinking normal thoughts about normal relationships.

There's something easy about sitting here with Matthew, something that feels natural despite the bizarre circumstances that brought us together. He's different when he's not in protection mode, thoughtful, surprisingly funny, with insights that catch me off guard.

"They're going to be fine," I say eventually, not entirely sure why I feel the need to voice it.

"More than fine. They're going to be insufferably happy."

"God, yes. The way they look at each other..." I shake my head. "It's like watching a live action obsession."

"Could be worse."

"How? "

Matthew's eyes meet mine across the table, and something flickers there that I can't quite identify. "They could be boring."

I laugh, but there's something in his tone, in the way he's looking at me, that makes my pulse quicken slightly. "Boring is underrated."

"Is it?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with meaning I'm not ready to examine. Instead, I focus on my coffee, on the safe topic of our mutual friends and their beautifully dysfunctional relationship.

But I'm hyperaware of Matthew across from me, of the way he listens when I speak, of the careful distance he maintains that somehow feels more intimate than sitting closer would.

"I should get going," I say eventually, though I'm not entirely sure why.

"Of course." Matthew signals for the check, and I notice he doesn't argue or suggest extending our afternoon.

As we leave the café together, walking toward the tube station, there's a comfortable silence between us. But it's charged somehow, like the air before a storm.

"Thank you," I say as we reach the entrance. "For showing me Sebastian's world. For helping me understand."

"Thank you for caring enough about Saphy to want to understand."

We stand there for a moment, neither of us moving toward the turnstiles. Around us, London continues its relentless pace, but in this small bubble, time feels suspended.

"I'll see you around," Matthew says finally .

"Yeah. See you around."

I watch him walk away, noting the precise way he moves, the awareness he maintains even in casual moments. When he disappears into the crowd, I realise I'm still standing there, still thinking about the way he looked at me across that café table.

Shaking my head, I head home to my flat.

But something has shifted today, something I'm not ready to name or examine.

Something that feels dangerously like possibility.