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CHAPTER 28

C hapter 28

November deepened around London like a familiar embrace, its characteristic chill penetrating the centuries-old walls of The Red Lion with the persistence of an old friend who refused to be ignored. The pub seemed to breathe around Tessa as she moved through its rooms, each creak and sigh of ancient timber feeling more alive than usual. The shortened daylight hours cast long shadows by mid-afternoon, turning the familiar space into something almost ethereal.

Like the entire building is holding its breath, Tessa thought, arranging glasses behind the bar with nervous precision. Which, considering we’re about to attempt supernatural couples therapy, seems appropriate.

A quiet anticipation filled the space, mirroring Will’s increasingly urgent manifestations over the past week. The poor ghost had apparently decided subtle wasn’t working and had escalated to what could only be described as poltergeist-level dramatics.

Gone are the days of gently shifted glasses. Now it’s full-contact haunting.

Near the bar, Tessa placed a single red poppy in a small vase—a quiet tribute not only to Will, but to all lives lost in conflict. Several regulars had acknowledged the gesture with silent nods throughout the day, unaware of its particular significance to the building’s hidden story.

If they only knew they were drinking their pints next to the site of the most romantic ghost story in London.

Sebastian had suggested holding the ceremony on November 12th—the anniversary of Rebecca’s death according to the records his mother had provided. A final effort to help Will find peace after weeks of increasingly dramatic supernatural activity that had progressed from charming to concerning to borderline terrifying.

No longer content with quietly shifting glasses like a polite Victorian spirit, Will now sent them flying across rooms with the enthusiasm of someone having a supernatural tantrum. Lights surged and dimmed without pattern, occasionally strobing like a disco from beyond. Patches of air turned frigid then warmed again within moments, creating temperature zones that defied all logical explanation.

Poor Will. Eighty years of good behavior, and now he’s lost all patience.

As five o’clock approached, Tessa completed her closing duties with mounting anticipation that felt like stage fright mixed with Christmas morning dread. The handwritten “Private Event” sign on the door concealed what was truly happening—perhaps the most unusual gathering The Red Lion had hosted in its long history: an attempt to help a spirit find rest after eight decades of waiting.

Just your average Tuesday evening supernatural intervention. Nothing unusual here.

She tried not to think about Sebastian’s phone call two days ago. About the cold professionalism in his voice as he’d explained his “strategic choice.” About how he’d claimed to love her while choosing his career anyway.

Focus on Will. Focus on the ceremony. Don’t think about Sebastian making calculated decisions while your heart breaks.

Harry and Daphne arrived first with their sons, and Tessa immediately noticed something different about the usually boisterous twins. They entered with unusual solemnity, small poppies pinned to their jackets like tiny gentlemen attending a memorial service.

“They wouldn’t stay home,” Daphne explained quietly, her hand resting protectively on Ewan’s shoulder. “Insisted the soldier needed their presence.”

Of course they did. Because four-year-olds apparently have better supernatural intuition than adults.

“He’s been sad,” Malcolm added matter-of-factly, looking directly at the corner where he’d always claimed Will appeared. “But today he’s hopeful.”

Out of the mouths of babes and supernatural mediums.

Oliver and Alice followed shortly after, Alice navigating carefully with her advanced pregnancy that made her look like she was smuggling a basketball under her elegant maternity dress.

“Should you be here?” Tessa asked with concern, mother-henning instincts kicking in despite having no children of her own.

Alice smiled with the serene confidence of someone who’d already communicated with the spirit world. “This little one wants to witness it too. Besides, Oliver hasn’t let me out of his sight for weeks.”

Protective husband mode activated. Very sweet, actually.

“She insisted,” Oliver confirmed, his arm hovering near Alice’s elbow like a human airbag. “Said the baby was ‘curious about the ceremony.’ I’ve stopped questioning supernatural pregnancy intuition.”

Smart man.

Sebastian entered last as the clock struck half past five, carrying the wooden box that contained Rebecca’s personal effects like he was transporting the Crown Jewels. Their gazes met across the room, and Tessa felt that familiar flutter in her chest—immediately followed by the sharp sting of remembering how their last conversation had ended.

He came. Of course he came. Probably to make sure his “strategic acquisition” goes smoothly afterward.

“Ready?” he asked when he reached her side, his voice carefully neutral.

“As ready as possible, considering we’re improvising supernatural relationship counseling,” Tessa replied, matching his professional tone despite the way her heart was hammering.

His expression flickered with something that might have been pain, but she looked away before she could analyze it.

Focus, Tessa. Ghost first, heartbreak later.

They led everyone down to the cellar, where Tessa had spent the afternoon creating an open space among the usual supplies. Candles in protective glass holders illuminated the stone walls with gentle light that transformed the utilitarian space into something almost sacred. At the center stood a small table bearing Will’s letter, Rebecca’s diary, and the pearl-inset locket from Sebastian’s family collection—artifacts of love spanning nearly a century.

Like a shrine to impossible romance. How fitting.

The hidden chamber’s entrance remained open, outlined with a circle of salt—Alice’s suggestion to focus Will’s energy based on her own experiences with supernatural encounters. Additional candles burned inside the small space, casting light into the chamber where a young man had drawn his final breaths while thinking of the woman he loved.

If this doesn’t work, we’ve at least created the most romantic ghost ambiance in London.

“The atmosphere feels different,” Harry observed, his Scottish accent more pronounced as it always was when he was moved by emotion. “Less oppressive somehow.”

Tessa agreed, sensing the change in the air—still charged with supernatural energy, but no longer heavy with desperate longing. “Let’s begin while conditions are favorable.”

They formed a circle around the table, an unlikely group of ghost-whisperers and supernatural skeptics united by a shared mission. Sebastian stood opposite Tessa, their eyes meeting across the flickering candles, while the twins positioned themselves precisely where they claimed Will habitually appeared.

This is it. Whatever happens next, at least Will gets his peace.

“Before we start,” Sebastian said, his voice carrying clearly in the stone chamber, “I need to share something important.”

All attention turned to him, and Tessa braced herself. He probably wanted to announce the acquisition timeline, make it official before they helped Will move on.

Here it comes. The strategic business decision.

“I came here tonight planning to proceed with the acquisition,” Sebastian said, his words falling into the silence with unexpected weight. “That was my strategy. My calculated choice to comply with Victor’s demands and fight him later.”

Tessa’s breath caught. This wasn’t what she’d expected.

“But I can’t.” Sebastian’s voice cracked slightly, his gaze finding hers across the candlelight. “I can’t become the man Victor wants me to be. I can’t destroy something beautiful just to preserve my position.”

What is he saying?

“Westfield Development is withdrawing its acquisition offer for The Red Lion,” he announced, his words stunning everyone into silence.

Tessa’s world tilted. After everything he’d said about strategy, about having no choice?—

“Instead,” Sebastian continued, never looking away from her face, “I’ll personally support the heritage application and establish a foundation dedicated to preserving this building and others like it. I know I don’t have authority to make this official—Victor will have me removed as CEO within days. But I’m announcing my intention so everyone knows where I stood when it mattered most.”

He’s...he’s choosing the pub. After telling me he couldn’t. After explaining why he had to make the strategic choice.

Oliver spoke first, his voice filled with genuine surprise. “That’s...Sebastian, what about Victor’s threats? Your position?”

Sebastian’s expression was resolute despite the tremor in his voice. “Victor will have me removed as CEO. He’ll probably succeed in demolishing the pub anyway, since he’ll control the company. But I can’t live with myself if I don’t at least try to do what’s right.”

He knows Victor will win everything now. His career AND the pub. And he’s choosing this anyway.

“You’re sacrificing everything,” Daphne said softly, maternal concern evident in her voice. “Even though you might not be able to save the building.”

Sebastian’s gaze never left Tessa’s face. “Some things matter more than winning. Some things matter more than survival.”

The magnitude of his choice hit Tessa like a physical blow. He wasn’t just risking his career—he was defying his own strategic thinking, choosing principle over calculation, even knowing it might be futile.

He told me he was falling in love with me but would choose his career anyway. And now...

“Thank you,” she whispered, the words completely inadequate for the chaos of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Thank you for proving me wrong. Thank you for being braver than I thought you were.

Alice stepped forward with the serene confidence of someone who’d helped orchestrate supernatural interventions before. “We should proceed. Will has waited long enough.”

Right. Ghost ceremony first, life-changing revelations later.

Each participant contributed to the ritual with the solemnity of people who’d moved beyond skepticism into hope. Harry lit a central candle whose flame stood perfectly straight despite the cellar’s natural drafts, like even the air was holding its breath. Oliver read from the employment records documenting Will’s time at The Red Lion, giving voice to the official details of a life that had been so much more than bureaucratic notation. Daphne and the twins placed symbolic items in the chamber—herbs representing remembrance, a coin symbolizing passage, small tokens that somehow felt weighted with significance.

Sebastian carefully opened Rebecca’s diary to the entry they had selected—her reflection on the tenth anniversary of Will’s disappearance. His voice remained steady while reading her words of longing and memory, though Tessa noticed the subtle tremor in his hands against the aged paper.

He just threw away everything he’s worked for. For me. For Will. For doing what’s right even when it costs everything.

When Tessa’s turn came, she read Will’s unsent letter with a voice that only wavered slightly, giving sound to his hopes for a future with Rebecca—plans for a garden where she could grow roses, his intention to “ask her properly” when next they met, dreams of children and Sunday dinners and growing old together.

As the words filled the cellar, Tessa sensed rather than saw a presence gathering nearby—not the cold, desperate energy of previous encounters, but a gentle warmth that felt like gratitude made manifest.

He’s here. He’s listening. He’s finally ready.

After she finished, Sebastian opened the locket with reverent care to reveal the tiny photographs of Will and Rebecca, young and hopeful and forever frozen in a moment before tragedy struck. He placed it atop the letter and diary, creating a shrine to love that transcended death.

“We remember you, William Donovan,” Sebastian said with quiet dignity that made Tessa’s chest tight with admiration. “Your life, your love for Rebecca, your sacrifice during those dark days. You are not forgotten. Your story matters. Your love mattered.”

And neither are you forgotten, Tessa thought, looking at Sebastian across the candlelight. Whatever happens next, you’ll always be the man who chose love over fear.

The room grew noticeably warmer, as if someone had adjusted an invisible thermostat. The air lightened, losing the oppressive weight that had pressed down on the pub for weeks. The desperate, clinging presence that had manifested in flying glasses and temperature fluctuations dissolved like morning fog, leaving behind only calm.

And something else—a sense of completion, of circles closing, of stories finding their proper endings.

Malcolm and Ewan, who had been watching the corner with the intense focus they reserved for supernatural communications, suddenly smiled in unison like they’d just received the best news ever.

“He’s not sad anymore,” Malcolm announced with the matter-of-fact certainty of childhood. “He found peace now.”

Thank goodness. I was starting to worry we’d have to stage a supernatural intervention.

“He’s going to find the lady in the picture,” Ewan added solemnly, nodding like this was perfectly logical. “He says thank you for helping him remember how to say goodbye.”

They’re talking about Will like he’s going on a journey instead of just...whatever ghosts do when they find peace. It’s actually beautiful.

Daphne and Harry exchanged wondering glances, the kind shared by parents who’d finally realized their children possessed abilities they’d never fully understood or believed.

“Has he gone?” Oliver asked quietly, scientist’s curiosity evident even in the aftermath of supernatural success.

Alice shook her head, one hand resting on her rounded belly. “Not gone. At peace. There’s a difference. He’s...resolved. Complete.”

Like finishing a really good book. The story’s over, but it was worth telling.

As they began extinguishing the candles and preparing to return upstairs, Tessa lingered in the hidden chamber. The space no longer carried the weight of trapped sorrow—it was simply an empty room now, its purpose finally fulfilled after eight decades of patient waiting.

Goodbye, Will. Thank you for trusting us with your story.

Sebastian appeared beside her with the quiet presence she’d come to associate with comfort and understanding. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she nodded, still processing the magnitude of what had just happened. “It feels...complete. Like we actually did it.” She turned to face him, searching his expression. “Sebastian, what you said upstairs—did you mean it? Even knowing Victor will destroy both your career and the pub anyway?”

Please tell me this wasn’t just ceremony drama. Please tell me you meant it.

“Completely,” he confirmed, his eyes serious and steady on hers. “I realized something tonight. I’d rather lose everything fighting for what’s right than win by becoming someone I can’t live with.”

The emotion rose within her like a tide, and without thinking, Tessa pressed her hand to her heart in the gesture that had become as natural as breathing.

“You do that when you’re moved,” Sebastian observed gently, his voice soft with something that might have been tenderness. “That gesture.”

He noticed. Of course he noticed. He pays attention to everything about me.

“My grandmother’s habit,” she explained, surprised and touched that he’d observed something so personal. “She used to say the heart needed acknowledgment when it was full.”

His expression softened in a way that made her breath catch. “It suits you. The way you wear your emotions honestly—it’s one of the things I—“ He stopped, seeming to catch himself before completing the thought.

One of the things you what? Love? Admire? Find irresistibly attractive?

Harry’s voice called down from above, breaking the moment with perfect comedic timing. “Are you two joining us? The boys insist we celebrate properly, and Daphne’s already opening the good wine.”

“Coming,” Tessa called back, though she made no immediate move toward the stairs.

Of course Harry interrupts right when Sebastian was about to say something important.

They turned toward the stairs and the warmth of the pub above, where their friends were presumably toasting their successful supernatural intervention. But Tessa paused for one final glance at the chamber where Will had spent his last moments, thinking of the woman he’d loved.

“Goodbye, Will,” she whispered into the quiet space. “Rest well. Find your Rebecca.”

This time, she knew with absolute certainty that he had heard her—and that he was finally, truly free to move on.

Mission accomplished. Ghost at peace, and the man I thought had chosen strategy over love just proved me completely wrong.

Not a bad evening’s work.