chapter 18
Sebastian's POV:
I instructed Marcus to park the car away from the Aurora Penthouse, close enough to see Elena safely enter the building but far enough that she wouldn't spot us lingering.
Only when the elevator doors closed behind her did I allow myself to exhale properly.
"Club Eden," I told Marcus, settling back against the leather seat as the city blurred past the tinted windows.
I pulled out my phone and typed into the group chat with my usual blunt efficiency:
"Club Eden. Now. Bring your livers."
The responses came flooding in almost immediately:
Felix was first, as always: Finally crawled out of whatever hole you've been hiding in? This better not be about another existential crisis.
Nicholas's reply followed with diplomatic efficiency: Will be there. Should I bring anything stronger than whatever Eden stocks?
Damian's response was characteristically blunt: About bloody time. Was beginning to think you'd died and forgot to inform us.
The familiar banter felt like a lifeline, pulling me back toward something that made sense, something that didn't involve watching the woman I'd imprisoned slowly transform into someone who might actually have the strength to leave me.
Twenty minutes later, I found myself alone in our usual private room at Club Eden, nursing my second whiskey and staring out at the city lights through floor-to-ceiling windows.
The amber liquid burned down my throat, but it did nothing to quiet the restless energy thrumming beneath my skin.
Elena's behavior in the car kept replaying in my mind—the way she'd leaned into me, kissed me without being forced, murmured against my shoulder like she actually wanted to be there. It was everything I'd been trying to break her into, and now that I finally had it, all I could think was that it felt wrong.
The door opened, and Felix Grey strolled in with his usual air of casual arrogance. "Well, well. The phantom appears," he drawled, dropping into the chair across from me. "Starting without us? This must be serious."
I didn't bother with pleasantries. "Where are the others?"
"Traffic," he said, signaling for the waitress.
Felix studied my face with the sharp attention of someone who'd known me too long. "So what's eating at you? "
Before I could answer, the door opened again, admitting both Damian and Nicholas in a cloud of cigarette smoke and expensive cologne.
Damian's dark eyes immediately found mine, that familiar mix of concern and amusement flickering across his features.
"Christ, Sebastian, you look like hell," Nicholas said, settling into his chair and immediately lighting another cigarette. "When was the last time you slept?"
Damian leaned forward, his expression growing more curious. "This is about your secret lover, isn't it? "
I downed my whiskey in one gulp, the burn barely registering. "She's been... different lately. Says she wants to make things work between us."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Felix's glass stopped halfway to his lips, Nicholas forgot to exhale his cigarette smoke, and Damian just stared at me like I'd announced the world was ending.
"I'm sorry," Felix said slowly, "but isn't that exactly what you've been trying to achieve for the past year?"
"Are you seriously complaining that the woman you've been obsessing over finally wants to be with you?" Nicholas added, shaking his head in disbelief. "Christ, Sebastian, do you have some kind of masochistic streak we don't know about?"
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "You don't understand her. She —"
"Of course we don't understand her," Damian interrupted, his voice sharp with irritation. "You've kept her locked away like some kind of state secret. We know practically nothing about this woman except that she's got you completely twisted up."
I shot him a withering look, and he raised his hands in mock surrender, falling silent.
"She doesn't just give in like that. She's planning something," I said flatly. "I can feel it."
Nicholas exhaled a stream of smoke, studying me through the haze. "So what are you saying? That she's playing you?"
Damian leaned back in his chair with that infuriating knowing smirk, swirling his drink lazily. "He's in a panic because he can feel his grip on her slipping, isn't he?"
I didn't respond, just reached for the bottle and refilled my glass.
Felix waved his cigarette dismissively. "Look, women are simple creatures when you get down to it. Buy her jewelry, take her somewhere expensive, shower her with gifts. They all melt for the same things in the end—pretty baubles and financial security."
Damian snorted derisively. "Spoken like a man who's never had a meaningful relationship in his life."
"Hey, I've had plenty of meaningful relationships," Felix protested. "They just don't last very long."
"That's because you treat them like acquisitions," Nicholas said, stubbing out his cigarette. "Sebastian, if you want to keep her, you need to make her unable to leave you."
I looked at Nicholas, raising an eyebrow to indicate he should continue.
"Adapt to her preferences, learn when to give her space," Nicholas elaborated. "Let her breathe a little."
My eyes narrowed dangerously at that suggestion, and Nicholas quickly raised a hand.
"Not actually let go, of course," he clarified hastily. "But she needs to feel respected, feel like she has some freedom of choice. That's the only way you'll ever have a real chance of getting inside her heart."
I fell silent, considering his words despite myself.
---
Three hours and a few drinks later, I was feeling pleasantly buzzed when I glanced at my watch.
It was getting late—I should head back to sleep beside her.
I stood to bid my friends goodbye and was making my way toward the exit when it happened—a collision that sent wine splashing across my shirt.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" A server gasped, but there was something practiced about her shock, something that made my alcohol-dulled instincts sharpen to attention.
"Let me help you clean that up," the server continued, her hand already reaching for my arm. "There's a private room upstairs where you can get changed. I can bring you a fresh shirt."