chapter 20
Elena's POV:
I pushed open the door and stepped into chaos.
Sebastian stood in the center of what looked like a small sitting room, his shirt stained dark across the chest and shoulders.
In the low lighting, the stains looked black, wet, and my heart stopped for a horrifying second before my brain caught up and identified the color as deep red.
Wine. It was wine, not blood. The relief flooded through me so powerfully.
He wasn't alone. The club manager stood nearby, practically bowing and scraping as he stammered out what sounded like profuse apologies. Near the bar, a young woman in the club's signature black uniform trembled like a leaf, her face pale and streaked with tears.
Three men sat around a small table—Sebastian's friends, judging by their expensive clothes and the way they watched the proceedings with varying degrees of amusement and discomfort.
All eyes turned to me as I entered, and I saw the manager's face go even paler, clearly assuming I was another unwelcome interruption to whatever disciplinary action was taking place.
Then Sebastian saw me.
The transformation was instant and startling. The cold fury in his posture melted away, replaced by something warm and pleased. His voice, when he spoke, was gentle in a way that made everyone else in the room do a double-take.
"Come here, sweetheart," he said, extending his hand toward me.
I crossed to him slowly, hyperaware of all the watching eyes, and let him guide me down onto his lap in the leather armchair. His arms came around me immediately, possessive but careful.
"You said you were hurt," I said quietly, searching his face for any sign of injury.
Sebastian's mouth curved in a slight smile. "My heart was wounded,"
I heard one of his friends make a sound that might have been disbelief.
"This little... enterprising young lady," Sebastian continued, his voice taking on a dangerous edge as he looked toward the trembling server, "thought she could seduce me with cheap wine and cheaper tactics."
His attention returned to me, and his expression softened again. "What do you think we should do with her, Elena? She tried to touch what's yours."
I glanced at the woman, who looked ready to faint from terror, then back at Sebastian. "I don't care. It has nothing to do with me."
"Mm," Sebastian hummed thoughtfully. "Well then, perhaps we should have Marcus drive her out to the docks. I'm sure the sharks are hungry this time of night."
The woman's trembling intensified, and she dropped to her knees. "Please, sir, I'm sorry, I didn't know—"
I sighed, recognizing the dangerous gleam in Sebastian's eyes that meant he was enjoying himself far too much.
"Sebastian, stop being ridiculous," I said, standing up from his lap. "Let's just go home."
"Ridiculous?" His eyebrows rose. "She put her hands on something that belongs to you. Doesn't that deserve punishment?"
I looked at the terrified woman, then back at him. "Fine. Fire her. Don't let her work here anymore. Problem solved."
I extended my hand toward him, meeting his gaze directly. "Come on. Let's go home. I... I couldn't sleep without you there."
The effect was instantaneous.
All the predatory energy drained from Sebastian's posture, his expression softening into something almost boyish. He took my hand without hesitation, rising from his chair with an eagerness that was almost embarrassing.
"Gentlemen," he said to his friends, not bothering to look at them as he moved toward me. "The lady has spoken."
As we moved toward the door, I caught the expressions on the faces of the club staff lingering in the hallway. Relief, gratitude, something that looked almost like worship.
Marcus led us back to the car.
"You're shivering," Sebastian said once we were settled in the back seat, and before I could protest, he was shrugging out of his jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders.
"I rushed out too quickly," I said once we were settled in the back seat, tugging Sebastian's jacket tighter around myself.
"You were worried about me," Sebastian said, and there was something almost vulnerable in the way he said it, like he was testing the truth of the statement.
I nodded, leaning into the role he seemed to need me to play. "I thought maybe your enemies had finally gotten to you," I said softly, letting just enough genuine concern creep into my voice.
Sebastian's expression darkened. "You'd probably prefer that, wouldn't you?"
Here we go again. I turned to face him fully, meeting his suspicious gaze with what I hoped looked like hurt disappointment.
"You'll never have something you refuse to believe in, Sebastian," I said quietly.
He stared at me for a long moment in the dim light of the car's interior, something shifting in his expression. Then, without warning, he pulled me into his arms, crushing me against his chest.
"I believe you," he murmured against my hair, his voice carrying an edge of vulnerability and desperate hope. "I just... I hope you're not playing me."
Something twisted in my chest at the raw honesty in his voice, a flicker of genuine emotion that I quickly tried to suppress. For just a moment, he didn't sound like the controlling, calculating man who had imprisoned me—he sounded like someone who was terrified of being hurt.
We rode the rest of the way home in that embrace, the city lights streaming past the windows as Marcus navigated the empty streets.
Back at the penthouse, Sebastian disappeared into the bathroom while I got ready for bed. When he emerged—hair damp from the shower, wearing nothing but sleep pants—he slipped into bed beside me and immediately pulled me into his arms.
"I was good tonight," he murmured against my hair, his voice carrying an odd note of pride. "I didn't touch her. I barely looked at her."
"So?" I asked quietly, though I already knew where this was heading.
"Don't I deserve some kind of reward for my exemplary behavior?" There was something almost boyish in the way he asked, like a child seeking approval.
I turned in his arms to face him, studying his expression in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
His eyes held that same vulnerable hope I'd heard in his voice earlier, and before I could think better of it, I leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
"Goodnight, Sebastian," I whispered against his mouth, then settled back into his embrace, my head finding its place against his chest.
His arms came around me carefully, reverently, like he was afraid I might disappear if he held too tight. I felt his surprise—in all the months I'd been here, I had always slept with my back to him, a small act of defiance that kept some distance between us even in sleep.
But tonight was different. Tonight I faced him, let myself be held, and found that sleep came easier than it had in weeks.
As consciousness faded, one last thought drifted through my mind: somewhere along the way, my feelings for Sebastian had become impossibly, dangerously complicated.
And I wasn't sure what terrified me more—that I was starting to care for him, or that he was starting to matter.