chapter 27
Elena's POV:
The question hung between us, my voice barely above a whisper.
Sebastian's expression didn't change. There was something almost casual in the tilt of his head, a studied indifference.
"Does it matter?" he asked, his tone carrying that particular quality of mild curiosity, as though we were discussing the weather rather than permanent bodily harm inflicted on another human being. "He's just another irrelevant person."
I found myself staring at him, seized by an inexplicable need to hear him confirm or deny it.
"Sebastian," I said quietly, holding his gaze. "Please."
The single word seemed to shift something in his expression, a flicker of what might have been resignation or perhaps amusement crossing his features before he let out a breath that wasn't quite a sigh.
"No," he said finally, the admission coming out flat and matter-of-fact. "I didn't do it. I just happened to witness it."
I felt something loosen in my chest that I hadn't realized had been coiled tight, a strange relief flooding through me.
Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied my reaction, his thumb still tracing those careful circles against my knuckles.
"You know him?" he asked, his voice taking on that particular edge that suggested the question wasn't as casual as he was trying to make it sound. "You seem to care about a lot of people."
I didn't look away, didn't let myself retreat into the careful blankness I usually employed when he started probing into my past. Instead, I met his gaze directly, holding it with a steadiness.
"I don't want you to have blood on your hands," I said quietly, the words carrying more weight than I'd intended, more honesty than was probably wise.
Sebastian went very still at that, his expression shifting through several emotions too quickly for me to catalog before settling into something I couldn't quite read.
He looked at me for a long moment, that intense scrutiny that always made me feel like he was trying to see through skin and bone to whatever truth lay beneath.
Then, slowly, a smile curved his mouth—something softer, almost wondering.
"Are you worried about me?" he asked, his voice dropping into that lower register that suggested genuine curiosity. "Is this you caring?"
"I'm serious," I said, refusing to let him deflect with that particular brand of gentle mockery he employed.
I hesitated, my hand moving unconsciously to rest against my still-flat stomach, and saw his gaze track the movement with that sharp attention he brought to everything concerning the pregnancy.
"Even if you don't care about yourself," I continued quietly, "think of it as—as accumulating good karma. For the baby."
The words came out softer than I'd intended, carrying a weight I hadn't quite meant to reveal.
For all the ways Sebastian had controlled and confined me this past year. He'd been obsessive, possessive, suffocating in his attention, but never deliberately unkind. If anything, he'd been almost absurdly generous, surrounding me with luxury and comfort even as he kept me caged.
I didn't want to watch him sink deeper into whatever darkness already lived inside him. Didn't want to see him become the monster everyone else seemed to think he already was.
Sebastian's expression shifted, that soft smile fading into something more contemplative as he processed what I'd said.
For a long moment, he didn't speak, just stood there in the corridor with my hand still caught in his, the distant sounds of the restaurant creating a strange bubble of privacy around us.
"Alright," he said finally, and there was a weight to the word that suggested he was making a genuine concession rather than simply humoring me.
His free hand moved toward my stomach before he seemed to catch himself, redirecting to settle at my waist instead. "For our child. I'll be more careful."
---
The drive back to the penthouse was thick with a silence that felt different from our usual careful distance.
I stared out the window at the city lights blurring past, trying to organize my thoughts into something coherent, trying to process the confrontation with Vivienne and the strange conversation with Sebastian that had followed.
"What happened?" Sebastian asked finally, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. "What did your sister say to make you angry enough to hit her?"
The question landed like a stone in still water, sending ripples of fresh indignation through me as I remembered Vivienne's accusations, her smug certainty that she knew exactly what I'd been doing for the past year.
Girls like her know how to make themselves seem helpless and sweet when really they're just violent, vicious shrews.
Playing the victim, making men feel sorry for her, so they'll take care of her.
The words echoed in my head, carrying Vivienne's particular brand of venom, and I felt heat rise in my face as I realized that for all my righteous anger in the moment, I couldn't actually argue with the core accusation.
Sebastian was taking care of me. I was living in his penthouse, wearing clothes he'd bought, eating food he provided, existing in a state of absolute financial dependence that made Vivienne's crude assessment uncomfortably accurate.
The realization settled over me like a weight, pressing down on whatever fragile sense of moral superiority I'd been clinging to, and I felt my jaw tighten as I turned further toward the window, deliberately angling my body away from Sebastian's presence beside me.
"Elena," he said, and his voice had softened into that careful gentleness he sometimes employed when he sensed me retreating, when he was trying to coax me back rather than command. "Talk to me. What did she say?"
I didn't answer, couldn't make myself form words around the tight knot of shame and anger lodged in my throat.
The silence stretched between us, growing more tense with each passing second, until Sebastian let out a quiet breath that might have been resignation.
"If you won't tell me," he said, his tone still maddeningly calm, "I can send someone to ask her directly. I'm sure —"
"She said I'm your mistress," I snapped, whipping around to glare at him with all the frustration and humiliation I'd been trying to suppress. "That I disappeared because some wealthy man was keeping me hidden away like—like a pet or a possession."
The words came out sharp and bitter, carrying all the frustration of not being able to righteously deny what Vivienne had said, all the resentment that had been building because she was right—at least partially right.
Because Sebastian was keeping me, did provide everything, and that truth made it impossible to defend myself the way I wanted to, left me with nothing but this impotent anger that had nowhere to go except toward him.