chapter 28
Elena's POV:
Sebastian's expression shifted at my outburst, something darkening in his eyes as he processed my words.
For a long moment, he didn't speak, just watched me with that particular intensity that suggested he was cataloging every micro-expression.
"I see," he said finally, his voice dropping.
The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, until I felt the car slow and realized we'd arrived back at the penthouse.
By the time we reached the penthouse, I'd retreated fully into that blank, distant state I'd perfected over the past year.
I walked past him into the apartment without waiting to be guided, heading directly for the bedroom with mechanical precision, already planning to lock myself in and avoid whatever confrontation he was clearly building toward.
But Sebastian, it seemed, had other plans.
"Come here," he said, his voice carrying that particular quality of calm command that suggested he wasn't making a request. "We need to talk."
I turned to find him standing in the doorway of the living room, his expression unreadable as he gestured toward the sofa with one hand. In the other, he held what looked like a leather portfolio, the kind used for important documents.
"I'm tired," I said, and heard how flat my own voice sounded, how utterly devoid of emotion. "I'd like to go to bed."
"Sit," Sebastian repeated. "This won't take long."
I considered refusing, considered pushing past him, but something in his expression made me hesitate—not anger or threat, but something that looked almost like determination mixed with a strange sort of resignation.
Slowly, reluctantly, I moved to the sofa and lowered myself onto it, perching on the edge.
Simmering resentment from the car still churning in my chest—anger at him for putting me in this position.
Sebastian crossed to the coffee table and set down the portfolio, flipping it open to reveal a thick stack of documents, all neatly organized and flagged with colored tabs that suggested careful preparation.
"What is this?" I asked, eyeing the papers with immediate suspicion.
"Your sister thinks you're being kept," Sebastian said, his tone matter-of-fact as he began pulling out documents and spreading them across the table with methodical precision. "That you've traded your talent and independence for financial security. That you're my—what was the phrase she used? My mistress, hiding away in luxury?"
Heat flooded my face at having Vivienne's accusations repeated back to me in his voice, at being forced to acknowledge them directly rather than letting them fester in the privacy of my own thoughts.
"I don't want to talk about this," I said tightly, already starting to rise from the sofa.
"Sit down," Sebastian said again, and this time there was something almost gentle in his voice, something that made me pause despite my instinct to flee. "Please."
The addition of that single word—please—caught me off guard enough that I found myself sinking back onto the sofa, watching warily as he continued organizing the documents.
"These," he said, gesturing to the spread of papers, "are property deeds. The penthouse, the house in the countryside, the apartment in Paris—all transferred into your name, effective immediately upon signature."
He pulled out another stack. "These are stock certificates. Controlling shares in Blackstone Financial, minority stakes in a dozen other companies—again, yours upon signature."
Another stack. "Bank account access. Offshore holdings. Investment portfolios." He looked up at me, his expression unreadable. "Sign these, and everything I own becomes legally yours. You won't be kept—you'll be the one doing the keeping."
I stared down at the documents spread across the coffee table, then back up at him, my mind reeling as I tried to process the sheer magnitude of what he was offering.
"You're not—" I started, then had to stop and swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat. "You're not afraid I'll just take everything and disappear?"
Sebastian's mouth curved into something that might have been amusement.
Before I could process what was happening, Sebastian's hands moved from my knees to my waist, pulling me forward and into his lap.
"We're going to get married," he said, his voice low and certain as he settled me against him, one arm wrapped securely around my waist while his free hand came up to tilt my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"That way, even if you do run, you'll be doing it as my wife. Mrs. Vane, not just—" He paused, something flickering in his expression. "Not just someone I kept."
His thumb traced along my jawline with careful gentleness that contradicted the possessive hold he had on me.
"And I want you to be able to take care of yourself when I'm not there," he continued, his tone softening fractionally. "To have the resources to be safe, to be comfortable, to have everything you need."
Then his expression shifted, that dangerous intensity reasserting itself as he leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear.
"But understand this," he murmured, and there was steel beneath the gentleness now. "If you do run, I will find you. There's nowhere you could go that I wouldn't eventually track you down."
His arm tightened around my waist, not painfully but unmistakably possessive.
I sat frozen in his lap, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I didn't know whether to be touched that he wanted me to have the means to care for myself or terrified by the absolute certainty in his voice when he promised he'd hunt me down no matter where I went.
Maybe both.
Sebastian lifted my hand from where it had been pressed against his chest, bringing it to his lips in a gesture that would have seemed gallant.
He pressed a kiss to my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine, then turned my hand over to brush his lips against my palm.
"Sign these," he said quietly, his breath warm against my skin, "And then when your sister or anyone else tries to reduce you to some kept woman, you can look them in the eye and tell them the truth—that you're the one with the power, that I'm the one dependent on your goodwill."
His mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile as his hand moved from my chin to cup my cheek, thumb brushing along my cheekbone with careful tenderness.
"So," he said quietly, and there was something almost vulnerable in his voice now. "Does this mean we can stop the Cold War? "