chapter 6
Sebastian's POV:
I sat down on the bench across from Damian, elbows on my knees, hands clasped between them.
"She's pregnant," I said.
Damian blinked. Once. Twice.
Then his expression shifted—that knowing, worldly look he got when he thought he understood everything.
"Ah." He leaned forward, suddenly serious. Almost paternal. "So you don't want the kid. Look, Sebastian, I get it. It's complicated. But if you weren't ready for this, you should've been more careful with protection. And now—"
He lowered his voice, like he was imparting sacred wisdom. "If she does decide not to keep it, make sure she goes to a proper clinic. Those procedures can be brutal on a woman's body if they're not done right. I know a discreet doctor in Harley Street who—"
I stared at him.
Just... stared.
Like he'd suddenly grown a second head.
What the hell made me think this idiot would have anything useful to say?
"I want to marry her," I cut him off.
Damian's mouth hung open mid-sentence. His entire expression froze.
"You..." He blinked. "What?"
"I want to marry her," I repeated slowly. "Are you done?"
Damian's mouth snapped shut. He froze, staring at me like I'd just announced I was joining a monastery.
"You..." He tried again. "You want to marry her."
"Yes."
Silence. Complete, stunned silence.
Then Damian seemed to shake himself out of it. He leaned back, hesitantly asked.
"Okay. So... what's the problem then?"
I looked at him flatly. "She doesn't want to."
His eyes widened. For a moment, he just gaped at me like I'd told him the laws of physics had reversed.
"Sebastian Vane." He said my name slowly, like he was testing reality itself. "Heir to one of the oldest titles in England. Owner of Blackstone Financial. Arguably one of the most eligible bachelors in the country." He paused. "And she said no?"
I didn't bother answering. The silence spoke for itself.
Damian let out a long breath. Ran both hands through his hair.
"Well," he laughed—short and incredulous—"I have to say, I didn't see that coming, but Sebastian, I hate to break it to you: love isn't something you can force."
I looked at him.
This is what I get for asking.
"Maybe not, but what if you never even try?" I said flatly.
Damian opened his mouth. Closed it.
"What do I need?" I continued. "To get married. Legally. What documents?"
"I—" He sighed, recognizing defeat when he saw it. "Passport or driver's license. Birth certificate. That's the basics for a registry office wedding."
Birth certificate.
I stood up.
"Where are you going?"
"Blackwood Manor," I said. "Grandmother will have it."
"Sebastian, wait—"
But I was already moving toward the door.
---
I took the stairs two at a time back to the penthouse. Found Elena exactly where I'd left her—curled up on the sofa, eyes fixed on the television screen.
She didn't look at me when I entered. Didn't acknowledge my presence at all.
"Elena."
I crossed the room. Stopped in front of the television, blocking her view.
Finally, she looked at me. Those blue eyes were cool. Distant.
"I need to take you somewhere," I said.
That got a reaction.
She stared at me. I saw her lips part slightly—like she was about to ask where, or why, or what the hell I was playing at now.
Then something flickered across her face. Realization, maybe. That she was supposed to be giving me the silent treatment. That asking questions would break her carefully maintained wall of ice.
Her mouth closed. She looked away.
Without a word, she stood and walked to the entryway. Slipped on those delicate little flats.
I watched her. Couldn't help it.
Christ, that's... adorable.
The way she visibly swallowed the question. Even now, clearly wanting answers, she was determined to punish me with silence.
Fine.
Honestly, it made things easier. No arguments. No protests. No need to explain until I was ready.
I followed her to the elevator. Down to the garage. Into the car.
She sat on the far side, arms wrapped around herself, staring determinedly out the window.
The city gave way to trees, the road narrowing as we headed north.
The car turned onto the private drive—that long, winding road through ancient oaks.
And then Blackwood Manor appeared through the fog.
Elena sat up straighter. I saw her eyes widen as she took in the gray stone walls, the mullioned windows, the Gothic arches emerging from the mist like something from another century.
The car stopped in the circular drive.
Silence.
Then—finally—she turned to look at me. The question in her eyes was too strong to contain anymore.
"Where are we?"
"My family home," I said. "Blackwood Manor."
She went very still. Stared at the manor, then back at me, like she was trying to process whether I was serious.
"Your..." She swallowed. "What are we doing here?"
I couldn't help it—the corner of my mouth lifted.
"So you're done with the silent treatment?"
Her lips pressed together. That stubborn look flashed across her face, and for a moment, I thought she might retreat back into silence just to spite me.
But curiosity—or maybe unease—won out.
"What are we doing here, Sebastian?"
I reached over. Took her hand before she could pull away.
"What I said this morning." I kept my voice gentle. Reasonable. "I want to marry you. So I'm taking you to meet my grandmother." I paused, watching her face. "And I need to pick up my birth certificate."
She froze.
Completely, utterly froze.
I watched the realization hit her. Saw her eyes go wide, her breath catch, her whole body tense like she was about to bolt from the car.
"Sebastian—"