chapter 88
Elena's POV:
I was nestled against Sebastian's chest, idly scrolling through my phone while his fingers played with loose strands of my hair, when the notification popped up that made my heart skip.
The Metamorphosis collection—my collaboration with Master Henri Beaumont—wasn't just selling well. It had completely sold out within one hour of launch.
My breath caught as I refreshed the page, watching the flood of comments pour in.
"PLEASE tell me there's a second batch coming!"
"I had it in my cart, and it disappeared!"
"This is the collaboration of the decade, and I MISSED IT."
The desperation in the messages was both flattering and overwhelming.
"Sebastian," I said, my voice pitched higher with excitement as I twisted in his arms to show him the screen. "Look at this!"
His arms tightened automatically around my waist, steadying me as I practically vibrated with enthusiasm. "What has you so worked up, sweetiee?"
"The Metamorphosis collection is completely sold out! " I scrolled quickly, my hands trembling slightly, "People are actually begging for a restock. Look at these comments!"
I felt rather than heard his chuckle, the rumble of it vibrating through his chest where I was pressed against him. He took the phone from my shaking hands, his eyes scanning the screen with increasing interest.
"'The Onyx strikes again,'" he read aloud, a note of possessive pride creeping into his voice. "'Making us all fight for scraps of genius.' Well, they're not wrong about the genius part."
"I didn't expect this kind of response," I admitted, still staring at the screen in disbelief.
"Of course it did," he murmured against my hair, his hand coming to rest protectively over the slight swell of my stomach. "Everything you touch turns to gold. Though I'd prefer if fewer people knew how talented you are. Makes it harder to keep you all to myself."
I laughed, the sound bubbling up naturally in a way that would have seemed impossible just months ago. "You can't hide me away forever, you know. The world has already discovered Onyx."
"Watch me try," he said, but there was a teasing note in his voice that softened the possessive edge.
My phone rang then, Robert's name flashing across the screen. I answered quickly.
"Elena! I just saw the news about your perfume collection," Robert's voice was warm with genuine excitement. "That's incredible, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you!"
"You've been following my perfume work?" I couldn't hide my surprise. Between the Sterling family dynamics and his careful balancing act at home, I hadn't expected him to keep track of my career.
"Of course I have. I've been refreshing the Beaumont website all morning trying to get my hands on a bottle for—" His voice cut off suddenly, and I heard what sounded like a door opening, followed by muffled voices in the background.
"Dad?" I prompted, but I could already hear the change in the atmosphere through the phone.
"I—I have to go, sweetheart. We'll talk later, okay? Congratulations again!" The line went dead before I could respond.
I stared at the phone for a moment, a familiar bitterness creeping in.
Whoever had just walked into the room—Rebecca, Vivienne, or perhaps both—clearly didn't appreciate seeing Robert showing enthusiasm for my success.
Some things, it seemed, would never change.
Sebastian must have sensed the shift in my mood because he gently took the phone from my hand and set it aside.
"To celebrate the Metamorphosis collection's success," he announced, already rising from the couch, "I'm cooking lunch today."
My eyes lit up instantly. "Really? "
"Don't look at me like I just offered you the moon," he said, though his lips twitched with amusement at my obvious excitement.
"You might as well have," I admitted, already pushing myself up to follow him. "I've been dreaming about your cooking ever since that last time. "
"That was nearly a month ago," he pointed out, already heading toward the kitchen.
"Exactly! A whole month!" I trailed after him eagerly. "Between the merger negotiations and those back-to-back board meetings, you've barely been home for dinner, let alone had time to cook."
Sebastian had banished me from the kitchen with strict orders to relax while he prepared lunch.
The sight of him in an apron, sleeves rolled up as he moved with surprising competence around our kitchen, was something I still hadn't quite gotten used to.
The dangerous man who controlled half the city's financial markets was currently frowning at a recipe on his tablet, muttering something about the proper way to sear scallops.
An hour later, I was practically inhaling the last of the divine meal he'd prepared—perfectly seared scallops with that saffron cream sauce I'd been dreaming about, accompanied by vegetables so precisely seasoned.
"Slow down," he said, though his voice was warm with satisfaction as he watched me clean my plate with embarrassing enthusiasm. "The food isn't going anywhere."
"You don't understand," I mumbled around my last bite.
After he'd cleared the dishes—refusing my half-hearted offers to help—I'd curled up on the living room sofa, intending to just rest my eyes for a moment.
The combination of pregnancy exhaustion and food coma proved irresistible.
I was dimly aware of Sebastian's presence as he draped a soft cashmere throw over me, his movements careful and deliberate to avoid waking me.
His fingers lingered for just a moment, brushing a strand of hair from my face before I heard his quiet footsteps retreating toward his study.
He used to try to coax me into the bedroom for proper naps, forever concerned about my comfort. But after catching me on this sofa one too many times, he'd simply had it replaced with an oversized sectional that could easily accommodate my expanding body.
The plush carpets that now covered most of the penthouse floors were another silent concession to my barefoot habits.
As I drifted off, afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, warming my face and seeping into my bones. The warmth went deeper than skin, settling somewhere in my chest where my defenses had crumbled without my knowing when.
---
The sharp chime of the doorbell jolted me from what had been a perfectly comfortable nap.
I blinked groggily, disoriented by the afternoon light slanting through the windows.
Sebastian was still sequestered in his study—I could hear the low murmur of what sounded like a conference call through the closed door.
With a sigh, I pushed myself up from the sofa, taking a moment to smooth down my wrinkled dress and finger-comb my hair before padding to the door.
The woman framed in our doorway was unmistakable, despite my only having glimpsed her in glossy magazine spreads and across crowded ballrooms at charity galas—Grace Black, Nicholas's mother.