Chapter 43 Chapter Forty three
Lena’s POV
The stairs of the jet lower with a soft hydraulic sigh, and cool morning air rushes in, brushing against my overheated skin like a contrast the universe engineered on purpose. I follow Sebastian down the steps, forcing my legs to move even though the rest of me feels like melted wax.
He doesn’t look at me.
Not once.
Not even when the sunlight hits him perfectly, making him look carved from something expensive..
I shouldn’t be thinking about what almost happened in that plane anyway.
I tug my blazer tighter around myself and pretend it helps hold my ribs in place.
A sleek black sedan waits for us, doors already open, driver standing stiff and professional. Of course. Sebastian exists in a world where everything anticipates him.
He gestures for me to enter first—polite, distant, soulless. I slide into the backseat, and he follows, sitting a measured space away from me. The air feels colder in here than outside, but I know it’s just him. His silence has a temperature.
We don’t speak.
The car pulls away from the small private terminal, gliding smoothly onto a palm-tree-lined boulevard. I keep my gaze glued to the window, but I can still feel him beside me—his shoulder, the faint scent of cedar and mint, the weight of all the things that nearly spilled out between us in midair.
I force my thoughts onto the scenery. The architecture, the people, the sun. Anything but him.
But the silence… God, the silence presses against my ears like hands.
I steal one glance at him.
He’s staring straight ahead, jaw tense, thumb pressed against his mouth like he’s punishing himself for almost wanting—
No.
Nope.
Not on this trip.
The car glides to a stop in front of the hotel, and I almost forget to breathe.
It’s a palace.
Marble steps, glass walls, gold-trimmed awnings, staff waiting at the entrance with immaculate posture. A fountain in the center throws diamond-shaped droplets into the air like it’s performing for us.
Sebastian steps out first.
I follow.
Inside, the lobby looks like a cathedral made of luxury. High ceilings, warm lighting, polished floors so reflective I’m afraid my anxiety is mirrored in them.
The receptionist’s eyes widen slightly when Sebastian approaches.
Of course she recognizes him.
Everyone always does.
“Welcome back, Mr. Lancaster,” she says with a smile reserved for royalty.
Back?
He’s been here before?
She hands over a digital pad for check-in, and he barely glances at it before signing.
I hover behind him awkwardly, pretending not to exist.
Then her smile flickers—just a tiny crack.
“Sir, as we mentioned earlier today, due to the international conference taking place, we were only able to secure one executive suite. It has two bedrooms, of course.”
I snap my head toward her.
Sebastian goes still.
The world holds its breath.
“One suite?” I repeat, because my brain must be malfunctioning.
“Yes, ma’am,” she answers sweetly. “With two separate bedrooms, a lounge area, and—”
“We’ll take it,” Sebastian cuts in, voice flat.
I spin toward him so fast my hair swishes.
“What? No—you can’t possibly expect—”
“The hotel is fully booked, Lena,” he says, jaw tight. “We’re not sleeping in the hallway. Come.”
He’s not apologetic.
He’s not embarrassed.
And I’m… dying.
I follow him to the elevators, my steps stiff, my mind screaming silently.
One suite.
One freaking suite.
If the universe wants to torture me, it should at least send a memo.
The elevator glides up smoothly, the soft music infuriatingly calm. Sebastian stands on the opposite side, hands behind his back, eyes on the floor display. I stare at the mirrored wall because it’s easier than looking at him and seeing… whatever is happening to us.
When the doors open, the hallway welcomes us with plush carpeting and soft lights. Our suite door unlocks with a beep. The moment we step inside, my breath catches.
Holy—
It’s massive.
Too massive for two people who almost kissed less than an hour ago.
Two bedrooms, yes—but an open living area with floor-to-ceiling windows, a shared balcony, a dining space, and a single, very romantic, very stupidly perfect city skyline view.
Who designs these rooms?
People who want enemies to become lovers?
Sebastian sets his suitcase down, loosens his tie, and I swear the room temperature rises ten degrees.
“You can take the left bedroom,” he says, voice neutral but something in his eyes… not neutral.
I nod quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Sure. Thanks.”
Why is my voice breathy? Why do I sound like a teenage girl hiding her crush behind textbooks?
I grab my suitcase and flee to the left bedroom.
Inside, I shut the door and lean on it, exhaling like I ran a marathon.
“Get it together,” I whisper to myself.
I change quickly—hair brushed, face washed, outfit appropriate—trying to scrub off the lingering echo of his almost-touch. But it clings. It always clings.
When I step back into the living room, ready for the meeting he scheduled, I nearly collide with him again.
He’s standing there in a crisp white shirt, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie undone but hanging loosely around his neck.
I hate him.
I hate how good he looks.
How effortless.
He freezes when he sees me. His gaze sweeps over me—neck, shoulders, waist—before he snaps his attention away like he caught himself breaking a rule.
“We should head down,” he says, adjusting his sleeves as if they offended him.
“Sure.”
Cold. Flat. My voice matches his.
We head to the restaurant and meet the executives—three men and a woman. Work-mode swallows me up quickly. I smile, nod, discuss marketing projections. Sebastian leads the conversation, effortlessly commanding the table.
Then one of the executives leans toward me.
“You’re new to the team?” he asks, voice smooth.
“Yes,” I answer politely.
“You’re doing an excellent job so far.”
I smile back, professionally, but before I can respond, I feel Sebastian’s gaze on me—sharp, cutting, possessive in a way he has no right to be.
Why is he glaring?
Why does he care?
Later, as we enter the elevator after the meeting, the tension is thick again. Sebastian stands beside me, close enough to graze my arm if either of us breathes wrong.
The elevator climbs.
Then—stutters.
Jolts.
Stops between floors.
My stomach drops.
“No, no, no—please no—”
It’s only a five-second pause, but I grab the handrail, breath shallow.
Sebastian moves instantly.
His hand settles on my lower back—warm, steady.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “You’re fine. It’s nothing.”
I don’t look at him. I can’t.
His touch is too grounding.
Too gentle.
Too everything.
Then the elevator resumes its climb and he pulls his hand away as fast as if he burned himself.
We step back into the suite in a silence that feels like a storm gathering strength.
“Seba—Mr. Lancaster ,” I say, turning toward him before I lose courage. “Why are you like this?”
He looks up sharply.
“Like what?”
“Cold. Then kind. Then cold again. You confuse me. You act like—” I swallow hard. “Like something is happening between us, and then you punish me for it.”
His jaw tightens.
“We’re here for work, Lena,” he says softly, but his voice wavers just barely. “Don’t read into anything else.”
My breath breaks.
“I didn’t ask for anything else,” I shoot back. “But you keep giving mixed signals, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t notice.”
He steps closer—just an inch.
Just enough to rattle me.
“You’re here for a job,” he says. “Don’t forget that.”
“I’m tired of that line,” I whisper. “So tired.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. He looks away first.
“We’re done talking.”
“Fine by me.”
I storm into my room, slam the door, and press my forehead against it.
My chest is shaking with anger and confusion and something hotter, something more dangerous than either.
I don’t want to care.
I don’t want to feel anything for him.
But then, through the door, I hear it.
Soft.
Quiet.
Almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
“Why do you always make things so difficult?”
I freeze—hand still on the door handle.
My heart trips over itself.
He didn’t walk away fast enough.
He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t sound angry.
He sounded… conflicted.
And suddenly, I’m not sure if I want to scream into a pillow—
Or open the door and demand he explain every single thing.
But I don’t move.
I just stand there.
Caught between wanting him and wanting to run.