Chapter 44 Chapter Forty-Four
Lena’s POV
Morning comes too fast.
I barely sleep—my mind is a carousel of replayed whispers, especially Sebastian’s voice outside my door last night:
“Why do you always make things so difficult?”
It shouldn’t bother me.
It shouldn’t get under my skin.
But it does.
It sits in my chest like a stone, cold and heavy and impossible to ignore.
I drag myself out of bed, shower, and dress for the first day of meetings. Black slacks, soft beige blouse, hair pulled into a low twist. Professional. Neutral. Safe. The kind of armor I need when the man who keeps accidentally breaking me is just a wall away.
When I finally step into the shared living room, I stop short.
Sebastian is already there.
He stands near the window, dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that shouldn’t look as sinful as it does. His back is to me, shoulders broad, posture straight—as if he’d been carved from ice and self-control.
He turns at the sound of the door closing behind me.
For a moment, I swear something flickers in his eyes. Something almost warm.
But then it’s gone, replaced with his usual cool composure.
“Good morning,” he says, voice clipped.
“Morning.” Mine comes out equally tight.
We stare at each other for a heartbeat too long. Neither of us acknowledges last night—the argument, the tension, the way he sounded frustrated, almost… hurt.
He breaks eye contact first. “We should head down for breakfast. We have the morning briefing at nine.”
“Right,” I mutter.
He opens the suite door and gestures for me to walk out first.
I do.
But as he falls into step behind me, his presence feels too close, too warm, too aware.
I hate how much I notice.
The hotel dining area is beautiful—modern, glassy, full of morning sunlight. A hostess smiles at us as we approach, menus in hand.
“Table for two?” she asks brightly, eyes flicking between us. “You both look gorgeous this morning. Anniversary trip?”
Sebastian reacts instantly—stiff shoulders, tight jaw.
“We’re colleagues. Business trip,” he says sharply.
I want the ground to swallow me.
The hostess apologizes, flustered, and leads us to a table. I slide into my seat and pretend I don’t see the way Sebastian adjusts his cufflinks—a nervous tick I’ve started to recognize.
We order coffee and food, the silence between us thick and uncomfortable.
Every now and then, our eyes meet without meaning to. And every time, one of us looks away too quickly.
I hate how awkward it is.
I hate that I care.
I hate that last night’s tension is still buzzing beneath my skin like static.
Finally, he clears his throat. “About yesterday—”
“Let’s not.” I cut him off, forcing a smile. “We’re here for work.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Right. Work.”
The conference hall is buzzing when we arrive—dozens of people networking, greeting each other, adjusting ties. A huge digital banner hangs across the room with the name of the partner company hosting this portion of the retreat.
Sebastian becomes CEO- Lancaster-mode instantly. Sharp. Commanding. Controlled. He greets the executives with a firm handshake and a polite, businesslike smile that never touches his eyes.
I hang slightly behind him—observing, learning, mentally preparing for the presentation.
Sebastian moves with that intimidating presence he carries everywhere, but today… today there’s something else layered beneath it. A stiffness. A tension that only I see.
Maybe he feels the weight of last night too.
When we sit, he leans toward me slightly, voice dropping. “You’ll handle the brand integration portion.”
I blink. “I thought Sienna—”
“She’s not here. And you’re the only one who’s been hands-on with that segment since she left.”
His tone is flat, as if daring me to argue.
When my part comes, I stand and speak with steady confidence.
I explain the visuals.
The market-angle.
Why the cross-cultural tie-ins will elevate the campaign’s reach.
I expect nerves.
Instead, I feel… powerful.
When I finish, the room is silent for a beat—then a ripple of impressed nods follows.
Sebastian watches me with an expression I can’t read.
Pride?
Surprise?
Something warm and soft he’ll deny until the world ends?
He gives me a barely-there nod.
My chest tightens.
Midway through the partner’s segment, one of their executives flips to a slide that contradicts a core part of our contract. A detail that could derail the campaign’s timeline.
Tension spreads across the room instantly.
The partner’s team looks panicked.
Our team looks irritated.
The energy shifts—sharp and dangerous.
Sebastian’s jaw ticks.
Before he can jump in—before anyone does—I take a small step forward.
“Actually,” I say evenly, “I think this is a simple miscommunication. If we merge your deliverable timeline with our existing rollout chart…” I pull up the document on the projector, “…we can align both strategies without delay.”
People lean forward.
I keep going—calmly, clearly, outlining a middle path both teams can agree on.
By the time I finish, the room relaxes. The partner team nods fervently. The crisis dissolves like sugar in hot water.
Sebastian’s voice cuts through the murmurs, firm and confident:
“Nicely handled, Lena.”
Everyone hears it.
My cheeks heat. He never praises lightly.
I mumble a “Thank you,” but my voice shakes in a way I hope no one notices.
After the meeting, we step into a quieter lounge area. My adrenaline still hums beneath my skin. I’m proud—but also flustered by how intently Sebastian kept watching me during the meeting. Almost like he was… seeing me differently.
He stops and turns to face me fully.
“You were exceptional in there,” he says.
I look up. His eyes are softer than I expect.
“I just did what needed to be done.”
“No.” His tone is low, almost gentle. “You did more than that.”
I swallow hard.
There’s a moment—a real one.
Unfiltered.
Unguarded.
His eyes linger on mine a second too long, like he’s about to say something else. Something he’s been holding back for far too long.
But someone calls his name across the hall.
The moment shatters.
He steps back. Mask on. Voice steady. “We should regroup later.”
“Sure,” I whisper.
We get three free hours before the next event.
I don’t want to sit in the suite overthinking everything Sebastian did and didn’t say. So I grab my bag and slip out of the hotel, deciding to explore the quiet streets nearby.
The weather is warm, breezy, peaceful.
I stop at a small café with plants hanging from the awning, order a cold drink, and find a spot outside.
I’m finally relaxing when a shadow falls across my table.
I look up and of course Sebastian.
He stands there in another one of his unfairly perfect suits, hands in pockets, expression frustratingly unreadable.
“You’re here,” he says. Not a question. As if he’d been looking.
“Apparently,” I reply.
His lips almost twitch. Almost.
He sits across from me without asking permission. “I needed fresh air.”
“Right. And it just happened to lead you to the same café I’m at?”
He doesn’t react. “This was the closest place.”
Liar.
But I let it go, because arguing with him always leaves me exhausted, and I don’t have the energy for another round of denial and avoidance.
When we leave, the sky has turned slightly overcast, clouds rolling in lazily. The sidewalk near the café is uneven, cracked in places. My heel catches on one.
I stumble.
Before I can fall, Sebastian is there—hands gripping my waist, pulling me against him.
We freeze.
His hands are warm.
His breath brushes my cheek.
My fingers curl into his jacket on instinct.
For a heartbeat, the world shrinks to nothing but the space between our mouths.
He doesn’t let go.
Not right away.
His eyes drop to my lips.
Just for a second.
Just long enough for my pulse to trip over itself.
“Careful,” he murmurs. His voice is low, rougher than usual.
“I—I’m fine,” I whisper.
Finally, painfully, he steps back.
The air between us vibrates with something dangerous.
“This would be easier if you stopped acting like you don’t care,” I say quietly.
His posture goes rigid.
When he speaks, his voice is strained, almost pained.
“You assume too much.”
That hurts more than it should.
My chest tightens. “Do I?”
He doesn’t answer.
He just looks at me—really looks at me—for a long, heavy moment. His eyes burn with something he won’t name, something he refuses to acknowledge.
Then he steps back again, walls snapping up like steel.
“We should return to the hotel,” he says.
The finality in his voice knocks the air from my lungs.
We walk in silence.
The sky grows darker with every step, clouds thickening, wind picking up. I hug my arms around myself, partly from the breeze, partly from the ache settling deep inside me.
Sebastian walks beside me, but it feels like we’re worlds apart.
By the time we reach the hotel, the first cold droplets of rain start to fall.
We step inside the elevator.
The doors slide shut.
The rain outside intensifies, drumming against the hotel windows. The elevator lights flicker once—just enough to make my heart jump.
And then silence.
A heavy, charged silence.
I stare straight ahead, refusing to look at him. Because if I do, I’ll crack. I’ll spill every feeling I’ve spent months burying.
But I feel him turn toward me slowly.
Heat gathers at my neck.
His voice, low and unsteady:
“Lena…”
I finally look up.
And what I see in his eyes steals the oxygen from my lungs.
Something fierce.
Something conflicted.
Something he can’t hide anymore.
The air between us tightens—
And the elevator keeps climbing.