Chapter 92 Chapter ninty-two
Lena’s POV
I get to work earlier than usual, not because I’m eager, but because being alone in my apartment feels suffocating.
Victoria’s voice is still there.
Her eyes.
Her certainty.
Her cruelty wrapped in silk and entitlement.
I sit at my desk and open my laptop, staring at emails without really seeing them. My fingers move automatically, muscle memory taking over while my mind stays trapped in the morning—her standing in my living room like she owned the place, like I was the intruder in a life she believed still belonged to her.
I tell myself to focus.
Work.
Just work.
But it’s impossible not to feel him before I see him.
Sebastian’s presence always shifts the air. Today, it’s sharper. He walks past my desk, and I don’t look up. I feel his pause though. Feel his gaze linger longer than usual, like he’s trying to read something off my face
I refuse to give him that satisfaction.
A few minutes later, my phone vibrates.
Sebastian: Come to my office. Please.
I close my eyes briefly.
Of course.
I push my chair back and stand, smoothing my skirt, schooling my face into something neutral. By the time I knock on his door, my spine is straight and my expression is controlled.
“Come in,” he says.
I step inside, and the door closes behind me with a quiet click that sounds far too final.
He’s standing, not seated behind his desk like usual. That alone tells me something is different. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it too much.
“Are you okay?” he asks immediately.
The concern in his voice almost cracks me.
Almost.
“I’m fine,” I say.
He exhales slowly, like he doesn’t believe me. “You’ve been distant since yesterday.”
I say nothing.
“I’m sorry,” he continues. “For how I handled things. For leaving you like that. I shouldn’t have walked out.”
That image flashes in my head—his back as he walked away from the dressing room, leaving me standing there feeling small, confused, unwanted.
Something tightens in my chest.
“I needed a moment,” he adds. “But I realize now that I made it worse.”
That’s when the restraint breaks.
“My morning was worse,” I say quietly.
He stiffens. “What do you mean?”
I meet his eyes for the first time since walking in. “Victoria came to my apartment.”
The effect is immediate.
His face drains of color. “She did what?”
“She showed up. Uninvited.” My hands curl into fists at my sides. “She insulted me. My home. My life. She told me I’m poor. That you ‘stooped low’ by being with me.”
His jaw tightens, anger flashing sharp and dangerous. “She had no right—”
“She told me to stay away from you,” I interrupt. “She said you have something planned for her on your birthday. That you want to get back together. That you want your family back.”
The silence that follows is heavy and electric.
Sebastian runs a hand through his hair, pacing once like a caged animal before stopping in front of me. “That’s a lie.”
I study his face—his eyes, his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. He looks furious. Genuinely furious.
“There is nothing going on between Victoria and me,” he says firmly. “Nothing planned. Nothing implied. Nothing promised.”
“Then why is she so confident?” I ask. “Why does she feel entitled enough to come to my home and threaten me?”
His expression softens, guilt creeping in beneath the anger. “Because I didn’t shut her down hard enough.”
I blink. “What?”
“I thought keeping things civil—for Wes—was the right thing to do. I underestimated her. That’s on me.” He exhales. “I’m sorry you were dragged into that.”
Dragged.
Like I’m collateral.
“I didn’t ask to be in the middle of this,” I say, my voice shaking despite my effort. “I didn’t ask to be caught between you and your ex-wife. Or you and your son.”
That lands.
His eyes darken. “Lena—”
“She told me to leave you alone,” I continue. “Like I’m some phase you’ll grow out of.”
He steps closer. “You’re not.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m fighting ghosts?” I ask. “People from your past who still have claims on you?”
He looks pained. “I never meant for you to feel like that.”
“And your birthday?” I ask suddenly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He blinks, caught off guard.
“I had to hear about it from her,” I say. “Why?”
He hesitates, and that hesitation hurts more than if he’d lied.
“A lot has been on my mind,” he finally says. “The arrest. The aftermath. Wes. You. Everything.” He sighs. “I didn’t feel like celebrating anything.”
“You didn’t feel like telling me,” I correct softly.
His shoulders drop. “You’re right. I should have.”
He steps closer again, voice lower now. “I’m sorry. For yesterday. For today. For letting Victoria cross boundaries. For making you feel like you don’t belong.”
I swallow hard.
“I care about you,” he says. “Deeply. I’m not planning a future with Victoria. I’m not going back. Whatever she’s telling herself—that’s not my reality.”
I want to believe him.
I really do.
And part of me does.
But another part of me—quieter, more fragile—feels tired.
Tired of secrets.
Tired of tension.
Tired of standing in the crossfire of relationships that existed long before me.
“I hear you,” I say finally.
His eyes search my face. “Is that enough?”
I hesitate.
“Yes,” I say out loud.
But inside, something doesn’t settle.
Because even as he apologizes… even as he reassures me… I can’t shake the truth that keeps pressing against my chest:
I’m not just loving a man.
I’m standing between a father and his son.
And I don’t know what that makes me.
I don’t know if love is enough to survive that.