Chapter 178
Sebastian
Three days later, I stood in the private greenhouse on the estate's grounds and wondered if I'd completely lost my mind.
The space had been transformed. What was normally a functional research area filled with experimental plants and medical specimens now looked like something out of a fairy tale—or at least what I imagined a fairy tale might look like, given that my childhood had been notably short on bedtime stories and long on survival training.
Thousands of white flowers hung from the glass ceiling on nearly invisible threads, creating a canopy of blossoms that caught and reflected the afternoon light in ways that made the entire space glow. More flowers—these ones alive and growing—had been coaxed into blooming early, their vines winding up the support columns and across the walls in patterns that seemed almost deliberate, almost conscious in their arrangement.
A table had been set in the center of it all, intimate and elegant, with place settings that had probably cost more than most people made in a year and candles waiting to be lit as soon as the sun began to set. The whole thing was ridiculously romantic, painfully vulnerable, and completely unlike anything Sebastian Blackwood had ever done for anyone.
Marcus stood beside me, surveying our work with the kind of critical eye he usually reserved for security assessments. "You're sure about this?"
"No." I adjusted one of the hanging flowers that was slightly out of alignment, then immediately second-guessed whether it had looked better before. "But I'm doing it anyway."
"She's going to know something's up." He moved to help me with the flower, his hands steadier than mine, which was probably a bad sign given that I was supposed to be the controlled one. "Lirael's not stupid. The moment you tell her you have a surprise, she's going to assume it's some kind of test or manipulation."
"I know." I stepped back to examine the overall effect, trying to see it through her eyes—through the eyes of someone who'd spent three years in captivity, who'd learned to distrust every gesture of kindness because they always came with strings attached. "That's why I'm not going to tell her anything. I'm just going to bring her here and let her draw her own conclusions."
Marcus made a sound that might have been skepticism or might have been grudging approval—with him it was sometimes hard to tell. "And if she draws the conclusion that this is another elaborate mind game?"
"Then I'll deal with it." I turned to face him, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep from fidgeting like a nervous teenager. "Look, I know this is... unusual. I know it goes against every rule I've ever had about maintaining distance and control. But the fever the other night, the way she stayed even when I was barely coherent and probably terrifying—it made me realize something."
"That you're in love with her?" Marcus supplied, his tone carefully neutral.
"That I'm running out of time." I corrected, though his words hit closer to the mark than I wanted to admit. "The entropy is accelerating. You've seen the reports from Dr. Chen—my bloodwork is deteriorating faster than any previous case on record. I have maybe a few months before I start losing coherent thought, maybe a year before I'm completely gone."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implications we'd both been avoiding. Marcus's expression didn't change, but I saw his jaw tighten fractionally, the only sign of emotion he'd allow himself.
"All the more reason to keep your distance," he said finally. "To not give her—or yourself—something that you can't sustain."
"Maybe." I looked back at the greenhouse, at the flowers and the candlelight and the ridiculous romantic gesture that was so far outside my normal operating parameters it might as well have been on another planet. "Or maybe it's all the more reason to make sure that when she remembers me—after I'm gone—she has at least one memory that isn't tainted by darkness and control and all the fucked up dynamics of how we started."
Marcus was quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was softer than I'd heard it in years. "You really care about her."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yeah. I really do."
"Then for God's sake, Sebastian, tell her that." He gripped my shoulder, the gesture brief but firm. "Don't hide behind romantic gestures and carefully orchestrated surprises. Just tell her the truth—that you care, that you're scared, that you want whatever time you have left to mean something."
"I can't." The admission felt like pulling teeth. "Because if I tell her that, if I'm that honest, then I'm asking her to grieve for me. I'm asking her to invest in something she's going to lose, and that's not fair when she's already lost so much."
"And you think this is fair?" Marcus gestured at the greenhouse. "You think setting up an elaborate romantic dinner and giving her a perfect evening isn't going to make her care? Isn't going to make losing you hurt just as much, if not more?"
He had a point. Of course he had a point—Marcus always had a point, which was why he'd survived as my second for so long. But I was committed now, had already set the wheels in motion, and backing out would be its own kind of cruelty.
"I just want her to have something good," I said finally. "One memory that isn't complicated by captivity or coercion or the fact that I'm literally dying. Is that really so wrong?"
Marcus sighed, the sound heavy with resignation and something that might have been sympathy. "No. It's not wrong. It's just... be careful, Sebastian. For both your sakes."
I found Lirael in the library an hour later, curled up in one of the oversized armchairs with a book on advanced biochemistry and a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. She looked up as I entered, her expression shifting from focused concentration to wary curiosity in the space of a heartbeat.
"Sebastian." She marked her place in the book and set it aside, her posture straightening in a way that suggested she was preparing for conflict. "Is something wrong?"
"No." I crossed to where she sat, suddenly nervous in a way I hadn't been since I was a teenager trying to navigate my first Alpha challenge. "Actually, I... I have something I'd like to show you. If you're willing."
Her eyes narrowed fractionally, and I could practically see her mind working, analyzing my words and tone for hidden meaning or potential danger. "Show me what?"
"It's a surprise." I held out my hand, palm up, an offering rather than a demand. "I promise it's not a test or a trap or anything that will hurt you. I just... I'd like you to come with me."
For a moment I thought she would refuse, would demand more information or simply dismiss the whole thing as another manipulation. But then something in her expression shifted, curiosity winning out over caution, and she placed her hand in mine with a trust that made my chest tighten.
"All right." She stood, her fingers warm against my palm. "Lead the way."
I led her through the estate, taking the long route through the gardens rather than the direct path, giving myself time to second-guess every decision that had led to this moment. By the time we reached the greenhouse, my heart was beating faster than it had any right to, and I had to consciously steady my breathing before pushing open the door.