Chapter 55
Lirael
I shook my head, napkin pressed to mouth, trying to regain control. But my heart was racing, hands shaking, and I knew—I fucking knew—he'd seen my reaction, catalogued it, was adding it to whatever mental file he kept on me.
"Fine," I managed, voice rough. "Just... wrong way."
"How unfortunate." Sebastian settled back, looking entirely too pleased. "Water can be dangerous when you're not paying attention."
The server arrived with the first course—seared scallops with microgreens. Sebastian picked up his fork but kept attention on Celeste.
"You must be hungry, little moon. Eat."
She obeyed mechanically, cutting with precise, careful movements. Every gesture screamed submission, learned behavior from knowing disobedience had consequences.
I forced myself to look away, focus on my plate. My appetite had vanished. Sitting here watching this twisted performance felt like being trapped in a nightmare.
"So, Elena," Sebastian said conversationally. "How long in Ark City?"
I swallowed, buying time. "About two years."
"And what do you do?"
"Consulting. Financial analysis, mostly."
"Interesting." He cut his scallop with surgical precision. "Damian, you didn't mention your friend was in finance. We might have mutual contacts."
"I doubt it," Damian said shortly. "Elena works with small firms."
"Still, financial world is surprisingly small." Sebastian's eyes found mine. "I'm sure we'll discover we have more in common than we think."
Barely veiled threat. He'd investigate, dig into "Elena's" background until he found cracks.
I needed to get the hell out of here. Every minute increased exposure risk.
But before I could make an excuse, Sebastian leaned forward.
"Tell me, Elena—do you drive?"
Innocent question. I heard the trap.
"A little," I said carefully. "Nothing fancy."
"Hmm." He swirled wine, studying it. "Incident last night. Someone stole a car from my facility, led security on quite a chase through the industrial district. Exceptional driving—takes years to develop."
My pulse spiked. I kept my expression neutral. "Sounds dangerous."
"It was." Eyes lifted to meet mine, pure gold. "Driver evaded pursuit for quite some time. Very impressive. Very... memorable."
He was describing my escape, laying out details to see if I'd react. Testing whether "Elena" would show recognition.
I sipped water, steadying my voice. "I'm sure your security will catch them."
"Oh, I'm certain." Smile all teeth. "I never let go of what's mine."
Words hung like threat and promise combined.
Celeste had gone still beside him, fork frozen. She knew—had to know—every word was meant for someone else, that she was just a prop.
Guilt surged so strong it nearly choked me. She was sitting there because of me, enduring his attention because I'd asked her to take my place. Now trapped in this public performance, unable to escape without blowing both covers.
Fuck. This was all so fucked.
"Sebastian," Damian said, warning edge in his voice. "Perhaps we should discuss business another time."
"Should we?" Sebastian's attention shifted to Damian, predatory focus easing slightly. "I thought we were enjoying each other's company."
"We're not friends," Damian said quietly. "We're allies. There's a difference."
"How cold." Sebastian's smile suggested he wasn't offended. "Very well. Professional it is."
He raised his wine glass. "A toast. To new... partnerships."
Deliberate pause before "partnerships," loaded with meaning I couldn't parse. Damian raised his glass reluctantly. I followed, hand steady despite anxiety thrumming through my veins.
"To partnerships," Damian echoed.
Glasses clinked, crystalline in the quiet. I brought wine to my lips, forcing a normal sip while Sebastian tracked the movement.
He was studying me—not just looking, but analyzing every micro-expression, every gesture. Like he could decode truth through observation alone.
When I set my glass down, his gaze lingered before shifting to Celeste.
"Very quiet, little one," he said, brushing hair from her face. Almost tender, but Celeste flinched before catching herself.
Main course arrived—filet mignon with roasted vegetables, red wine reduction. The kind of meal costing more than most made in a week.
Sebastian cut into his steak, then paused. "Let me help with that."
Before Celeste could react, he'd switched their plates, giving her his perfectly cut portion.
"There. Better?"
She nodded but didn't eat.
"Go on. You need your strength."
Such a small gesture, seemingly kind. But I recognized it—another display of control, reminder that everything she did, everything she had, came from him.
My stomach turned. I set down my fork, unable to take another bite.
Asshole. Fucking asshole.
"Not hungry, Elena?" Sebastian asked, noticing immediately.
"Scallops were filling."
"Hmm." He studied me longer, then returned to his meal. But I felt him watching in peripheral vision, cataloguing every reaction.
The meal dragged on in tense silence, broken only by silverware clinks and murmured conversation from other tables. Through the windows, Ark City spread below, afternoon sun glinting off steel and glass.
Should have been beautiful. Instead felt like sitting in a cage, waiting for the door to slam.
When the server cleared plates, Sebastian stood abruptly, helping Celeste to her feet with exaggerated courtesy. "If you'll excuse us for a moment. I need to make a call—business matter that can't wait. We'll use the lounge."
"Of course," Damian said, though tension radiated from every line of his body.
Sebastian guided Celeste toward the restaurant's private lounge area, hand possessive on her lower back. She moved like a doll, mechanical and lifeless, and the sight made something crack inside my chest.
The moment they disappeared through the mahogany doors, Damian leaned across the table, voice urgent and low. "Lirael. We need to leave. Now."
"He knows," I whispered, fingers trembling around my water glass. "Damian, he fucking knows."
"I'm aware." His jaw was tight, eyes tracking the lounge entrance like Sebastian might reappear any second. "The question is what he plans to do about it."
"He's toying with us. With me." My breath came shallow, panic clawing up my throat. "Every word, every look—it's all a game to him."
"Then we don't play." Damian pulled out his phone, typing rapidly. "Marcus is bringing the car around to the service entrance. We'll say you're not feeling well, slip out while he's occupied."
"And Celeste?" The words tasted like ash. "We're just going to leave her with him?"
Damian's expression hardened. "She made her choice."
My voice rose slightly before I caught myself, dropping back to a harsh whisper. "She's there because of me, playing a role I should be—"
"A role that would get you killed," Damian interrupted. "Or worse. You think Sebastian brought her here just for show? He's sending a message. 'Look what I have. Look what I can do to what's mine.' If he suspects you switched places, Celeste becomes leverage."
The truth of it hit like a fist to the gut. Of course. Everything Sebastian did was calculated, designed to corner and control.
"We can't just abandon her."
"We're not." Damian's phone buzzed.
He was right. I knew he was right. But the guilt sat heavy in my chest, thick and choking.