chapter 10
Elena's POV:
I turned to look at Sebastian.
His face was perfectly blank, but his eyes gave him away. Dark and sharp and hurt, like I'd just kicked a dog that was already bleeding.
I didn't understand this man.
One second he was standing there admitting he'd failed to get the birth certificate—looking almost defeated —and the next he was back to this. Possessive. Paranoid. Ready to see betrayal in the way I breathed.
"I wasn't—" I started.
"Save it." He straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I'll have Marcus take you back to the penthouse."
I blinked. "What?"
"You heard me." His voice was flat now. Business-like. "And don't get your hopes up about seeing Adrian. I'm not letting you play out some white knight rescue fantasy."
I blinked at him.
Sometimes Sebastian was so deep in his own paranoid drama that it would've been almost funny—if I weren't the one trapped in it with him.
"Fine," I said quietly.
He leaned down then, close enough that I could smell his cologne. His breath was warm against my ear.
"If I find out you tried to run again," he murmured, soft and deadly, "there'll be no escaping your punishment this time."
My face went hot.
I knew exactly what kind of punishment he was talking about. The kind that started with his hands on my skin and ended with me forgetting why I'd been angry in the first place. The kind that left me gasping and wrecked.
"Don't worry," I said, keeping my voice steady even as my pulse hammered in my throat. "I won't make things harder for myself again."
He pulled back just enough to study my face.
Then he turned and walked away without another word, his footsteps crunching on the gravel path as he disappeared back toward the manor.
I sat there by the koi pond for a long moment, watching the fish circle beneath the surface of the water. Oblivious. Free.
Lucky bastards.
---
Marcus drove me back in one of the black sedans.
He didn't try to make conversation. Just kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. Professional to the core.
I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window and watched the city blur past. We'd left the trees and fog behind, trading them for steel and concrete and the distant hum of traffic.
My hand drifted to my stomach without thinking. Still flat. Still the same.
Such a small amount of time. And yet everything had changed.
By the time we reached the penthouse, exhaustion had settled into my bones like lead.
Pregnancy, apparently, was designed to make you feel like you'd run a marathon while also being hit by a truck. Everything ached. My head throbbed faintly behind my eyes.
And all I wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep for a decade.
"Miss Ross." Marcus's voice was quiet as he opened my door. "We've arrived."
I mumbled something resembling a thank-you and let him escort me up to the top floor.
Marcus left me at the door with a polite nod. I heard the elevator doors close behind him, sealing me in.
Alone again.
I kicked off my shoes and padded across the cold marble floor to the bedroom.
At least Lady Margaret hadn't given him the birth certificate. Small mercy in a sea of disasters.
But even that temporary reprieve only drove home what I'd known all along—I couldn't fight him. Going against him would only make things worse for me.
Maybe the best I could hope for was that he'd get bored eventually. That whatever obsession drove him to lock me up here would burn itself out, and he'd finally let me go.
I was so tired. Tired of running. Tired of fighting. Tired of waking up every morning and wondering if today would be the day I found a way out, only to fail again.
I collapsed onto the bed without bothering to change, pulling the covers up over my shoulders.
I shoved all the thoughts away and let sleep drag me under.
---
Rain.
Cold and relentless, hammering down like the sky was trying to drown the world.
I was small again. Maybe eight. Maybe nine. Young enough that my soaked dress clung to my skin like ice, and my hair was plastered to my face in dark, tangled strands.
I'd walked for hours through the downpour. Away from the house. Away from my stepmother's cutting remarks about how I "ate their food" and "wasted their money." Away from my stepsister's smug smile when she'd torn up my drawing.
Away from my father, who'd just stood there. Said nothing. Done nothing.
Nobody would miss me. Not really.
The stone bridge stretched ahead of me, slick and gray, the river churning dark and fast beneath it. I climbed onto the railing, my hands shaking so hard I nearly slipped.
Just let go. It would be over so quickly.
I closed my eyes, feeling the rain on my face, the wind pulling at my clothes.
One step. That's all it would take.
"Don't."
A voice. Sharp and commanding.
Before I could react, hands grabbed me from behind—strong and sure—yanking me backward so hard we both crashed onto the wet pavement.
I gasped, my lungs burning, rain filling my mouth.
"What the hell were you thinking?" The voice was furious now, shaking with rage—or maybe fear. "You have any idea what you almost did?"
I couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe.
Hands gripped my shoulders, forcing me to look up. But the rain was too heavy, his face just a blur—dark hair, sharp features I couldn't quite make out.
"You don't get to quit." His voice was harsh, rough, like gravel. "You hear me? The world's cruel and it'll try to break you, but you don't give it the satisfaction. You fight back. You survive."
I wanted to tell him I was tired. That I didn't know how to fight anymore.
But all I could do was sob—ugly, broken sounds that mixed with the rain.
He pulled me against his chest then, one hand cradling the back of my head. His coat was rough wool, scratchy against my cheek, but he was warm. So warm.
"You're stronger than you think," he said, quieter now. Almost gentle. "Don't let them win."
I never saw his face clearly. Never learned his name.
But I remembered his words.
---
I woke to the feeling of something brushing against my cheek.
Gentle. Careful.
My eyes fluttered open, disoriented and heavy with sleep. The room was dim, and for a moment I couldn't remember where I was.
Then I focused on the figure sitting on the edge of my bed.
Sebastian.
His hand was against my face, thumb sliding across my cheekbone. It came away wet.
I'd been crying in my sleep.
"You're back," I said, my voice hoarse and thick.
His jaw was tight, his eyes dark and unreadable as he studied my face. "Not letting you see him upset you this much?"