chapter 107
Sebastian's POV:
I shifted in the leather seat of my private jet, the hum of engines a distant backdrop to the turmoil in my mind.
Outside the window, endless clouds stretched beneath us as we crossed the Atlantic toward New York, but my attention remained fixed on the phone in my hand.
The screen displayed a photo I'd taken last night—Elena curled against the pillows, her lips still slightly swollen from our kisses, one hand protectively curved over her growing belly even in sleep.
"You know," Nicholas's voice cut through my reverie from the seat across from me, "most men look at quarterly reports during business flights. Not photos of their wives like some lovesick teenager."
I glanced up to find him smirking around a cigar, his tablet displaying financial news that I should have been reviewing.
Instead of responding, I swiped to another photo—this one from yesterday morning, Elena drowsily sipping the ginger tea I'd made for her morning sickness.
"Oh, for Christ's sake," Nicholas groaned, but his amusement was evident. "How many pictures do you have on that phone?"
"Not enough," I murmured, remembering how she'd looked this morning when I'd kissed her goodbye, still warm and pliant with sleep, mumbling complaints about the early hour even as she'd clung to my shirt for an extra moment.
Nicholas set down his tablet with exaggerated patience. "You do realize you're only gone for three days, right? She's not going to forget you exist."
The words struck deeper than he'd intended. My fingers tightened on the phone, the ever-present silver crucifix at my throat suddenly feeling heavier.
Three days. Seventy-two hours. Four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes during which I couldn't confirm she was safe, couldn't see for myself that she was eating properly, resting enough, taking care of herself and our child—
"You'll understand when you experience it yourself," I said quietly, lifting my gaze to meet his. "When someone becomes your entire world, three days feels like three years."
Nicholas's smirk faltered slightly, and I seized the opening with the precision of a predator scenting vulnerability.
"Speaking of which," I continued, voice deliberately casual, "how are things progressing with Rose? "
The transformation was immediate and complete.
Every trace of amusement vanished from Nicholas's face, replaced by something raw and dangerous that I recognized all too well—the look of a man whose deepest wound had just been prodded.
"I see," I observed, leaning back in my seat. "Not exactly optimistic progress, then?"
"I can go to her house now," Nicholas shot back defensively, his jaw tight. "She lets me visit Lily twice a week."
I raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the opening he'd provided. "My, what spectacular progress. Should I send congratulations?"
Nicholas's eyes snapped shut, his hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose in a gesture of pure exasperation. "I'm done with this conversation," he muttered, turning his face toward the window in clear dismissal.
When we finally touched down at JFK, my first action was to text Elena: Landed safely. Missing you already. -S
Her response came quickly, a simple heart emoji that somehow made the distance feel both bearable and unbearable.
I pocketed my phone and turned to Nicholas, who'd recovered his composure enough to focus on business.
"Remember," he said as we climbed into the waiting car, "we need at least one more major partner for the government project. Someone with enough capital and connections to make the bureaucrats comfortable."
I nodded, already reviewing our mental list of candidates.
The summit would be crawling with potential investors, old money mixing with new tech fortunes, all eager to attach themselves to a project backed by both the Vane and Black names.
The next two days blurred together—handshakes and calculated smiles, presentations in sterile conference rooms, dinners where million-dollar deals were discussed between courses.
Nicholas and I moved through it like predators evaluating prey, dismissing most candidates as either too greedy, too stupid, or too dangerous to bring into our venture.
By the morning of the third day, we'd narrowed it down to a shortlist.
I sat in the hotel suite, reviewing portfolios while Nicholas ordered breakfast, but something felt... wrong. A tightness in my chest that had nothing to do with the recycled air or strong coffee.
"If we don't find anyone better today," I said abruptly, "we go with Richardson. He's conservative enough to keep the government happy and rich enough to matter."
Nicholas looked up from his phone, frowning. "We still have the afternoon sessions. I heard the Smiths might make an appearance—American old money doesn't get much older than that. Could be worth waiting to see if—"
"I'm leaving." The words came out before I'd fully decided, but once spoken, they felt right.
"I keep feeling anxious today," I said abruptly, setting down the portfolio I'd been pretending to read. "Something's off. I can't stop thinking about Elena."
Nicholas looked up from his phone, frowning. "Has something happened?"
"No." I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated by the unnamed dread coiling in my chest. "Nothing concrete. But I can't shake it. I need to go back."
Nicholas studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Go. I'll handle things here."
I gripped his shoulder briefly in thanks, then turned to gather my things with swift efficiency. Everything was swept into my briefcase in under a minute.
"If the Smiths are worth it, lock them down," I called over my shoulder, already heading for the door. "Otherwise, Richardson. Your call."
---
The private jet couldn't take off fast enough.
I sat rigid in my seat, watching the city disappear below, and with every mile closer to home, the panic in my chest only intensified.
It made no logical sense—I'd called Marcus twice already, and both times he'd assured me everything was fine. Elena was safe. She'd eaten lunch. She was currently napping.
I pressed my palm against my chest, feeling the wild rhythm beneath expensive fabric and skin. Let her be safe, I found myself thinking.
The flight felt endless, each minute stretching like an hour, that inexplicable dread growing stronger as home drew nearer.