chapter 152
Elena's POV:
The album lay heavy in my hands as I watched Elena's face light up with barely contained delight.
After the chaos of the evening—Grace's theatrics, Sophia's manipulations, Nicholas finally breaking free—this simple moment of looking at old photographs felt almost surreal in its normalcy.
"Oh my god, you were adorable!" Elena breathed, her finger hovering over a particularly embarrassing photo of me at age four, cheeks round as apples, dark eyes serious beneath a ridiculous sailor suit. "So chubby and sweet. Not ugly at all."
I couldn't bear to look at my own idiotic childhood face.
The sailor suit alone was grounds for burning the entire album. Yet Elena gazed at it with such genuine delight, as if she'd discovered something precious.
"I hope someday you can find that kind of pure happiness again," she said softly, tracing the photo with her fingertip. "Like when you were little."
The words caught me off guard. I stared at the photograph again—that round-faced boy who didn't yet know that love was currency and trust was weakness. He did look... happy. Stupidly, obliviously happy.
I pulled Elena closer, pressing my lips to her temple. "With you beside me, I think I will."
"Can we go home?" I asked. "If you want to see more, I have boxes of these at home."
Elena's eyes lit up. "You're agreeing to show me more?"
I pressed my fingers to my temple in mock despair. "Am I not transparent enough with you already? "
"Let's go!" She practically bounced in her seat, already gathering her things. "I want to see all of them—baby Sebastian, toddler Sebastian, awkward teenage Sebastian..."
---
The drive home was quiet.
Elena dozed against the leather seats, the album clutched to her chest like a prize. I carried her to our bedroom, her weight familiar and precious in my arms. Even in sleep, she wouldn't release those photographs.
When I tried to ease them from her grip, her eyes fluttered open. I covered them with my palm. "Sleep, little one."
"Give me back the photos," she murmured, voice thick with drowsiness.
I pressed a kiss to her lips. "So protective. Then you owe me a photo in return—I want one of you as a baby. "
The gentle slap she delivered to my chest was more pat than punishment. She turned away, burrowing into the pillows with a soft huff.
---
The news reached us during breakfast two days later.
Elena held the elegant envelope with trembling fingers, her eyes scanning the embossed letterhead.
"The LUMIÈRE Fragrance Competition," she breathed. "They accepted my application."
I was around the table before she could blink, pulling her into my arms and catching her surprised laugh with a kiss. "Of course they did. You're brilliant."
She pulled back, cheeks flushed. "Sebastian, this is serious. The competition is fierce—some of the biggest names in perfumery will be there."
"So?"
"So I need to prove myself." Her chin lifted with that stubborn determination I'd come to adore. "I'm not just entering to participate. I'm going for the championship."
"That's my girl." I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Show them what you're made of."
Her smile was radiant, competitive fire already burning in her eyes. "I will."
That night, she curled against my side in bed, fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. "Next month is my mother's memorial day. I'd like to visit her grave."
"Of course. I'll come with you."
The offer came automatically, but my chest tightened at the pain in her voice. Both her parents were gone—one to betrayal, one to death. All she had left were cold stones and fading memories.
Or so she believed.
The thought of Scarlett Smith—formerly Scarlett Ross—sat like lead in my stomach.
Alive, breathing, married to another man. How did you tell the woman you loved that her supposedly dead mother was living across the ocean with a new family? That she'd never tried to contact her daughter, never fought to come back?
I didn't know the full story. Maybe Scarlett had been forced to stay away. Maybe she'd tried and failed. Or maybe—and this was the possibility that made my jaw clench—maybe she'd simply chosen her new life over her old one.
Until I knew which it was, I'd keep my silence. Elena had suffered enough abandonment. I wouldn't add to it unless I was certain the truth would heal rather than destroy.
"Elena." I pulled her closer. "Whatever happens, you have me. Don't forget that. And if you do forget..." I nipped gently at her shoulder. "I'll have to punish you."
She turned in my arms, wrapping herself around me with sudden fierceness. "You're the most important person in my life now," she whispered against my chest. "You know that, right?"
The words knocked the breath from my lungs. I held her tighter, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat. She'd given me what I'd craved since the day I'd taken her—not just acceptance, not just affection, but primacy. First place in her heart.
We drifted off like that, wrapped around each other so completely it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
She spent the next three days in near-isolation, emerging from her workroom only for meals.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes as she put finishing touches on her competition pieces. The timing aligned perfectly with her next prenatal checkup—our baby was making their presence known more insistently each day.
I found her at her vanity that morning, attempting to wrangle her hair into submission. "Let me."
"Sebastian, you don't have to—"
But I was already working my fingers through the silky strands. These hands had mastered the art through months of practice. I sectioned her hair with practiced ease, fingers moving with the same precision I used for everything else that mattered.
If we had a daughter, I mused as I secured the elastic, I'd be able to do this for her too. Pigtails, braids, whatever she wanted—especially on mornings when Elena couldn't get out of bed.
The thought of two sets of matching hairstyles, both crafted by my hands, made something warm unfurl in my chest.
In the car, Elena shifted restlessly. "The finals require designers to attend in person. I can't handle a long flight right now, so I'll need to send a representative with my pieces."
"Done. I'll have Marcus coordinate everything." I took her hand. "You're going to win."
"Sebastian." Pink stained her cheeks. "You can't just declare that. There are so many talented designers. No one knows who'll win until the results are announced." She paused, dimpling. "Though I hope it's me."
I traced my thumb over her knuckles, not daring anything more aggressive. Margaret had forbidden me from pinching Elena's cheeks, claiming it would make her drool in her sleep.
My phone buzzed as we headed home. I slipped in my earpiece, recognizing the caller ID.
"Sir," came the voice of my security chief. "I've organized teams to intercept the Smith family's agents in the region. However, they withdrew suddenly this morning. "
I frowned, watching Elena gaze peacefully out the window. "Investigate why they pulled back. I need to know the reason."