Chapter 34 Chapter 34
Lena’s POV
The voice detonates the moment.
It hits like a gunshot wrapped in disbelief, echoing off marble and glass.
My whole body goes still.
For a heartbeat, I forget where I am — the dining hall, the soft hum of background jazz, the faint scent of truffle and expensive wine. Everything blurs into static.
I turn, slow, unwilling, like I’m afraid of confirming a nightmare.
And then I see him.
Wes.
He stands in the doorway, backlit by warm light, hands shoved in his pockets like he owns every room he walks into. The same arrogance that once made my pulse quicken now feels like a blade pressed against old wounds.
He looks exactly the same — sharp lines, easy smile, eyes too green to ever mean peace. Except now, there’s something else there. Shock.
His gaze collides with mine.
It’s not gentle. It’s violent. Recognition slams between us, electric and messy.
“Lena?”
My name leaves his mouth like a memory he thought he’d buried.
And suddenly, the ground under me tilts.
I feel Sebastian shift beside me — his presence steady, grounding, too calm for the storm that just hit the room. I sense his attention move between us. Once. Twice. His silence is surgical.
Then his voice, smooth but cutting through air like cold steel:
“You two know each other?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, dry and useless.
Wes speaks first. “We—”
“University,” I blurt, too fast, too sharp.
“Old friends,” Wes says at the exact same time.
The words crash midair, mismatched, disastrous.
Horrendous. Terrible. Not coordinated at all.
The silence that follows feels like a scream.
Sebastian’s eyes narrow, a slow shift that could cut glass. The room’s temperature drops three degrees.
“University and old friends,” he repeats, voice smooth as smoke. “Noted.”
He doesn’t believe a word.
Not one syllable.
I can feel the scrutiny in his gaze — heavy, deliberate, peeling back layers I’m not ready to reveal.
Wes doesn’t look away. Not once. Not even when Sebastian’s eyes flick briefly toward him, issuing a quiet, invisible challenge.
Then Sebastian speaks again, deceptively casual, the kind of tone that could disarm or destroy, depending on the tilt of a syllable.
“My home is not a staring exhibit, Wesley.”
Wes’s jaw tightens. A flicker of irritation flashes across his face.
“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” he says, eyes darting to me again, voice forced-light, too smooth.
“We work together,” I answer quickly, the words tumbling out like I’m trying to seal a wound before it bleeds.
Sebastian adds nothing. Which is worse.
He just leans back slightly, watching, quiet and unreadable. His silence feels like power — the kind that fills every inch of space, demands truth without a single word.
Wes laughs under his breath, a sound that’s more of a scoff than humor. “Of all places, of all houses in the world…” He shakes his head, incredulous. “You end up here.”
The universe really is a comedian.
I want to vanish into the floor.
Sebastian doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. But something shifts in the air around him — a subtle crack in composure that no one else would notice, but I do.
He looks at me then, really looks. It’s not anger in his gaze. It’s… calculation. A faint, assessing kind of interest that borders on dangerous.
Wes breaks the silence again. “We should catch up, Lena.”
I meet his eyes and feel every old bruise resurface. “We really shouldn’t.”
The words taste sharp, final. I mean every syllable.
Sebastian finally stands. His chair slides back in one slow, deliberate motion. The sound is soft, but it commands the room instantly.
“She has an early meeting,” he says, tone low and even, but edged with something colder. “I’ll have someone drive her.”
Translation: Get out of my house before I decide to ask questions you don’t want to answer.
Wes’s smirk falters for half a heartbeat. “Right. Of course.”
I push back my chair, too fast. The leg scrapes against the marble, loud and awkward. I cringe at the sound.
“Thank you for the… pasta,” I say, my voice thinner than I’d like. “And the conversation. And for… not firing me.”
Sebastian’s mouth curves slightly, not quite a smile. “You’re welcome, Ms. Sawyer.”
He walks me to the exit himself.
Every step feels like an echo. My pulse is in my throat, a quiet roar under my skin.
I can feel Wes’s gaze on me the entire time — heavy, lingering, burning holes into my back. When I finally glance over my shoulder, he’s still standing there, one hand in his pocket, the other running through his hair, frustration bleeding through his posture.
He watches like a man staring at the ghost of everything he ruined.
Outside, the night air hits me — crisp, clean, blessedly cold. It feels like oxygen after drowning.
The estate glows softly under moonlight, fountains whispering somewhere in the distance. Everything is still too beautiful, too surreal for the chaos clawing inside me.
A black car waits near the front steps. The driver stands by, silent and professional.
Sebastian reaches the door before I do and opens it. Always the gentleman, even when his eyes look like they could cut through lies.
I hesitate for a fraction of a second. He notices.
His hand rests lightly on the frame, inches from mine. “Old friends, hm?” he asks, voice low, dark with amusement that doesn’t reach his eyes.
The way he says it makes my spine straighten.
I swallow hard. “…Yes.”
He studies my face like he’s memorizing every flicker, every breath. The silence stretches, charged and intimate.
Then, softly — almost too softly to hear — he says,
“We’ll revisit that story someday.”
It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.
He closes the door gently, the click sharp in the quiet night.
The car pulls away from the estate, smooth and soundless. I turn my head, watching as the mansion shrinks in the rearview mirror — glass, marble, and secrets glinting in the dark.
Inside the car, my breath finally stumbles out.
I press a hand to my chest, like maybe I can slow the chaos inside it.
The irony of it all hits me in waves. Of all people. Of all houses.
Of course it had to be him.
The city lights smear across the window as we drive, and my reflection looks like someone I barely recognize — composed on the outside, unraveling underneath.
I close my eyes, inhale, exhale. But calm doesn’t come.
Because beneath the shock, beneath the awkwardness, there’s something else building.
Something sharp and inevitable.
My ex is aware I’m working with his father.
The universe isn’t joking anymore. It’s plotting.
I let my head fall back against the seat, eyes on the ceiling, heart in freefall.
Behind tinted glass, one thought ricochets in my mind like a warning flare:
This is only the beginning.