Chapter 36 Chapter 36
Lena’s POV
The morning air inside Lancaster Industries feels colder than usual, as if the entire building is still shaking off the night. I’m barely awake, coffee still too hot to drink, my mind replaying everything that happened yesterday — Sebastian’s house, the pasta, the near-balance of peace, and then the moment it all cracked open with one familiar voice.
Wes.
His voice has been echoing in my skull since I fell asleep. Not because I miss him. God no. But because the universe has an ugly sense of humor.
I’m walking into the lobby, still adjusting the strap on my bag, when something in the corner of my eye makes my stomach drop so violently I almost stumble.
Wes is sitting in the lounge.
Not just sitting — waiting.
Spine straight. Arms folded. Head tilted like he’s been tracking the door for twenty minutes.
As if he knew the exact second I would walk in.
For a moment, for a terrifying, breath-stealing fraction of a second, my brain refuses to make sense of the picture.
I blink.
He’s still there.
My palms go cold instantly. A wave of dread sweeps up my spine so fast it practically strangles me. I feel my pulse hammering in my throat, in my ears, in the tips of my fingers.
He stands the moment our eyes meet — smoothly, too casually, like he rehearsed the motion.
“Lena.”
He says it like a greeting, an invitation, and a claim all at once.
I freeze halfway across the lobby. My heart pounds so hard the sound feels visible. Every employee in the vicinity looks at him with curiosity, admiration, suspicion, recognition— and then at me.
My voice barely works.
“What… are you doing here?”
He smiles. A slow, practiced curve of lips, familiar enough to punch a ghost-shaped fear into my gut.
He looks around, as if surprised I even asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? I came to see you.”
The temperature drops. I swear the lobby lights flicker.
He steps closer, lowering his voice just enough to feel intimate, unwelcome, invasive.
“At least now I know where you are. I don’t have to show up at your apartment anymore hoping you’d give me another chance.”
The words detonate inside my head.
My chest tightens painfully.
This man— this impossible, infuriating, unpredictable man— came to my job?
Panic surges so fast my vision blurs for a second.
Eyes dart around. People are watching. A receptionist has paused mid-typing. Two interns whisper while pretending to check in. Someone else openly stares at Wes, then at me, putting pieces together that shouldn’t even exist in the same puzzle.
God. No. No, no, no.
I step forward, grab Wes’s wrist, and hiss, “Outside.”
“Lena—”
“Now.”
He lets me drag him through the revolving doors only because he’s letting me. That’s what makes it worse.
The moment we’re outside, away from the eyes but still too exposed, I drop his wrist like it burns.
“You should not be here,” I snap, breath unsteady.
He scoffs. Actually scoffs.
“And why not? Afraid my father might find out you lied last night?” His tone shifts— darker, mocking. “What was that even for, Lena? Are you suddenly ashamed of me?”
My stomach contracts so sharply I feel nauseous. The fear hits first, hard and cold— then anger flares on top of it, hot enough to sting.
“You—” my voice shakes with fury, “don’t get to guilt-trip me. Not here. Not ever. Don’t you even dare.”
He raises an eyebrow, like he can’t believe I’m speaking to him this way.
“It was unnecessary,” he says, stepping closer. “You didn’t have to lie to him.”
My laugh is sharp and humorless.
“You walked into a room where your father— your father— was eating dinner with me, Wes! What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, by the way, Sebastian, here’s the son I once dated. Surprise’?”
He stiffens. I keep going.
“You put me in an impossible position, and now you’re throwing it back at me? No. No, absolutely not. You brought this chaos on yourself, and you can choke on the consequences.”
His jaw clenches.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I don’t care what you meant.”
It comes out louder than I anticipated.
He flinches.
My heart won’t slow down. My hands are trembling — not from weakness, but from adrenaline, heat, panic. Old survival instincts trying to claw their way out.
“I don’t want to be associated with you anymore,” I say, quieter but firmer. “My feelings matter. My boundaries matter. I won’t let you twist them to suit whatever version of reality you’re chasing today.”
He steps back a fraction, surprise rippling across his face. The pitying, manipulative softness he always used after our biggest fights starts creeping in.
“Lena… come on. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You always say that,” I whisper. “And it never stops hurting.”
His face hardens.
“So what now? I’m just supposed to stay away?”
“Yes,” I fire back instantly. “If you had any respect for me at all, you would.”
He exhales through his nose— sharp, frustrated, meaner than the version of him he tries to pretend to be.
He tilts his head.
“I think you’re forgetting something.”
My pulse spikes.
“This is also my father’s company,” he says. “Which means I can show up whenever I want. And you—” he lifts a hand, pointing at me “—can’t stop me.”
Rage slams into me like a storm hitting glass.
I step forward.
“Good luck with that,” I say, voice steady despite the earthquake happening under my skin.
I spin around, ready to go back inside— ready to escape before my body completely shuts down from the panic ripping through me—
His hand snaps around my arm.
He grabs me.
Too tight. Too sudden.
My breath rushes out in a small, shocked gasp.
“Is there someone else?”
His voice cracks.
His eyes burn.
That single question slices straight into the center of my panic.
Is there someone else?
Every cell in my body screams.
He pulls me closer, grip rough, eyes frantic.
“Is that why you’ve been rejecting me? Even after everything I said? After all my apologies? Is it because there’s someone else?”
Fear floods me so violently my knees weaken. Not because he’s guessing right — he doesn’t even know what he’s insinuating — but because he’s becoming unpredictable.
“Let go,” I whisper, heart pounding hard enough to hurt.
He tightens his grip.
“Wes— let. go. of. me.”
I yank my arm free with enough force that he stumbles, shock flashing across his features.
Pain burns where his fingers were.
Anger and fear whirl together until I can barely breathe.
“Don’t ever touch me like that again,” I say, voice low, shaking, final.
He looks… devastated. Then confused. Then angry. Then something else entirely — something sharp, something wounded and vengeful.
But I don’t give him a chance to shape it into words.
I turn and march toward the doors, pushing through the glass before he can make another mess of my life.
I don’t look back.
Not even once.
Inside, the lobby swallows me whole. Breath slips out of me in tremors I can’t control. My heartbeat refuses to settle. My throat burns.
I keep walking.
Every step away from him feels like a step toward oxygen.
But the truth hangs behind me like a shadow I can’t outrun:
Wes is back.
And he’s not going to disappear quietly.