Chapter 62 Chapter Sixty-two
Lena’s POV
The first thing I notice when I step into the building Tuesday morning is my heartbeat.
It’s too fast. Too bright. Too loud in my chest.
It shouldn’t be this loud— it’s just work, just a normal day, just Sebastian.
But my body is acting like it’s walking toward a destiny.
I don’t know why I feel this way, but I do.
I hold my bag tighter as I walk through the lobby, saying small good mornings to the people at the reception desk. Most of them smile back, but I barely see any of their faces. My mind is too full.
Today is the day I get answers.
Today is the day I ask him.
“Just breathe,” I whisper to myself as the elevator doors close. “It’ll be fine. He smiled at me Friday. We… we were good.”
The elevator rises smoothly, but my thoughts don’t.
I keep replaying the weekend in my mind:
The flowers.
The silence.
The anticipation.
It all felt like something meaningful was building… like something real was waiting to happen.
The elevator dings, and I step out.
The hallway is quiet, unusually so, like it knows what’s coming.
I settle into my desk, ignore the ache in my toe— it’s healed enough— and I try to focus on work. But every passing second stretches painfully, like the air itself is preparing for something.
When I check my phone, it’s time.
The board meeting.
My stomach flips.
I stand, smooth out my blouse, and walk to the conference room with my tablet in hand.
The room fills quickly— executives, assistants, directors, all taking their seats.
Sebastian walks in late.
Not dramatically late, not disruptively late, but enough that the room straightens at his presence. He looks like he always does in meetings— sharp, controlled, intimidating without trying.
But when he sits down, something is wrong.
His eyes don’t sweep around the table.
He doesn’t glance at me.
Not even once.
Not. Even. Once.
I try not to panic.
Maybe he’s tired.
Maybe he’s stressed.
Maybe he’s focused.
But even on his worst days, his gaze always flickers toward me at least once during meetings— a silent check-in, a small acknowledgement, something.
Today… nothing.
He keeps his face perfectly blank, scanning the documents in front of him, jaw tight, expression unreadable.
I study him the way I’ve learned to.
The subtle tension in his shoulders.
The tight set of his jaw.
The way his fingers tap once against the table before going still.
He’s avoiding me.
On purpose.
Every time someone speaks, he nods sharply.
Every time a slide changes, his eyes follow it mechanically.
But he never turns toward me.
My throat tightens.
By the time the meeting ends, my chest feels small. Hunched. Hollow.
He stands quickly and leaves the room before anyone else can catch him.
He still doesn’t look at me.
Not once.
I give him a few minutes before heading to his office — not enough time for him to escape the floor entirely, but enough that it doesn’t look like I sprinted after him.
When I arrive, his office door is slightly open.
He’s inside.
Good.
I knock gently.
“Come in,” he says.
His voice is sharp. Controlled. Not warm. Not cold. Just… flat.
I step inside.
He’s behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, eyes on his laptop.
He only looks up when I’m halfway in.
And when he does…
His face remains unreadable.
He doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t soften.
He doesn’t react the way he usually does when he sees me.
“Hi,” I say quietly.
He nods once. “How’s your toe?”
I blink.
That’s the first thing he asks?
Not hey or good morning or you okay?
Just… my toe?
“It’s healed,” I answer, confused by the distance in his tone. “Much better.”
“Good.”
Another short, clipped nod.
He looks back at his laptop like he’s trying to end the conversation before it even starts.
I swallow.
“How are you?” I ask gently.
“Fine,” he says, still not looking at me.
His replies are so brief, so mechanical, it feels like someone is slowly squeezing my lungs.
I take a breath.
I have to ask.
I promised myself I would ask.
I can’t back out now.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I say carefully.
His fingers stop typing.
Slowly, he lifts his eyes to mine.
“What is it?”
His tone is stiff. Hesitant. A little colder than normal. It almost feels like he already knows what I’m here to ask— and he doesn’t want to hear it.
My palms sweat.
“I thought about it over the night,” I begin, voice trembling slightly, “and I… I just want to know what’s going on between us. What we are.”
His eyebrows lift— not warmly, not gently— but sharply.
Like I’ve said something completely unexpected.
“What?” he says flatly.
My heart thuds.
“You know… after everything that happened between us,” I say softly, “the business trip… the way you held me, the way you acted, the way we—”
His jaw clenches.
”The way we what?” He asked.
“I mean, the cuddles, kisses, Sex…”
He cuts me off immediately.
“Lena, dont tell me you took everything seriously. I mean, it was just a fling.”
The words hit the air like a punch.
My lungs stop working.
“What?” I whisper.
He sighs. Not guilty. Not conflicted. Just irritated— like he’s dealing with something inconvenient.
“A fling,” he repeats. “We were traveling, things happened, we were in close quarters. That’s it. I don’t know why you’re taking it so seriously.”
My chest cracks open.
“That’s not true,” I say, voice trembling. “You— you were possessive, you were gentle, you were—”
He cuts me off again, sharper this time.
“You’re reading into things that weren’t there.”
My stomach drops.
I stare at him, waiting for him to crack, to soften, to show even a shadow of the man who kissed me like he couldn’t breathe without me.
But his face remains cold.
Hard.
Closed off.
“I thought we were just satisfying our sexual urges,” he continues, tone blunt, almost emotionless. “That’s all it was. Nothing more.”
Heat floods my face. Shame. Confusion. Anger. Heartbreak.
“That’s not true,” I choke. “You’re lying. You know you’re lying.”
He leans back slightly, eyes narrowing.
“Why would I lie?” he asks. His voice is calm— too calm— the kind of calm that feels cruel. “I’m being honest with you. You’re the one turning something simple into something dramatic.”
My hands shake.
My heart cracks.
“You’re trying to hurt me,” I whisper.
He shrugs. Actually shrugs.
“No. I’m trying to make this clear. I’m not interested anymore. I’m tired. Tired of the whole thing. Tired of you. And frankly…”
He pauses, eyes cold.
“…tired of fucking you.”
The world stops.
Every sound in the room dies.
My breath stutters.
Tears rush to my eyes instantly— hot, humiliating, uncontrollable.
I step back from him like the words physically slapped me.
He doesn’t move.
He doesn’t take them back.
He doesn’t look sorry.
He just watches me— coldly, almost impatiently— like he’s waiting for me to leave.
My voice breaks, ripping out of me raw and aching.
“You’re a fool,” I whisper. “And a coward.”
He doesn’t react.
Not a flinch.
Not a blink.
Nothing.
I turn away quickly because if I look at him for one more second, I will fall apart in front of him— and I refuse to give him that.
I walk to the door, pulse shaking, heart in pieces, tears already falling.
My hand trembles as I grab the handle.
I don’t look back.
I can’t.
I step out of his office.
And I let the door close behind me.