Chapter 90

Chapter 90

"Sophia!" Beauchamp stepped forward, his voice suddenly rising. "Don't forget—from the moment you came of age, for seven whole years, which piece of clothing on my body wasn't personally chosen by you? What, now you've switched to someone else but still can't break that old habit?"

At those words, the air froze.

My mind exploded. All composure and calm instantly crumbled.

He actually said that in public!

He was using our sordid past to humiliate me, to drive a wedge between Sebastian and me?

"Sebastian, don't listen to his nonsense, it's not like that..." I urgently tried to explain.

"Beauchamp, is it interesting to bring this up in front of Monica?" I forced myself to calm down, redirecting the attack toward him. "Aren't you afraid she'll overthink it?"

Beauchamp sneered coldly, reaching out to pull Monica into his embrace, the gesture intimate and possessive. "Mona and I don't need your concern about our relationship."

He looked down at me, eyes full of vengeful satisfaction. "I just wanted to remind you—don't use that old routine you had with me on Mr. Clifford. After all, not everyone's willing to be someone's replacement."

I trembled with rage, unable to speak.

Replacement?

He actually had the audacity to say that word!

Looking at that arrogant, callous face, at that fragile, innocent Monica in his arms, a massive wave of humiliation and fury surged up, choking my throat, black spots appearing before my eyes.

Just when I couldn't hold on any longer.

Sebastian, who'd been silent all along, finally moved.

He gently set down his knife and fork on the plate.

That soft clink was like a signal.

Before I could react, my wrist was suddenly yanked.

The world spun. I completely lost balance, and the next second, I fell solidly into a scorching, firm embrace.

I was stunned.

I was actually sitting on Sebastian's lap.

Through two layers of fabric, I could clearly feel the taut lines of his leg muscles. His intense masculine presence mixed with the clean scent from the cashmere sweater, wrapping me completely.

My brain went blank.

"Mr. Jennings."

Sebastian spoke, one arm firmly circling my waist, his posture dominant and intimate.

His voice carried no warmth, his gaze passing over me to shoot straight at the livid Beauchamp. "Mistaking a precious pearl for roadside gravel. It seems Mr. Jennings' judgment isn't very good."

Beauchamp's pupils constricted sharply.

And I—because of his phrase "precious pearl"—felt my heart violently struck by something.

Before I could digest this sudden impact, the arm around my waist suddenly tightened.

Sebastian tilted his head slightly.

A devastatingly handsome face magnified infinitely before my eyes.

Then, a kiss carrying irresistible force descended.

My eyes widened instantly.

The sensation on my lips was warm, soft, yet overwhelmingly aggressive.

He pried open my teeth, conquering territory, giving me not a single chance to resist.

I smelled the crisp scent on him, mixed with a hint of aperitif's richness.

My brain completely crashed.

He was kissing me in public?

I felt the entire world disappear, leaving only this domineering, burning kiss between lips and teeth, and those solid, powerful arms encircling me.

I didn't know how long passed—perhaps just an instant, perhaps a century.

Sebastian finally released me.

He didn't let me down, only withdrew slightly, his thumb gently brushing across my slightly swollen lips, the gesture carrying post-kiss intimacy and comfort.

I gasped for air, my heart racing like it would explode.

Only then did Sebastian raise his eyes to look at Beauchamp across from us, whose face was twisted with rage. His expression was indifferent, yet his tone carried obvious provocation. "I kissed my wife. Why is Mr. Jennings so agitated?"

Beauchamp trembled with fury, pointing at us, unable to speak a single word.

Monica clutched his arm tightly, softly urging, "Beau, calm down, this is a restaurant..."

Other diners' gazes were also drawn to the commotion here, pointing and whispering.

Finally, the restaurant manager approached quickly with two security guards.

"Sir, madam, please calm down." The manager was respectful yet firm. "If you disturb other diners, we'll have to ask you to leave."

These words were clearly directed at Beauchamp.

Beauchamp's reason seemed to finally return somewhat.

He glanced around, then at me completely protected in Sebastian's embrace. The unwillingness and venom in his eyes nearly materialized.

He ultimately didn't explode again, roughly shaking off Monica's hand and returning to his own seat.

The farce finally subsided.

But I remained frozen in Sebastian's arms, as if all bones had been extracted, completely soft, my cheeks hot enough to fry eggs.

Everything that just happened was like an unreal movie.

Sebastian looked down at me, those unfathomably deep eyes churning with emotions I couldn't read—like the deep sea after a storm, calm on the surface but turbulent underneath.

The surrounding air seemed to have become thick and burning because of that kiss.

Just as I was about to drown in this atmosphere, his thin lips moved, his low voice sounding against my ear with a hint of teasing. "Want me to hold you through this entire meal?"

My brain exploded, completely snapping awake.

I practically scrambled off him with hands and feet, frantically sitting back in my own seat—the chair even made a harsh scraping sound.

I lowered my head, grabbed the water glass and chugged, but still couldn't suppress the heat burning to my ears.

I didn't dare look at him.

I didn't even dare imagine what expression he'd had when asking that question.

At the adjacent table, probably to save face, Beauchamp deliberately raised his voice. "Mona, let's start planning the wedding next month. I want to give you the grandest wedding."

Monica responded as if honored.

Had this been a few minutes ago, hearing those words might have stirred some ripple in my heart.

But now, I didn't register a single word.

In my mind, in my senses—everything was filled with that kiss.

Domineering, forceful, carrying absolute possessiveness.

I couldn't help extending my tongue, gently licking my lips, which seemed to still carry Sebastian's taste.

An absurd thought uncontrollably emerged.

Sebastian's kissing technique...

Was more than a hundred times better than Beauchamp's clumsy pecking.