Chapter 132
Sebastian
The fountain plaza was nearly empty now, just me and that ridiculous marble sculpture of intertwined lovers. I sat alone on the cold stone bench, an unlit cigarette dangling from my lips, watching the last stragglers hurry past with their shopping bags and eager expressions.
An hour I'd been sitting here. In that time, fifteen women had approached me—some pretending to need directions, others just staring until I acknowledged them, one particularly bold brunette actually sitting down and talking about the weather like that was normal. I'd dismissed them all with the same cold stare that usually sent my subordinates scattering.
The couples who'd been scattered across the benches earlier had gradually left as evening approached, called home by holiday dinners and family gatherings. Now the plaza felt hollow despite the Christmas lights.
I rolled the cigarette between my fingers without lighting it. Christmas. What was the point? Gathering around a table with people who spent the entire meal calculating angles and weaknesses? My father certainly wouldn't call—Victor Blackwood didn't waste time on sentimentality, and I was his son in every way that mattered.
My phone sat in my palm, and I found myself pulling up the dial pad. My fingers moved on their own, entering the number she'd used when we'd established the blood bond—the one from that night on the yacht.
I stared at the digits, my thumb hovering over the call button.
She wouldn't be using it anymore. Too risky. And even if she'd kept it active, she wouldn't answer. Not after I'd let her walk away two months ago.
The image rose in my mind—Lirael with Damian, sitting across from each other in some expensive restaurant, laughing over wine. His hand covering hers on the table. The two of them leaving together, going back to his place, and then—
"It doesn't matter," I said aloud. "None of it has anything to do with me anymore."
I deleted the number and locked the screen. Better to cut that thread before I did something pathetic like actually calling her.
"Besides," I muttered, "I don't need a woman who's already belonged to someone else."
My phone buzzed. Marcus's name flashed across the screen.
"What?"
"Sir, the London contracts need your signature tonight." His voice was apologetic, but there was something else—a faint sizzling sound in the background. "I can bring them to you if—"
"Are you cooking?" I cut him off. "Marcus, are you moonlighting as a chef?"
"No, sir, I'm just—" He fumbled with the phone. "I'm at my girlfriend's place, helping with Christmas dinner. I can leave right now if you need—"
"Christmas dinner." The words came out flat. Of course. Even Marcus had somewhere to be tonight. "With your girlfriend."
"Yes, sir. Amy's family does this big traditional thing every year, and she invited me, but if you need the contracts signed tonight—"
"It's Christmas Eve, Marcus." I surprised myself with the words. "You should spend it with your girlfriend. That's what normal people do, right?"
"Sir? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Send me the address. I'll come sign them there."
"What? No, sir, you don't have to—"
"It's not a request, Marcus. I have nothing better to do anyway. I'd rather not spend the evening in some club—too loud, too crowded. At least watching you play house might be entertaining."
He hesitated, then my phone pinged with an address in Moonfall District.
"I'll be there in twenty," I said. "And Marcus? Merry Christmas."
I ended the call before he could respond.
Moonfall District. The name still gave me satisfaction—I'd renamed the entire area six months ago specifically to remind her of what she'd walked away from.
Moon's Shadow Patisserie sat on the route, its lights blazing. I'd poured millions into that place, hired the best pastry chefs, designed every detail for her. The logo—a silver moon with a black wolf—was impossible to miss.
I didn't slow down as I passed it. What was the point? She'd probably never even noticed.
Marcus's building was modest but well-maintained. I grabbed the bottle of wine from my trunk—a sixty-year-old Australian red—and headed inside.
Marcus opened the door looking panicked, flour on his shirt, hair disheveled. Behind him, the apartment smelled of roasting meat and herbs.
"Sir, I really don't think—"
I stepped past him, taking in the modest space with its mismatched furniture and walls covered in photographs.
"Relax, Marcus. I'm not here to critique your girlfriend's decorating." I moved toward the living room, drawn by the picture frames on a chest. "Though this is quite the shrine to domestic bliss."
The photos showed Marcus and a pretty brunette—at restaurants, on beaches, laughing with friends. One frame held a family portrait, everyone beaming with unselfconscious joy. Another showed both families together, everyone smiling like they actually liked each other.
"Not bad," I said quietly. "You and your girlfriend seem quite content."
"Sir—" Marcus's voice held a warning, but I ignored it, moving toward the balcony where I could see a figure on the phone.
My phone buzzed—an overseas client. I stepped onto the balcony, already accepting the call.
The conversation dragged on, some tedious discussion about tariffs and customs. I paced the small balcony, half-listening, until it finally ended.
I lowered the phone, scrolling through messages, and pushed back inside.
I took two steps before someone collided with me.
Cold water splashed across my chest. A small hand pressed against my belt, fingers sliding lower—
I grabbed the wrist, my head snapping up.
The scent hit me first—moonlight and forest rain, wild roses and something indefinably her. Then I saw her face, those silver-grey eyes wide with shock, and the world tilted.
"Lirael?" Her name came out rough. "What the hell are you doing here?"
For one wild moment, I felt joy surge through my chest—she'd followed me, she'd come looking for me—and I pulled her closer, my grip tightening.
"Did you follow me here?" The words came out almost hopeful. "Is that why—"
"Let go of me!" She yanked back. "Sebastian, let go!"
Then she stomped on my foot—hard.
"Marcus! Amy! A little help here!"
I heard footsteps, saw Marcus and a woman emerge from the kitchen, but I couldn't look away from Lirael's face. Two months of silence, of forcing myself not to search for her, and here she was looking at me like I was a threat.
"Miss Lirael, I'm so sorry!" Amy rushed forward, pulling Lirael away. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
Marcus had gone pale, his eyes darting between us. He recognized her. Of course he did.
"I'm fine," Lirael said, her voice steadier now. "Just startled. I didn't expect..."
She trailed off, and our eyes met. The bond pulsed, stronger than it had been in months.
She hadn't followed me. This was coincidence. She was Amy's boss, here for Christmas dinner, and I'd intruded.
I stepped back, letting my expression shutter.
"My apologies," I said, my voice flat and formal. "I didn't realize Marcus's girlfriend had such distinguished company. Had I known, I would have chosen a more convenient time."
Amy was staring at me now, really looking. Her mouth opened, then closed.
"Oh my god," she breathed. "You're Sebastian Blackwood. The Sebastian Blackwood."
"Obscenely wealthy and moderately attractive, yes." I kept my tone dry. "It's quite the burden."
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you—"
"Actually," Amy said, "Miss Lirael should probably apologize to you. For spilling water all over your clothes."
Lirael and Marcus made identical sounds of disbelief.
"The clothes are replaceable," I said. "Perhaps we should just move past this and proceed with dinner?"
"Yes!" Amy was already nodding. "The turkey should be ready soon. Mr. Blackwood, would you like to stay?"
"I wouldn't want to impose."
"It's not an imposition at all! Marcus, help Mr. Blackwood get cleaned up?"
Marcus shot me a look that clearly said please just leave, but I followed him toward the bedroom while Lirael disappeared into the kitchen.
"Sir," Marcus said quietly, "I swear I had no idea Amy's boss was Miss Lirael—"
"It's fine, Marcus." I accepted the towel and started blotting water from my sweater. "These things happen."
"But you told her you wouldn't come looking for her. Now she probably thinks—"
"I'm aware." I pulled off the wet sweater. "There's nothing I can do except behave like an adult. Do you have a shirt?"
He produced a plain white button-down. I changed quickly and followed Marcus back to the living room, where Amy had set the table and Lirael was helping with serving dishes.
"Perfect timing!" Amy announced. "Everyone sit."
Which meant Lirael and I would be sitting directly across from each other.