Chapter 96
Lirael
"Come on," Sebastian said, scooping me up before I could protest. "Back to bed. You've had enough excitement for one day."
He carried me back to the room, and I let him, because what else could I do? The guards followed at a discreet distance, and I caught the look Marcus shot me as we passed—assessing, suspicious, but ultimately accepting Sebastian's interpretation of events.
Sebastian settled me on the bed, then sat beside me, one hand coming to rest on my knee. "Now," he said, voice gentling, "we need to talk about these jealous impulses. It's not healthy, little Lirael. Not for you, not for us."
I wanted to laugh. Wanted to scream. Wanted to tell him that jealousy was the least of my concerns, that I'd been trying to arrange my escape, not investigate his love life.
Instead, I nodded and let him pull me against his chest.
"I know you don't remember everything," he continued, fingers threading through my hair. "But we've always been exclusive. Always. You never had to worry about other women, and you never will."
His hand tilted my face up, and before I could brace myself, he was kissing me. Deep and claiming and absolutely possessive, his tongue sliding against mine with practiced ease.
When he finally pulled back, I was breathless.
"Time for your treatment," he murmured, and I realized with a jolt what he meant. "Ten times a day, remember? We've missed several doses already. Can't have you in pain."
"Sebastian—"
"Doctor's orders," he said, already leaning in again. "And we need to make up for lost time. This one counts as two."
He kissed me again, slower this time, his hand sliding to the back of my neck to hold me in place. The other hand found my earlobe, rolling it gently between his fingers in a way that made my breath hitch.
This is wrong. This is so wrong. I should be planning my next move, not melting into his touch—
But my body had other ideas. The "treatment" had created a Pavlovian response, and now my pulse quickened at the mere proximity of his mouth, my skin tingling in anticipation of his touch.
When he finally released me, I was practically boneless, slumped against the pillows with my heart racing and my face flushed.
"Better?" Sebastian asked, and there was smug satisfaction in his voice.
I wanted to say no. Wanted to tell him that his fake medical treatment didn't work, that I saw through his manipulation.
But the cramping had eased. The tension in my abdomen had melted away, replaced by a different kind of heat entirely.
"Yes," I heard myself whisper, and hated how true it was.
Sebastian smiled, pressing one more kiss to my forehead before standing. "Good. I have some business to attend to, but I'll be back for dinner. And then we can continue your treatment schedule."
He paused at the door, glancing back. "And Lirael? Thank you for being honest about your feelings. Even if you expressed them in an... unconventional way."
The door clicked shut, and I was alone with my racing thoughts and the lingering taste of him on my lips.
Four days, I reminded myself. Four days until the gala. Four days until Elwin's team arrives. I just need to survive four more days of this.
But even as I tried to focus on the escape plan, I couldn't shake the memory of Sebastian's words: You're the only woman I see. The only one I want.
Or the terrible, treacherous part of me that had wanted to believe him.
---
The next three days passed in a strange, dreamlike haze.
True to his word, Sebastian instituted his "treatment schedule" with military precision. Ten times a day, he would appear in my room—sometimes announced, sometimes not—and pull me into his arms for what he insisted was "medical intervention."
The kisses varied in intensity. Morning sessions were gentle, almost tender, with Sebastian murmuring soft endearments against my lips between each press of his mouth. Afternoon treatments were more playful, with him teasing me about my "resistance" even as my body melted into his touch. Evening sessions were deeper, more demanding, lasting well beyond the prescribed three minutes until I was dizzy and breathless and clinging to him for support.
And through it all, I played the part of devoted, amnesiac wife with increasing ease.
"Honey," I would call when he entered, and his eyes would light up with satisfaction.
"How are you feeling?" he would ask, and I would pout prettily and complain about lingering cramps, earning myself extra attention.
When he fed me breakfast, I let him. When he insisted on helping me bathe, I allowed it with only token protests. When he pulled me into his lap during his video conferences, I curled against his chest and pretended not to understand the business discussions happening around me.
Marcus noticed the change immediately. On the second day, I caught him watching me with undisguised suspicion as Sebastian carried me from the bathroom to the bed, both of us laughing over some ridiculous joke he'd made.
I needed him to believe I was broken. Needed him to think the amnesia had stripped away my resistance, leaving only this pliant, affectionate creature who lived for his approval.
Because on the fourth day, during the gala, when security was at its minimum and Elwin's team was waiting—I needed Sebastian to never see it coming.
Just a little longer, I told myself each time he pulled me into his arms. Just a few more performances.
But with each passing day, each lingering kiss, each moment spent wrapped in his warmth, I felt the line between performance and reality growing increasingly blurred.
---
The fourth morning dawned cold and gray. I woke to warmth pressed against my back, Sebastian's arm heavy across my waist, his breath stirring the hair at my nape. For a moment—just a moment—I let myself sink into the illusion of safety, of belonging.
Then reality crashed back, and I remembered: today was the day. The gala. Freedom.
Just a few more hours of this, I told myself, even as Sebastian's hand tightened possessively around my hip.
"Good morning, little Lirael," he murmured against my shoulder, voice rough with sleep.
I turned in his arms, and the breath caught in my throat.
He hadn't dressed yet. The morning light filtering through the curtains cast shadows across his bare chest, highlighting the defined muscles of his shoulders and abdomen. Three days of seeing him fully clothed hadn't prepared me for this—the raw, undeniable power of his body, the way every line seemed carved from marble and threat. A thin trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the low-slung waistband of his sleep pants, and I found myself staring despite every instinct screaming at me to look away.
This was the body that had torn apart his enemies. That had hunted and killed without mercy. That held me captive with effortless strength.
And God help me, it was beautiful.
"See something you like?" Sebastian's voice held amusement, but his amber eyes had darkened with something more primal as he caught me staring.
I felt heat flood my face. "I—you're—" The words tangled on my tongue, and I hated how genuine my flustered reaction was.
He shifted closer, one hand coming up to cup my face while the other remained possessive on my hip. "You know what the first thing you do every morning is, don't you?"
Three days of conditioning had done their work. My body responded to the question before my mind could catch up—a flush of anticipation that I couldn't quite suppress, a quickening of my pulse that had nothing to do with fear.
"Treatment," I whispered, and was horrified by how breathless I sounded. "I need my treatment."
"Good girl." Sebastian's smile was pure satisfaction as he leaned in, his lips capturing mine with practiced ease.
The kiss started gentle, almost tender, but within seconds it deepened into something more demanding. His tongue slid against mine as his hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head to give him better access. The other hand on my hip pulled me flush against him, and I gasped into his mouth as I felt—
Oh God.
The hard length of him pressed against my stomach through the thin layers of fabric separating us, substantial and undeniable and absolutely terrifying in its implications. I froze, every muscle going rigid with shock.