Chapter 237
Sebastian’s pov
I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the horizon blur where sea met sky. Just over two hours until Cecilia would be safely home in Denver.
That thought should’ve brought me some peace.
It didn’t.
My wolf, Soren, paced restlessly under my skin, clawing at the edges of my control.
His unease had been building all day–like static before a storm, impossible to ignore.
“Sebas, you look absolutely devastating in that color,” Vance called, sweeping into the room in full formalwear. His eyes widened at the deep plum velvet suit I’d reluctantly agreed to wear.
I turned slightly, voice flat. “I look like a wealthy plum. Don’t lie to me p>
“An expensive mistake I’d still want to pursue,” he said with a grin.
Vance approached, gaze unapologetically tracking down my frame like I was something hanging in a Sotheby’s showroom.
He leaned in slightly.
I raised a hand between us, palm open, expression unamused. “Vance. Boundaries. We agreed p>
Vance backed off with a half-step and a sheepish smile, hands raised like I’d caught him red-handed.
“I know, I know. Sometimes I forget,” he said.
“Try remembering p>
“I’m trying p>
“Try harder,” I muttered, settling into the leather sofa. “Or I’ll knock you out and leave you in a linen closet p>
That got a laugh out of him. A real one–quick, low, familiar. Not flirtation. Not quite.
He took the armchair across from me, stretching out like this was just another night in a long series of nights, like there hadn’t been years packed into the silence after I’d first realized what his looks really meant.
There’d been a time I didn’t see it. Or maybe I didn’t want to.
But once it clicked–once the jokes lingered too long, once the compliments started feeling like confessions–I couldn’t unsee it.
We’d had the talk eventually. Stripped of sarcasm, stripped of pride. He told me the truth, and I told him mine.
He wanted.
I didn’t.
We moved forward anyway.
It wasn’t always easy. Sometimes he forgot himself. Sometimes I had to remind him.
But the friendship held. Bent, maybe–but never broke.
He watched me now with that same old look. Not hopeful, not exactly. Just… resigned. Like he knew the ending but still liked the story anyway.
I leaned back, closing my eyes for half a second.
I was straight. Zero flex. Zero confusion. And he knew that.
Cecilia’s pov
I dabbed foundation over the faint red marks on my chest, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror with growing irritation.
The dress was white. Of course it was white. Whoever picked it clearly had a sense of humor–and zero understanding of tactical discretion.
Plunging neckline that stopped just short of scandal, an open back that dipped so low I might as well have skipped the dress entirely, and high slits on both sides that made walking feel like a risk assessment.
It didn’t cling to my body so much as it draped like a threat–every curve on display, every inch of skin a potential distraction.
I tugged at the neckline, trying to shift the fabric into something less… pornographic. No use. The dress was clearly designed that way.
With a sigh, I let my hair down, arranging it like a strategic curtain across my chest and shoulders. Not perfect, but passable enough to avoid a scandal–or a nosebleed.
When I stepped out of the bedroom, Sawyer looked up… and froze. After a few silent seconds, he turned away fast, one hand over his nose.
“Seriously?” I deadpanned, grabbing tissues and tossing them at him. “What are you, twelve p>
Sawyer took two but handed them right back to me. “Cover yourself, for God’s sake. I’d rather not have Alpha Sebastian rip me in half p>
“Relax. He’s not here to supervise wardrobe malfunctions,” I said, pushing the tissues back into his hands.
With the crowd at the gala, I’d be just another face in a sea of sequins and secrets.
The door opened, and Tang strolled in–looking like a Bond villain’s better-dressed cousin. The transformation was… dramatic. His tailored black suit cut across broad shoulders and a trim waist, with just enough detail to keep him dangerous: a small black cross earring in his cartilage and the faintest hint of ink curling at his neck.
“You clean up nice,” I said, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Dangerous, but nice p>
Tang dangled his bowtie between two fingers. “I know I look good. But this thing? Feels like I’m being choked by etiquette p>
“Then ditch it. You’ve got enough attitude to carry the look anyway p>
Sawyer, whose tie was currently knotted with surgical precision, shot him a look. “Some of us still believe in maintaining a sense of dignity p>
Tang shrugged and shoved the bowtie into his pocket, then sprawled across the sofa, long legs stretched over the coffee table like he owned the place. “I scoped the property. It’s a maze. Cameras everywhere. I smashed the ones I found p>
“You what?” Sawyer’s face went full panic mode, like someone had just told him his retirement plan was a Ponzi scheme.
“What’s the big deal?” Tang said, arms behind his head. “They’ll replace them. It’s not like we’re prisoners here. Evelyn said they like edge, right? I gave them a preview p>
Sawyer looked like he was mentally drafting an incident report. I could already see the vein in his temple throbbing.
Personally, I thought Tang had a point. If this place really was recruiting rebels and rule-breakers, then yeah–he was playing the part perfectly.
“Nice work, Tang,” came a voice from the doorway.
Evelyn stepped in, radiant in a champagne-gold strapless jumpsuit dripping with sequins. Her confidence walked in ten seconds before she did. She clapped once, slowly and deliberately. “Tonight, we’re all candidates. Showing a little fire? That’s just smart marketing p>
Tang gave her a two-finger salute, smug and satisfied.
Sawyer looked like he wanted to dissolve into the wallpaper.
Then came the sound of hooves on cobblestone, muffled but unmistakable.
A man in a classic butler’s uniform appeared in the doorway, all posture and polish. The antique wall clock behind him read 6:30 exactly.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said with crisp precision, “the gala is about to begin. Kindly follow me p>
We rose and followed him out, stepping into the velvet dusk toward the waiting carriage.
The air smelled like secrets.
During the ride, I felt a persistent gaze on me.
Turning slightly, I found Evelyn resting her chin on one palm, studying me with the kind of slow, deliberate interest that made my skin prickle.
“Cece, you look so slender, but you’ve got quite the figure under there,” she said with a bold smile, her fingers reaching over to brush aside the hair skimming my collarbone.
I instinctively caught her wrist, startled by the sudden intimacy.
“Your hair would look even more beautiful up,” she added, voice low and casual.
“I prefer it down. It’s more… warming,” I replied carefully.
Warming? What the hell kind of word was that?
Evelyn paused, then burst into laughter. “Cece, you are absolutely adorable p>
I forced a polite smile. “You’re sweet too p>
Then, as casually as I could, I shifted away from her.
It wasn’t the touch that unsettled me. Harper and I linked arms all the time, shared spa days, even fell asleep in the same bed after too much wine. Yvonne was just as affectionate.
But this? This felt different.
They never looked at me like I was dessert.
Surely Evelyn wasn’t p>
Good grief.
“Did I scare you, cutie?” she teased, clearly noticing my discomfort–and making no effort to dial back the heat in her voice.
I sat rigid, mind racing, flashing back to what Amara said about Sebastian’s’soft spot,’ the one she was convinced had been replaced by someone else.
Had she misread the situation entirely?
Or had I?