Chapter 193
Cecilia’s pov
A cold numbness seeped into my chest, slowly smothering the warmth that had been there. I’d showered, changed into my sleep shorts, and settled into bed, determined to find some peace.
I closed my eyes and forced my breathing to even out, but the harder I tried to sleep, the more my thoughts–my lungs–were invaded by a certain devil I couldn’t seem to exorcise.
I flipped onto my side with an irritated huff.
Time to set some ground rules, Cecilia. Rule number one: no more thinking about him! Tomorrow, my new motto would be Heart of Stone. Absolutely.
He was just a distractingly handsome man who smelled like trouble and expensive cologne and had shared my bed a handful of times. Not worth a sleepless night. Not worth the mental real estate.
I clutched my pillow tighter, adjusted into the perfect sleeping position.
Forty-eight minutes later p>
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I shot bolt upright like someone possessed–eyes unfocused, hair wild, staring straight ahead at nothing.
After sitting motionless for several seconds, I slid out of bed, grabbed my car keys, and bolted for the door.
The restlessness inside me had built to volcanic proportions, ready to erupt at any second.
If the door had taken even one more second to open, I might have kicked the damn thing off its hinges.
I shoved my way out the door, heels striking the floor with sharp, angry clicks, driven by a restless energy with no destination.
I was halfway to the elevator when I froze.
A shadow moved against the hallway wall.
Sebastian.
He was sitting on his suitcase, arms crossed, expression carved from stone and silence.
His gaze lifted to mine–cool and distant, like twilight stretched across snow.
Then, something shifted.
That chill in his eyes softened at the edges, like fog burning off under morning sun.
My internal volcano stilled–not gone, just… muted.
Something shifted again.
The air between us changed–crisper, lighter, like someone had just peeled an orange in a sun-warmed room.
Stupid, how a scent, or the idea of one, could loosen my grip on anger.
I stood frozen, fingers tightening around my keys, my mood swinging so fast it gave me emotional whiplash.
“Going somewhere?” Sebastian asked, his voice thick and raspy, like he’d been silent for hours.
I didn’t actually know where I was going. “I’m… just going for a drive p>
Sebastian’s laugh was soft and knowing. “A drive. And here I thought you were planning to storm upstairs and commit armed robbery p>
Stepping closer, I tried for casual. “When did you get here? Why didn’t you knock p>
Sebastian studied me, the back of his hand grazing my cheek. “Because I was waiting for Cece to open the door for me p>
His voice was a gentle, persistent pressure against defenses I’d left carelessly unlatched.
Before I could slam them shut and lock the steel shutters, he’d already lured me to peek at the view–the most dangerous landscape in the world.
Flustered, I pulled his hand away. “I wasn’t p>
He cupped my face before I could say another word and kissed me.
His lips were cool from the hallway air, but the heat that followed made me forget everything else.
It was a quiet answer.
He had been waiting. Not knocking. Not pushing. Just… there.
And I didn’t know what broke me more–his patience or his silence.
I struggled for a moment–then gave in.
My arms slowly wrapped around his back, absorbing his warmth and scent.
I was falling under this devil’s spell–scratch that, I’d already face-planted into it like an amateur.
We kissed in the doorway for what felt like forever.
When he showed no signs of stopping, I finally nipped his bottom lip. That did the trick.
He pulled back, eyes still heavy. “Still planning that dramatic midnight drive p>
“I’m temporarily unhoused,” he said solemnly. “Will you rescue me p>
“I guess I could shelter you for the couple nights before your business trip,” I sighed, then added quickly,”Purely out of civic duty and humanitarian guilt. Not because I like you or anything p>
“My Cece,” he said, voice low and smug, “your sarcasm is my favorite love language p>
He stroked the side of my neck, then stood from his makeshift suitcase-throne with a grunt. “Help me in? I’ve lost all feeling from the waist down p>
I slipped an arm around his waist, half-dragging the stubborn, overgrown man into my apartment.
Eyeing his long legs, I muttered, “You think numb legs are bad? Your spine’s about to file a formal complaint p>
“What was that?” he asked suspiciously.
I unceremoniously dropped him on the couch. “Nothing. Just saying this is what happens to people who loiter in hallways p>
He gave me a look.
Dragging his suitcase inside, I asked in my most diplomatic tone, “Couch or bed? Your call p>
Translation: You’re staying the night, not applying for a lease.
Even if this is all pretend, I’m still managing the optics.
Sebastian eyed the couch like it had personally insulted his ancestors. “I’m allergic to sleeping on couches p>
“Then I’ll take the couch and you can have the bed,” I offered sweetly.
“I’m also allergic to sleeping without you p>
I’ve already let you in–don’t try to upgrade your reservation, Romeo.
He chuckled, low and smug. “Sleep is non-negotiable. I have early meetings. I’ll take the couch p>
but if I break out in hives, you’re legally required to nurse me back to health p>
I rolled my eyes and tugged my hand free. “I’ll get you pillows and a blanket. You can suffer in comfort p>
After tossing him a throw and a pillow, I yawned dramatically. “I’m exhausted. Going to bed. You should shower. And try not to get any ideas p>
With that, I retreated to my bedroom.
Morning arrived with the blaring of my alarm.
I groaned, rubbed my eyes, and sat up–mentally scrolling through potential breakfast options like I was building a sad little DoorDash order.
Sliding my feet into slippers, I shuffled toward the door.
The moment I opened it, something stopped me.
The smell.
Coffee. Eggs. Toast. Something vaguely herby and delicious.
“Good morning. Wash up and come eat,” a smooth male voice called out.
Only about 40% awake and still buffering, I turned toward the sound.
There, standing by the dining table’s floor-to-ceiling windows, was a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a lifestyle magazine shoot.
Tall, heartbreak-level handsome, wrapped in crisp white loungewear that somehow made him look even more edible than the breakfast he’d made.
Sunlight poured over him like it was working overtime.
Plates were arranged with the kind of care normally reserved for Michelin-starred Instagram posts.
My brain, still lagging behind, tried to process how I’d gone from “where’s the coffee?” to “am I in a Nancy Meyers movie p>
This wasn’t just domestic fantasy–it was delusion-level wish fulfillment.
Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
And just like that, my rom-com morning was cut short by the front door ringing like a fire drill.