Sebastian’s smile returned, slow and deliberate—more omen than expression. “I’m not her anchor,” he murmured, lifting his glass, scotch catching the light like firelight in a church. “I’m the answer.”
His gaze turned sharp. Focused.
“I see what Gideon never will. Arden’s not some delicate thing meant for safekeeping. She doesn’t need a fucking pedestal. She needs permission to burn.”
He leaned forward, voice lowering to a reverent hush.
“She’s rage wrapped in silk. Built for fire. For destruction. For rebirth. And I’m the only one who sees that.”
Dylan exhaled, sharp and uncertain. “You’re playing with fire.”
“I’m not playing,” Sebastian whispered. “This isn’t a game.”
It’s resurrection.
His thumb drifted along the rim of his glass, etching a halo into the condensation. The motion was idle, delicate—a lover’s caress.
Then, softer still, “She needs to remember.”
Dylan flinched. “This could destroy her.”
Sebastian’s eyes closed. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver.
Instead, he conjured her—Arden, wild and alive.
Shimmers of light caught in her hair. Lips parted in fury. A pulse like thunder under her skin.
Every spark in her blood, every flare of rebellion in her veins. It all belonged to him. She hadn't learned yet. Beautiful. Untouchable. His.
“Aren’t you just mimicking the other guy?” Dylan dared.
“I’mnotmimicking the other one,” he said, not looking up. “He was careless. Clumsy. Thought fear alone could forge devotion. But I—” He breathed the word like scripture.
“Iunderstandher. And I’m refining the narrative. Making it sharper. Making it worthy.”
He opened his eyes, glassy with borderline devotion. “She was never his to break. But she’ll be mine to rebuild. She doesn’t know it yet. But she will.”
Left alone with his scotch,Sebastian traced the single red petal he’d placed on the table—reverent and slow, as if it could bruise.
Everything was unfolding perfectly.
Dylan playing his part.
Messages landing like depth charges in Arden’s mind.
Every reminder of her past crafted with precision, each one pushing her exactly where he needed her.
It wasn’t about fear as an end.
It was the doorway.
A threshold to something darker, inevitable.
Something that belonged to him.
He exhaled slowly, gaze fixed on the glass.
My Little Fire, he thought.She doesn’t even know she’s already burning for me.
