He kisses me again, like he can’t get enough.
Afterward, I rest against his chest, breathing him in, letting the rhythm of him steady my own.
But even in this intimacy, there’s a truth I still haven’t told him. A weight I haven’t shared. My hands curl against his chest, trembling. If I don’t share it all, then the little I told him will be a waste of time.
I try to pull away, to make space, but his arm tightens around my waist, anchoring me in place.
“Sebastian,” I murmur, voice small, hesitant. “There’s more.”
His lips brush my temple. “I know,” he says, low and certain, as if he’s been waiting for me to say it, as if he already carries my truth with him.
His trust gives me a flicker of courage.
“He’s not just hurting your business,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “He wants you gone.”
Sebastian goes rigid. The warmth I felt in his chest a moment ago drains away, replaced by a steel I’ve never seen before.
I slide off his lap, careful, deliberate, though every step toward the wardrobe is a torment. My hands shake as I pull the envelope from the drawer, my fingers brushing against the smooth paper. I turn and hold it out to him.
He’s already sitting up, sheets bunched around his waist. I try not to look—really, really try—not at the way the light hits his chest, the muscles taut beneath the skin, the way he’s always seemed to carry the weight of the world without breaking.
“This is everything he gave me. Everything he plans,” I say, my stomach almost caving.
He takes the envelope, eyes darkening the longer he looks at it. Carefully, he opens it, flipping through the documents. Falsified records. Plans to push multiple galleries into litigation.Incriminating evidence hidden in shipping logs. Schemes to frame him for international art theft.
The air between us thickens.
His expression goes cold. Terrifyingly cold. The warmth, the softness, even the Sebastian I know—they vanish behind a wall of controlled fury. Every line of his jaw sharpens, his eyes narrowing like blades.
And I realize, in that moment, just how much danger I’ve dragged into our home.
“I’m so sorry, Sebastian.” My voice shatters under the weight of shame and fear.
He looks up, and my stomach lurches. His anger isn’t directed at me. Not really.
“He used you as bait,” Sebastian says slowly, each word measured, cold, like a blade sliding across glass. “While planning a war.”
“I didn’t know,” I gasp, desperation spilling out. “I swear—I had no idea.”
Before I can even register it, he slips from the bed, the sheets falling around him, and his naked body presses against mine. The heat, the strength, it’s overwhelming, but it doesn’t feel like anger. It’s control. Protection. Power.
“I believe you,” he whispers, his lips brushing my temple as he holds me close. The panic that had been spiraling through me—the fear, the guilt—dissolves into the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.
I sag against him, relief punching the air from my lungs, almost too much to bear.
“But now,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into something darker, sharper, lethal in its softness, “we end him.”
Chapter 19 – Sebastian
The more Sienna trembles in my arms, the angrier I become.
It’s subtle at first—the way her fingers curl into my chest like she’s bracing for impact, the shallow hitch in her breath that tells me she’s still half-expecting the ground to give way beneath her. Each tremor feeds the fire in my blood. Each one sharpens my focus.
Mikhailov.
The name detonates in my head like a controlled explosion—precise, devastating, impossible to ignore.
Of all men.
