“No,” Sean stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We are not spending the day making small talk with venture capitalists. Get in.”
Rosália smiled, a soft blush rising to her cheeks, and gracefully climbed into the plush leather seat.
Sean shut the door, walked around to the driver’s side, and slid behind the wheel. As he started the powerful engine, he reached out and tapped the digital console.
Instantly, the crystal-clear, hauntingly beautiful notes of a classical violin filled the quiet cabin of the SUV. It wasn’t just any classical music; it was a highly specific, curated playlist of sweeping, emotional violin concertos. Sean had spent his brief downtime over the last few days researching and downloading the exact pieces she had casually mentioned were her favorites during a dinner party six months ago.
Rosália went completely still. She turned her head, staring at the digital display, and then looked over at Sean, her dark eyes wide with profound, touching astonishment.
Sean didn’t say a word. He simply shifted the car into drive and pulled smoothly out of the hotel lot, heading north along the winding, breathtaking coastal highway, letting the music speak for him.
They drove for an hour, the ocean crashing violently against the jagged cliffs to their left, until Sean turned off the main highway onto a secluded, unmarked gravel road.
The heavy forest canopy broke open, revealing their destination.
Rosália gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
Sitting on a massive, isolated cliff completely overlooking the endless blue expanse of the sea was a sprawling, historic botanical conservatory. It was an absolute architectural masterpiece of wrought iron and thousands of panes of glass, built in the late nineteenth century. The entire estate was privately owned, surrounded by wild, overgrown gardens of climbing roses and ancient stone statues.
“Sean,” Rosália breathed, completely awestruck as he parked the car near the rusted iron gates. “This... this is incredible. How did you even know this was here?”
“I bought it three years ago to save it from a commercial developer who wanted to tear it down for condos,” Sean admitted quietly, stepping out of the car and walking around to open her door. “It’s entirely private. Just us.”
For the next few hours, it felt as though the rest of the world had completely ceased to exist. They walked side-by-side through the massive, humid glass cathedral, surrounded by towering, exotic palms and rare, blooming orchids. The sunlight filtered through the glass roof, casting a warm, golden haze over everything. They spoke about art, about architecture, about the history of the ironwork. It was effortless.
Eventually, they wandered out to the stone terrace at the edge of the cliff. Sean had arranged for a private catered lunch to be waiting for them. They sat on a weathered stone bench, eating fresh seafood and drinking a crisp white wine, watching the waves violently crash against the rocks hundreds of feet below.
The easy, light banter slowly faded, replaced by the heavy, comfortable silence that only exists between two people who truly understand each other.
Sean set his wine glass down on the stone table. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his dark eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
“Everyone in our circle thinks Katherine was a textbook midlife crisis,” Sean said, his deep voice breaking the silence, carrying a raw, unexpected vulnerability.
Rosália stopped moving. She gently placed her fork down, turning her body to give him her absolute, undivided attention. She didn’t interrupt.
“They looked at me—a man turning fifty, wealthy, established—and assumed I just wanted a shiny, young trophy to hang on my arm to prove I wasn’t getting old,” Sean continued, his jaw tightening as he stared out at the water. “But that wasn’t it. Not even close.”
He paused, a heavy, dark shadow crossing his features.
“I really fell in love with her, Rosália,” Sean confessed quietly, the admission costing him. “Three years ago, my father passed away. It was sudden. It was brutal. My father was the only family I had left, the only man I truly respected. When he died, the grief completely leveled me. I was surrounded by hundreds of people in my company, in my social circle, but everyone wanted something from me. They wanted investments, they wanted stability, they wanted the stoic billionaire.”
Sean turned his head, finally meeting Rosália’s soft, empathetic gaze.
“Katherine was the personal trainer at the private gym I used to burn off the anger,” he explained, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “She didn’t know who I was. She didn’t care about the money. She was just... there. She was a bright, radiant,uncomplicated light in the middle of the darkest year of my life. She sat with me. She made me laugh when I thought I had forgotten how. Her energy just completely won me over. I didn’t care that she was twenty years younger. I didn’t care that she was from a different world. I just wanted to keep that light in my life.”
Rosália’s heart physically ached for the man sitting beside her. The betrayal suddenly felt a thousand times heavier, a thousand times more cruel. Katherine hadn’t just cheated on a wealthy benefactor; she had completely decimated the fragile trust of a grieving man.
Without thinking, Rosália reached out across the space between them. She placed her small, warm hand directly over Sean’s large, calloused one.
“I am so incredibly sorry she did that to you, Sean,” Rosália murmured, her thumb gently stroking his knuckles. “You didn’t deserve that. You deserved the loyalty you gave her.”
Sean looked down at her hand resting on his, a sudden, profound warmth bleeding into his frozen chest. He turned his palm up, gently lacing his fingers through hers, holding on tight.
“Why David?” Sean asked softly, his thumb brushing over her pulse point. “You are vibrant, brilliant, and deeply passionate. He is... incredibly rigid. Cold. Why him?”
Rosália let out a long, heavy sigh, looking out at the crashing waves as the ocean breeze tangled in her dark hair.
“I was twenty-seven when we met,” Rosália began, a melancholic smile touching her lips. “David was thirty-six. I had spent my early twenties surrounded by boys. Artists, musicians, dreamers who were passionate but incredibly volatile. I wasconstantly acting as the anchor for men who didn’t know how to stand on their own two feet. I was exhausted.”
