This was close to what I wanted. But not close enough for me to give in.
By the time I stepped into the hallway, the softness had already sealed itself away. A moment later, the elevator opened, and Sebastian stepped out—rumpled, flushed, eyes going straight to mine. He didn’t look angry anymore. He looked wrecked.
My chest ached, but I held the line. “You’ve got some real nerve showing up here right now.”
He stopped in front of me, jaw tight. “Ethan?—”
“No.” I cut him off immediately. “I didn’t let you up here for you to take the easy way out.”
He faltered, guilt written all over him. “I came to apologize?—”
“Yeah,” I interrupted, “but you’re not doing it drunk in the middle of the night because you’re lonely on your birthday. You don’t get the easy way out.” My arm stayed braced across the doorway, keeping him where he was.
“Then what?”
Do it, Ethan. Fucking do it.
Ask for what you want.
“You’re going to break up with your fucking boyfriend,thenyou’ll apologize.” I leaned in a little. “And you’re going to admit you fucked up. With me. With all of it. But you’re not doing it like this.”
His gaze stayed locked on mine.
Ask. For. It.
“You’re going to do it on your knees, Sebastian,” I said, my voice unsteady despite the control I was forcing into it. “I want you tocrawlto me. I want you tobeg.”
His eyes widened—probably more at the conviction behind the words than the demand itself—and for a split second, something in them broke through. Not arrogance. Not control. Something raw and unsteady. It hit me deep in the chest—thesame place he always reached without trying, making my resolve waver. I could end this right now. Pull him inside. Let him hold me. Let everything fall back into the shape it always took when he touched me.
But if I folded now, nothing would change. I would still be the secret. The almost. The thing he reached for in private and denied in daylight.
I held his gaze and didn’t move. “And you’re going to be stone-cold sober when you do it,” I added. “I deserve that much.”
He swallowed, then nodded once.
“Go home.” And I closed the door before he could say anything else. I stayed there against it, breath unsteady. “Fuck.”
He deserved that.
He really did.
But doubt pushed at me anyway, trying to wedge its way in. I dragged my hands down my face.
From the other side of the door came the soft scrape of his shoes, then a dull sound—maybe his forehead resting against it. “You’re right,” he said. “You don’t deserve this.”
Pressure built under my ribs as his steps retreated. The elevator chimed—metal slid shut, and he was gone.
Again.
I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. “Fuck,” I whispered. “Fuck.”
Charlotte was about to arrive. Henry had stepped out to get groceries and then stayed downstairs, waiting for them to get here. They’d landed a couple of hours ago, gotten settled at the hotel, and were coming straight over. After that, Charlotte would stay with me, and Oliver and Henry would go see Sebastian.
Because that’s where we were right now. Like a divorced couple splitting up the kids.
This last week had been terrible. I’d felt solid in my resolve, waiting for Sebastian to come find me and finally sayI’m sorry. But he hadn’t.
Vanessa told me he’d left for Seville on a work trip, which—fine—at least meant he wasn’t actively avoiding me again. But he’d been back since yesterday, and when Henry suddenly announced that tonight was brothers’ night, I hadn’t been invited.
