Because even if I understood him better now—even if I could see the parallels between us—I didn’t have to turn into him. I knew Sebastian wasn’t intentionally cruel; he just didn’t know how to offer more. But I deserved better, and I wasn’t going to settle for scraps.
Three days later, there was no more avoiding it. Not for either of us.
The space between Sebastian and me hadn’t eased—not even a little. We hadn’t spoken since the night he showed up at my door. No text, no call, no attempt to fix what’d been broken.
By the time lunch rolled around, I’d rehearsed exactly how to handle being in the same room with him—calm, civil, braced for whatever version of him I’d get. Guarded enough that nothing slipped through the cracks I’d spent the week stitching shut.
November had arrived quietly, slipping into the city without ceremony. The light felt thinner now, the sun lower even at midday, and the chill that lingered in the shadows followed you indoors if you let it. The restaurant was meant to feel casual, but the private room felt stifling the moment I stepped inside.
Henry had invited Mateo and Raúl; Sebastian sat beside Elena and a couple of directors; Oliver, Charlotte, and a few friends filled the rest of the table. I slid into the seat beside my sister, quietly putting as much distance between us as I could.
We didn’t say hello.
Our eyes met for a second—his unreadable, mine trying not to show anything—and then we both looked away.
It was strange how quickly things had changed. How we’d gone from wanting to be near each other, from the effortless pull that used to drag our gazes together and tug smiles out of us… to this quiet separation. To silence. To regret.
Maybe he didn’t care as much as I thought.
Maybe I was waiting for a version of us that was never going to exist.
Halfway through lunch, while I was debating getting up and leaving, Sebastian’s phone buzzed. He frowned, murmured an apology, and stepped away to take the call.
Something about it immediately put me on alert.
I watched his back as he listened.
In a single heartbeat, his posture changed—shoulders locking, head dipping forward. When he turned slightly, his eyes were wide, startled in a way I had never seen on him. His mouth moved fast, voice low and too far away to pick up.
Then he looked back at the table… and his gaze caught on mine.
Not pleading.
Not asking.
Just raw emotion leaking through the cracks he usually kept sealed shut.
I was on my feet before I realized I’d moved, my chair scraping softly against the floor.
Charlotte tugged on my sleeve. “E, what is it?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered—because I didn’t, not exactly. But something in me recognized it was bad.
Sebastian turned toward us again, eyes bright with something dangerously close to fear. That was what got me moving, my feet already taking me to him.
“Calm down and—” Sebastian’s voice shook as he spoke into the phone. His chest rose and fell too fast. “What happened?”
“Ash?” I said quietly.
His eyes snapped to mine. He didn’t answer. He didn’t seem capable of it. His free hand twitched at his side—just once—like he was fighting the urge to reach for me.
So I made the choice for both of us. I took his hand, interlocking my fingers with his. His grip closed around mine instantly—too tight.
I steadied him with a small nod and turned to the table. Most of them were already standing, alarm rising like heat in the room.
“Henny. Oli,” I called.
The panic on their faces twisted something sharp inside me.
