Page 149 of Brutal Heir

My sneakers squeaked against the marble.

He set his espresso cup down with deliberate precision. “I had something laid out for you.”

“I’m not your doll, Sebastian,” I snapped, snatching a croissant from the nearest tray. “And I’m not here to play dress-up for you.”

His fingers tightened around the edge of his cup, the faintest crack of tension breaking through his composed facade. “Those clothes are inappropriate for work.”

“I quit."

His silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

When I glanced up, his expression was unreadable, but the set of his jaw betrayed him.

“You’re not quitting.” It wasn’t a threat. It was a fact.

“I’m going back to New York,” I bit out, spreading jam onto the croissant. “You can keep your fancy clothes, your job, your gilded cage—and your lies.”

The scrape of his chair against the marble floor echoed.

Sebastian rose, his movements slow and deliberate.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“Watch me.”

“Do you honestly think you have a choice?”

The soft question sent a chill down my spine, but I refused to show it. “I’m not staying here to play whatever twisted game you’ve designed. I’m done.”

Sebastian moved before I could react, rounding the table in a few strides.

He was close now, his presence overpowering.

His hand slammed down on the table, inches from my croissant, rattling the silverware.

“Do you think this is a game?”

“I don’t care what it is,” I shot back. “I’m not playing.”

He leaned in, the heat of him brushing against my skin. “What you want doesn’t matter, Sabrina. It never has. Sit,” he commanded.

I stayed frozen, gripping the edge of the table.

“I’m not hungry.”

“That wasn’t a request."

He gestured toward the empty chair.

“Sit down.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, studying me. “You seem to think you’re in control here. Let me disabuse you of that notion. Sit.”

“No.”

His towering frame cast a shadow over me.