Chapter ten
Sebastian cleared his throat, the sound low but commanding, and the entire section of the office seemed to stiffen. Chairs creaked as workers straightened, voices overlapped in a hurried chorus of greetings, and then—silence. Everyone bent over their desks again, the clatter of keyboards suddenly too loud in the stillness he left behind.
Elodie, however, froze under the weight of his shadow. When she finally looked up, her heart stuttered. The son of the CEO—the golden, untouchable Sebastian Cross was standing at her desk. She nearly melted right then, already painting the moment in her head as destiny. The hot heir noticing her? She could almost hear the office gossip already.
Trying to keep her composure, she tilted her chin, lashes fluttering ever so slightly. "What can I do for you, sir?"
But instead of the acknowledgment she'd been waiting for, Sebastian's hazel eyes swept the office and landed coldly back on her. His voice was blunt, cutting through her daydream:
"Where's the new guy? Kairen."
Elodie blinked, the sting sharp. Of course. It wasn't her he noticed at all. Her mouth curled into a practiced, neutral smile, though annoyance simmered beneath the surface. "I don't know," she said lightly, as though the question was beneath her.
Before Sebastian could move on, a voice piped up from the corner. Ms. Jo, bent over with her trash picker, didn't even look up as she answered, "The boy went home." Her tone was casual, but the quick flick of her eyes at Sebastian carried something heavier, almost accusing.
For a moment, something unreadable flickered in his gaze. Then, with his usual coolness, Sebastian gave a curt nod, adjusted the lapel of his suit, and turned on his heel. The weight of his presence lingered in the air as he walked away, every step precise, commanding.
The office exhaled collectively.
Julian leaned toward Elodie with a smirk. "Stop being such a mean girl, Elodie."
She rolled her eyes dramatically, clicking her tongue as if she couldn't care less, but her stomach burned with irritation. Of course it was Kairen. Always Kairen.
---
The spa smelled of lavender and eucalyptus, the kind of air that made you feel like you had money even if your account balance said otherwise. Two massage beds sat side by side, and on them lay Kairen and Amara, both with white towels wrapped around their hair, cucumber slices pressed lazily over their eyelids. The masseuses had just left, whispering that they'd be back in thirty minutes, and the room hummed with soft flute music.
Kairen lasted all of five seconds.
With a dramatic sigh, he ripped the cucumber from his eye, turned his head toward Amara's bed, and deadpanned, "Bitch, what the fuck is this?"
The seriousness in his voice cracked Amara instantly. She snorted, then peeled off her own cucumber slice and looked at him, eyes wide with fake innocence. "This is called luxury, Ren. Don't ruin it for me."
Kairen's lips twitched. The absurdity of it all his trauma, the madness at work, and now lying in a spa smelling like lemon water crashed into him at once. He started laughing, that soft, breathless kind of laugh you couldn't control, and Amara joined in until both were shaking on the massage beds, trying not to roll off.
"Ren, listen." Amara finally calmed, fanning her flushed face with her hand. "You need this. You need to rest, to breathe. If you don't keep your sanity intact, that blonde devil of a man is going to eat you alive. And I don't mean in the fun way."
Kairen pouted, childlike, then muttered, "Thank you." His voice cracked around the edges, soft enough that it almost broke her. He stretched his hand across the small gap between their beds. Amara looked at it, then grinned and slipped her own hand into his, squeezing tight.
"You'll be fine," she whispered, her tone a rare blend of firmness and warmth.
Kairen closed his eyes, breathing in the lavender, holding on to her like she was the only anchor left. For now, in that silly room with cucumbers and oils, the storm outside didn't exist.
The black car purred to a stop before the Croix mansion, its gleaming body catching the faint evening light. Sebastian stepped out, not with his usual brooding scowl but with a dangerous curve of a smile. His stride was loose, almost casual, though in his head the wheels turned fast wicked little thoughts, sharp as glass. He was already fantasizing about how far he could push this new game, how deliciously messy he could make it. For once, he wasn't dragging his feet toward the house.
The marble foyer swallowed him in its cold grandeur, chandeliers swaying faintly overhead, the silence of wealth pressing in. He was halfway to the staircase when voices drifted from the dining hall.
He slowed, tilting his head.
Celeste.
Her voice was unmistakable high, sweet, laced with grievance. "That's how he abandoned me, Victor. Just left me there. Do you know how embarrassed I was? Everyone saw."
Sebastian smirked, the sound of her complaint like cheap wine in his ear. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, listening.
Victor's reply was clipped, disinterested, as if her words barely earned the air: "You exaggerate. You must learn composure."
Celeste huffed, her fork clattering against fine porcelain. "Exaggerate? I was humiliated."
Sebastian shook his head, biting down a laugh. Of course she'd run crying to Daddy Cross, painting herself as the fragile little victim. The dramatics, the desperation—it was so predictable, so tiresome.
And yet… entertaining.
He straightened, steps turning deliberate now, each one echoing down the marble hall. He wasn't going to slink away to his room. No—he wanted to see her face when he walked in, smiling. He wanted her to know he'd overheard every whiny word.
Sebastian's smirk sharpened as he pushed open the double doors to the dining room, his hazel eyes catching the glitter of chandeliers overhead.
Time to stir the nest.
The Croix dining hall gleamed under its chandeliers, all marble sheen and hushed elegance. Celeste sat rigidly at the table, her arms folded like she was staging a protest, her lips turned down in a pout. Victor, ever composed, carved methodically into his roast as if he hadn't already grown tired of her sighing.
Then came the sound of polished shoes against the marble.
Sebastian.
But not the brooding, storm-eyed Sebastian everyone was used to. No—he entered light as a summer breeze, smiling like he had just pulled off the cleverest heist in history.
"Good evening," he said smoothly, almost sing-song, and leaned down to brush a kiss against Celeste's cheek.
She nearly dropped her fork. The pout dissolved, her lips parted in surprise, then quickly tightened again—she didn't want him to see how easily he could unravel her little tantrums.
Victor froze mid-cut, his knife pausing against porcelain. He squinted at his son. "What are you up to?"
Sebastian slid into his seat, grin lazy, hands spread as if to say he was innocence incarnate. "Can't I just greet my own father?"
Celeste blinked rapidly, still clinging to her sulk. "You left me humiliated yesterday," she snapped. "Do you know how embarrassing that was?"
Sebastian turned to her, expression softening with sudden, practiced regret. "I know. And I'm sorry." He reached across, his voice dropping into that coaxing purr. "When I get back from work tomorrow, I'll make it up to you. Promise."
She huffed, shoulders curling forward in defiance. "Hmm."
But Sebastian only leaned closer, eyes teasing, lips quirking. "Please, Celeste."
Her resolve cracked. She waved her hand dramatically as if dismissing him—but the small smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.
Victor, however, wasn't fooled. His knife clinked against the plate. "Take tomorrow off," he ordered, eyes sharp. "Spend time with her. Show me you're serious."
Sebastian shook his head lightly, still wearing that infuriating grin. "No. I need to take the job seriously now."
That earned him silence. Even the servants paused mid-step as they laid down fresh platters.
Victor leaned back in his chair, studying him as though trying to spot the strings of whatever game Sebastian was playing. "What's changed?"
Sebastian didn't answer right away. Instead, he glanced at the maids, pointing casually to the plates. "Not like that put the wine glass here, yes, and the bread basket there. Perfect. Balance, presentation matters."
The maids obeyed, half-bewildered by his sudden interest.
Only then did Sebastian look back at his father, smile calm, predatory. "I want to take full control now."
Victor's eyes narrowed further, but Sebastian's mind was already elsewhere.
Because the truth wasn't family, or legacy, or Celeste's fragile forgiveness.
No—this joy, this sudden surge of purpose, came from something far more intoxicating.
Kairen Noel.
The boy who had once been prey and somehow slipped away. Now fate had tossed him right back into Sebastian's grasp.
Sebastian swirled the wine in his glass, the smirk at his lips turning darker, hungrier.
This wouldn't just be a game. He was going to peel him apart, piece by trembling piece.
Make him flinch, make him sweat, make him remember exactly who held the power.
Sebastian leaned back, pleased, almost giddy.
Yes. Kairen was going to suffer deliciously, exquisitely suffer until he broke.
And Sebastian would enjoy every second of it.