Chapter sixteen
The mansion was unnervingly quiet when Sebastian returned. The gardens outside glimmered faintly beneath the lamps, and only the shuffle of servants and the low murmur of guards broke the silence. No booming voice of Victor echoing down the halls, no heavy presence watching his every move.
Sebastian's jaw was tight, his mood already soured from what he had seen Kairen, practically melting into some woman's arms, carried off like he actually mattered. A girlfriend? His lip curled at the thought. Who on earth would want to date that weakling? The idea stung more than he cared to admit, and it left a restless coil in his stomach.
He was halfway to his room when Victor's assistant intercepted him. The man bowed stiffly and handed over an envelope.
"From your father, sir. He apologizes for not informing you personally he had to leave for an urgent trip. Business abroad. He also asked me to deliver this."
Sebastian unfolded the cheque, the number scrawled across it so outrageous it almost pulled a laugh out of him. He scoffed instead, a sharp, derisive sound.
"Disciplined, huh?" he muttered, shaking his head. "That's what he always says… and then he hands me this." He flicked the paper between his fingers, smirking. "Can't even leash me properly. Spoils me while pretending not to."
The irritation burning in him earlier began to fade, replaced with something sharper, more dangerous a thrill. Victor was gone, out of reach, and for now, Sebastian was in control. Free. Unchecked.
He strode toward his room, lips curling into a wicked smirk. The coffee incident, the way Kairen had knelt there, trembling, his face near breaking it replayed in his mind like a highlight reel. That was entertainment. And with his father away, he had nothing but time to push the boy further, to twist, break, and torment until there was nothing left.
Sebastian laughed under his breath, the sound low and dangerous, echoing against the tall walls of the mansion. Tonight, he wasn't just the son of Victor Cross—he was king in his own right. And tomorrow? Tomorrow, Kairen Noel would remember exactly who held the leash.
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Celeste stood in the middle of Sebastian's room, his once minimalist, masculine space now transformed into something dripping with sex appeal. Silk sheets, low golden lamps, perfume candles she'd "accidentally" left behind all of it staged for her grand performance. A performance, she told herself, was her only weapon.
She stood before the mirror, flipping her platinum hair first over one shoulder, then the other. No, too stiff. She tugged the silk of her lingerie down, exposing more of her collarbone. Better… but maybe too desperate.
She tried sitting on the edge of his bed, crossing one leg over the other. Then uncrossed. Then spread them a little wider. She inhaled sharply, snapping her knees back together. "No, no… what if he walks in and dismisses me like this? I'd drown in my own shame." She puffed her cheeks, muttering, "Which man alive can resist this body? No man. Not even Sebastian Cross."
But the truth hung heavy. She needed this. Her reflection smirked back at her, painted lips trembling with determination. "This is the only way," she whispered to herself. "The only way I can keep sponsoring my lavish lifestyle. No gigs, no fake friends, no brand deals will give me what he can."
For a moment, she even lay back across his bed, arching her back in what she thought was a flawless pose. She practiced a whisper, almost moaning the words: wreck me. Then sat up instantly, horrified. "Too extreme. Too risky. Play it soft, play it perfect, Celeste."
And then the door creaked open.
Sebastian stepped inside.
Celeste snapped upright, all restless fumbling gone, slipping seamlessly into her practiced persona. One hand adjusted the silk to drape perfectly off her shoulder, the other brushing her thigh as if she'd been posing like this all along. She tilted her chin, lips curving in a sultry smile.
"Welcome home," she purred, as though she hadn't just been rehearsing like a panicked actress seconds before.
Sebastian paused in the doorway, the sharp scent of her perfume heavy in the air. Celeste froze, caught mid–pose, silk slipping from her shoulder as though she had been rehearsing in front of an invisible mirror. He should have told her to get out. He should have mocked her shameless attempt to turn his room into some velvet-draped shrine of lust. But instead, his hands moved to the buttons of his shirt.
He was angry angry at the knot of jealousy that Kairen had left in his chest and Celeste would be the canvas on which he painted it out.
Her lips parted in surprise when he shrugged the shirt off, the lamplight catching on the carved definition of his chest, the lean muscles of his abdomen tightening with each movement. Sebastian was sculpted to seduce without effort, every motion deliberate, slow. Even the way he rolled his sleeves had always drawn stares now, with his torso bare, the effect was lethal.
Celeste's breath quickened. This wasn't how she thought it would go; usually she was the one staging the act, guiding the script. But the moment his hazel eyes those sharp, gold-flecked slits fixed on her, she felt more like prey than temptress.
Sebastian didn't touch her immediately. He circled her, a predator savoring the tremble in her body, letting the anticipation coil until it burned. When his fingers finally brushed her jaw, she almost gasped, arching into the contact as though she had been starving for it.
He smirked. Too easy.
Celeste reached for his shoulders, tracing the ridges of muscle as though memorizing them. "You don't know what you do to me," she whispered, tilting her head back, offering herself like a prize.
He bent closer, lips grazing her ear, voice low and sharp. "No, Celeste. You don't know what I do to you."
And then he made her prove it.
Every touch was controlled, deliberate fingers dragging down her spine, lips ghosting her skin just enough to make her shiver before pulling away. He didn't rush, didn't yield. He slowed her, teased her, forced her to feel each second stretch like a wire about to snap. Celeste had imagined she would play him, that her body would be her victory. But Sebastian took the script, tore it apart, and rewrote it with every calculated move.
By the time he finally claimed her, she was trembling, half from desire, half from the intoxicating dominance of his restraint. His rhythm was slow but unrelenting, a steady command that left no space for her to think, only to feel. Her nails raked across his back, desperate to leave proof of her victory, but he only pressed harder, making her breath hitch, making her realize she had surrendered without ever meaning to.
Celeste whispered his name like a prayer, convinced she had won him at last.
But Sebastian wasn't with her. His mind lingered on something else someone else. Not desire, not softness, but the irritation, the jealousy that gnawed at him. Kairen's face, pale and fragile, flashed unbidden in his thoughts, and Sebastian gritted his teeth as if punishing himself.
So he moved harder, slower, until Celeste melted beneath him, undone and certain she had conquered.
When it was over, she sprawled across the sheets with a triumphant smile, her chest rising and falling in satisfied rhythm. "You'll never get rid of me now," she murmured, basking in the illusion of victory.
Sebastian leaned back against the headboard, chest still heaving, golden eyes unreadable. He didn't answer. The smirk tugging his lips wasn't for her—it was for the silent war raging in his head. He had proven something to himself tonight: he could make anyone succumb.
But the knot inside him remained.
Sebastian lay back against the silk sheets, his body still humming with the residue of exertion, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. The dim golden light of his room caught every angle of him the long line of muscle running from his chest down to his waist, the sharp definition of his abs glistening faintly with sweat.
Celeste rolled onto her side, hair spilling over her bare shoulders as she let her manicured fingers trace lightly down his torso. She lingered at the ridges of his abdomen, her voice low, teasing.
"Hope you enjoyed it," she purred.
But before her touch could wander further, Sebastian caught her hand mid-trace. His grip was firm, not tender, and his hazel eyes half-lidded, unreadable, never softened. "I need a shower," he said simply, his voice flat, final.
He released her hand as though it were nothing, swinging his legs off the bed. He stood, completely unbothered by his nudity, his body all raw, unapologetic appeal—the broad back, the long taper of his waist, the sculpted muscles moving as naturally as a predator at rest. Without sparing her another glance, he strode across the room, the silence broken only by the faint clink of his watch against his wrist.
Celeste sat up against the pillows, lips parted, blinking at the dismissal. For a second, it stung how casually he could use her, how easily he could walk away. But then, she tilted her head, pulling a lock of platinum hair over her shoulder, a smile curving slow and dangerous across her lips.
So he thought he was hard to get. Untouchable. Above her.
She would prove him wrong.
Her eyes followed his frame until the bathroom door closed behind him. A beat later, the hiss of the shower filled the silence, swallowing any lingering doubt. She leaned back against the pillows, smirk curling wider. In her mind, she had succeeded. He had let her in. And that meant she was winning.
Even if all he gave her was his body, Celeste convinced herself it was enough enough to keep her lifestyle, enough to keep her relevance, enough to keep him.
Outside the door, the water poured on. Inside the room, her smirk lingered—an illusion she clung to like armor.....