The Mask of Sebastian

The heavy oak door swung open, and Sophia Montague strode in, a storm wrapped in silk and leather. Her heels clicked against the polished hardwood floor as she entered her brother's office without waiting for an invitation. The air seemed to shift with her arrival, bringing a mix of sharpness and chaos. Sebastian Montague glanced up from his desk, his sharp blue eyes narrowing in mild irritation. He didn't speak, instead leaning back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly on the armrest as he studied her.

"Miss me, brother?" she teased, her red lips curving into a grin as she dropped into the chair across from him. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in effortless waves, and her playful energy lit up the room. But Sebastian knew better. Beneath her charm and bravado, there was always something more—something she wasn't saying.

"You're early," he said dryly, closing the file he'd been reviewing. His tone was calm and deliberate, but his gaze carried a weight that could unnerve most people. "What's the occasion? Or should I say, what do you want?"

Sophia gasped in mock offence, clutching her chest dramatically. "Can't a girl visit her brother without an ulterior motive?"

Sebastian's lips twitched, though he didn't smile. "A girl, maybe. You? No."

She laughed, but it was too light, too practised. Her eyes flicked briefly to the framed photo on his desk—a younger Sebastian, their parents, all smiles at some long-ago party. The warmth of that moment was a far cry from the present. The glimmer of sadness in her expression was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual carefree demeanour.

The photo drew Sebastian's gaze as well. His parents' faces stared back at him—frozen in time, untouched by the tragedies that followed. He had been young then, barely old enough to understand the weight of what they were building together. And yet, the boy in that photo had been happy, full of hope and ambition, unaware of how quickly it could all be taken away.

"Fine," Sophia admitted, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. "I want to throw you a party. A big, fabulous, over-the-top celebration for your 35th birthday. Think champagne fountains, fireworks, the works."

Sebastian's gaze hardened, the warmth in his eyes extinguished like a candle in the wind. "A party? Sophia, do I look like I'm five years old?"

"It's a milestone, Seb!" she said, undeterred. "You're turning 35! Isn't that something worth celebrating?"

"Exactly," he shot back. "Thirty-five. Not five. In case you've forgotten, that means I'll be 40 in just five years. Do you really think I care about balloons and streamers?"

Sophia rolled her eyes, slouching back in her chair. "Oh, come on, don't be such a grouch. You've got to lighten up sometime. It's not healthy to work all the time, you know."

His voice turned colder, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. "If you're that desperate to spend money, go on a month-long vacation," he said dryly. "Or better yet, find a man to marry. You can throw yourself the biggest, most extravagant wedding London has ever seen."

Sophia gasped, clutching her chest again in mock horror. "Marry? Before you? Absolutely not. I'm not saying 'I do' until you walk down the aisle first."

Sebastian's lips twitched, a rare hint of amusement breaking through his otherwise stern expression. "Oh, so you're waiting for me now? How noble."

"I'm serious!" she said, leaning forward, her tone shifting slightly. "I'll only marry once I'm sure you're not tying the knot with some gold digger or spoiled brat. Whoever becomes my sister-in-law better not be boring either. I want someone sweet—someone I can actually have fun with. Is that too much to ask?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his faint smile growing. "A sweet, innocent woman? Sophia, no such woman has ever been born. If that's what you want, we'd have to build her from scratch."

Sophia burst into laughter, her eyes sparkling with genuine delight. For a moment, the tension between them eased, replaced by the easy warmth they rarely allowed themselves to feel.

"Well, Mr. Perfect, maybe that's your real challenge," she teased. "You can conquer the financial world, but can you find a woman who can handle being your wife?"

Sebastian shook his head, a small chuckle escaping him. "Let's not waste time on fantasies. If you're not here to discuss business, I've got work to do."

"Fine," Sophia said, standing and smoothing her jacket. "But don't think this is over. You're not escaping your birthday, Seb. One way or another, I'll make sure you celebrate—even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming."

Sebastian smirked, his gaze softening as she headed for the door. "Good luck with that."

As the door clicked shut behind her, his smirk faded. He turned back to his desk, his sharp eyes landing on the framed photo once more. It was easier to focus on work, on numbers and deals, than to dwell on the ghosts that lingered in his memories.

The photo haunted him, a reminder of what he'd lost and the boy he'd never be again. He could still hear the screech of tyres, smell the burning metal, and feel the crushing weight of helplessness as his parents' car crumpled against the guardrail. The memory always came in flashes—jagged, incomplete, and haunting.

At eighteen, he'd been forced to bury his grief and take control of the Montague empire. It had been brutal—endless nights of poring over ledgers, doubting board members circling like vultures, and a press hungry for his failure. But failure had never been an option. By sheer force of will, he had thrived, turning every loss into leverage, every challenge into victory.

Now, at thirty-five, he had everything the world promised power could bring. Yet late at night, when the city grew quiet, the weight of it all pressed against his chest. Sophia was the only family he had left, the only person who mattered in a world of shifting alliances and hollow smiles.

Sebastian's phone buzzed, the sharp vibration cutting through the stillness. He glanced at the screen and saw Marcus's name flashing. Frowning, he picked up.

"Marcus," he said curtly. "What is it?"

"Sir," Marcus began, his tone low but alert, "we've noticed an unusual number of Harrington's men in the area surrounding Montague Tower."

Sebastian's fingers tightened on the phone. "What are they doing here?"

"They're not making any moves," Marcus replied. "But they've been here for hours. Watching. Waiting. It doesn't feel like a coincidence."

Sebastian's jaw clenched. Harrington. The man was infamous for his underhanded dealings and calculated manoeuvres. Whatever Harrington's intentions were, Sebastian doubted they were friendly.

"Keep them under surveillance," Sebastian ordered. "And increase security for the building. I don't want any surprises."

"Understood," Marcus replied.

Sebastian ended the call and stared out the window, his reflection merging with the sprawling cityscape beyond. Harrington's presence could mean many things—none of them good. And while Sebastian thrived on control, the unknown had always been his greatest adversary.

The skyline shimmered in the distance, and for the first time in a long while, Sebastian felt the faint stirrings of unease. Whatever Harrington wanted, he had no intention of giving it freely.