Chapter 17

The city outside Sebastian's apartment buzzed to life, a world in motion while time seemed to pause between them.

Emilia stood by the window, wrapped in one of Sebastian's shirts, oversized and soft against her skin. The light of dawn kissed her face, highlighting the tired determination in her eyes. She hadn't slept much—too many thoughts, too many feelings circling like birds in a storm.

Behind her, Sebastian stirred, watching her in silence from the bed. There was something different about her posture—less composed, more real. And that vulnerability stirred something deeper in him than desire. It felt like truth.

"You look like you're about to run," he said softly, voice husky with sleep.

She turned, meeting his gaze. "I'm not running," she whispered. "I just don't

He rose, bare feet brushing against the hardwood as he crossed to her. For a moment, they stood without words. Then he lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You don't have to figure everything out at once. Not here. Not with me."

Her eyes shimmered, and for once, she didn't hide it. "I've spent my entire life being what they needed me to be—cold, composed, calculated. I don't know who I am without the armor."

"You're Emilia," he said. "And you're allowed to be more than one thing. Fierce at work. Soft here. Conflicted. Bold. Afraid. All of it."

His words broke through something, and she stepped into his embrace. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and her forehead found the crook of his shoulder. The quiet thud of his heartbeat steadied her.

"I don't know what this is between us," she murmured. "But it's the only thing that feels real right now."

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. "Then let's stop questioning it and just feel it. For once."

They kissed—not with urgency, but with meaning. A silent promise between two broken people trying to find something whole in each other.

When they finally pulled apart, Emilia smiled, a rare softness playing at the edges of her lips. "You're dangerous, Sebastian Lores."

"And you're beautiful when you let go, Emilia Stone."

----Emilia lingered in Sebastian's arms longer than she intended, but the quiet in his apartment gave her something she hadn't realized she was starving for—peace. No boardroom politics. No false smiles. No expectations. Just the soft hum of the city beneath them, and the steady breath of a man who was quickly becoming her only truth.

Sebastian guided her to the edge of the bed, his fingers tracing lazy circles along her wrist. "You don't have to pretend with me," he said again, voice lower this time. "Not strong. Not sure. Just… be."

"I don't know how," she admitted. "I've forgotten what that feels like."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he kissed her palm, then her inner wrist, then the curve where shoulder met neck. Not rushed. Not urgent. Just reverent.

"Then let me remind you," he murmured.

Emilia closed her eyes, every nerve on alert as his mouth moved gently, tasting rather than taking. There was no arrogance in his touch, no conquest—only the steady unraveling of her carefully wound layers.

Her shirt slipped from one shoulder, baring her to the cool morning air and his heated gaze. She didn't flinch. She didn't cover herself. She let him look—really look—and when his eyes met hers again, they were filled with something more than desire. Something achingly tender.

He took his time.

His hands moved over her slowly, like he was learning her, memorizing the way her breath caught when he kissed just below her jaw, the way her back arched when he brushed his fingertips across her lower spine. And when he finally laid her down, he hovered above her, face inches from hers.

"You sure?" he asked, even now.

Her answer was a breath against his lips. "Yes. I want this… with you."

Their bodies met with a sweetness that surprised her. She expected intensity—and it was there—but threaded through with care, with restraint, with something that made her heart ache. He touched her like she was precious, not a woman from a boardroom or a name in headlines, but simply Emilia. A woman craving warmth, safety, something real.

She responded with trembling hands, tentative at first, then bolder, pulling him closer, letting him see her, feel her—letting him in.

The world outside didn't matter. Not the scandal. Not the shadows waiting at her office door. In that room, time folded into itself, and all that remained were quiet gasps, whispered names, and the slow burning rhythm of two people losing themselves and finding something truer in return.

When it was over, they didn't speak.

Sebastian tucked a blanket around her, pulling her against his chest. Her fingers rested just above his heart, and his hand settled at the curve of her waist.

For the first time in a long while, Emilia felt safe.

But she also knew—with morning would come reality. And nothing would ever be the same again.