Scored

Sebastian sat in the back of the sleek, dark vehicle, jaw tight as the restaurant's outdoor lights faded in the rearview mirror. His phone buzzed for the eight time that night from the same persistent woman. 

Lady Harcourt.

He let it ring again, thumb twitching against the leather of the seat.

Buzz.

He had abandoned his fiancée at the restaurant, praying that she would not realize something was wrong.

Buzz.

He sighed, grabbed the phone, and answered. "Liora."

"Well," she breathed, her voice gliding like silk over to the other end, "I was beginning to think you were ignoring me."

"I was," he replied bluntly.

A laugh, a soft, practiced thing, dripped through the speaker. "I don't mind. I like it when you resist a little."

He rubbed his brow. "It's late."

"So come to me." Her tone dipped lower. "I'm in the city tonight. At my apartment. Just me. I lit a few candles… and wore something you'll never forget."

"Liora," he warned.

"I know what you're going to say. But your engagement doesn't change anything between us. You and I both know what's real." Her voice turned more tender, more calculated. "My aunt said it's only a matter of time. And I trust her. Don't you?"

He hesitated.

She didn't press. Just let silence wrap around them.

"I'll text you the address," she whispered, like it was a secret. "Come."

He should've said no.

He didn't.

The elevator opened directly into her apartment. It was the contemporary work of an architect from Country F. Modern, luxurious, and dimly lit by dozens of flickering candles. The soft scent of jasmine and bergamot filled the space like a spell, beckoning Sebastian to take another step. Music played somewhere faintly in the background, he was not sure where it was coming from. 

And there she stood.

Lady Harcourt.

The silk she wore clung to her like water, sheer in places that left nothing to the imagination. Her hair was down, lips a little too red, smile just a little too curved at one corner of her lips.

"I didn't think you'd actually come," she said, though the gleam in her eyes told him she'd never doubted it.

Sebastian closed the door behind him slowly. "This is a bad idea."

"Then walk away," she said softly, stepping toward him. "But you won't."

She reached up and slid his coat from his shoulders without waiting for permission, her fingers trailing down his chest. "You think about me more than you should," she murmured. "Tell me I'm wrong."

He caught her wrists. "Liora…"

Her name sounded like a warning. It only excited her.

"I know you haven't touched her yet," she whispered, eyes flickering. "They're trying to make you behave until the wedding. But why should you have to wait for something you don't even want?"

"I didn't come here for this," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

"Maybe not," she said, pressing her lips just beneath his jaw. "But you stayed. And don't act like you don't want this. We both know you are dying for this."

That was all it took.

He kissed her, then roughly pushed her back against the marble counter as the candlelight danced around them. She gasped against his mouth, but not in surprise since she had been waiting for this. Planning it. Plotting on it.

His hands roamed her body with the kind of hunger that came from months of restraint, while hers worked open the buttons of his shirt like she'd imagined it too many times to fumble. He didn't ask if she was sure. The thought didn't cross his mind. 

When he finally lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the chaise, she laughed victoriously.

Later, tangled in silk sheets and post-climax breathlessness, she lay beside him, fingers brushing the line of his jaw.

"Was she ever like this with you?" she asked, her voice honeyed and tinged with a hint of cruelty, depending on his answer. "Your precious Cecelia?"

He turned his head to look at her, eyes unreadable.

"No," he said simply. "She's not like you."

That satisfied her more than anything else that night. So gratifying that she did not notice the grin forming on his face as she nuzzled against the curve of his neck. 

Liora's breathing had evened out, soft and steady against the curve of his shoulder. Her leg was thrown lazily over his, one arm draped across his stomach like a claim. In the dim light, her hair spilled across the pillow in a dark halo, lips parted in the kind of sleep that was hard to snap out of, just like the dream she was living out right at that moment. 

She thought she'd won.

Sebastian reached for his phone on the nightstand without disturbing her, the screen lighting up his face. He scrolled past missed calls from Cecelia, a message from his mother, and opened the private group thread instead, involving only five members, all young lords from prominent families that shared the same twisted mindset and goals. 

Sebastian: Scored. Finally.

Within seconds, the chat came alive with celebratory messages.

Damon: There he is. Cold-blooded.

Rafe: Tell me, is she good or what? I might play around with her next. 

Marc: Knew you'd crack her eventually. That girl's been crawling after you for years.

Damon: Still the best in the game, man. No woman can escape your charm. 

Sebastian smirked, one corner of his mouth lifting as he thumbed back a reply.

Sebastian: Didn't even need to try. She served herself up like a gift.

Rafe: And you unwrapped it like a pro. Speaking of unwrapped, you didn't use protection right? She is bound to be the next baby mama with how full of vigor our young master is! Hahaha!

He slipped the phone face down beside him again, stretching one arm behind his head as Liora shifted in her sleep, pressing closer.

There was no guilt. No second thoughts.

Just the satisfaction of being wanted, the thrill of conquest, and the knowledge that no matter what, he still had the upper hand.