Sebastian's POV
The engine of my custom matte-black Aston Martin purred like a beast as I pulled up in front of Ava's high school—the kind of elite, ivy-lined private institution where the rich pretend their kids are normal. A valet rushed forward, but I barely spared him a glance. I killed the engine, stepped out, and buttoned my navy trench coat. Tailored. Sharp. British cut.
Let them look.
I lit a cigarette and leaned against the hood. Two months in London had done nothing to dull the need I had to see her again. She didn't know I was coming back today. I hadn't texted. Hadn't called. This was a test of sorts.
A surprise. A punishment. A gift.
The bell rang. Doors burst open. Students swarmed out like ants—plaid skirts, oversized backpacks, too much lip gloss and too little awareness. I stood there, a statue among insects, ignoring the hungry stares.
"Sheesh—who is that?"
"Is that her boyfriend?"
"He's so hot. Please tell me that's her sugar daddy—"
"Wait, that's her dad? You're kidding."
I ignored them.
And then I saw her.
Ava Chen. My daughter. My chaos. My girl.
Her heavy black hair flew behind her like silk in the wind, knee-length and wild. She was still in her uniform, shirt slightly untucked, necktie loose, knee socks slipping. That mouth parted in a gasp. She stopped. Froze. Our eyes locked.
And then—hell broke loose.
She ran.
Not walked. Not jogged. She full-on sprinted like a scene out of a cheesy drama. One heel caught on the pavement, and she face-planted. Hard.
I moved instinctively, already striding toward her, but—
She popped back up like it never happened, hair a mess, lip bleeding just a little. And then ran again. She flung herself into my arms with the force of a wrecking ball, her arms snapping around my neck, legs wrapping around my waist like she was five again.
"SEB!" she screamed against my ear.
No one else gets to call me that.
Only her.
"I missed you—I missed you so much—you didn't call—you didn't text—are you okay? Did you eat? Did you sleep enough? You look thinner, did you drink enough water? Do you want food? I brought cookies. I hate you—I love you—I missed you, I missed you, I missed you—"
She showered me in kisses. Cheek. Jaw. Temple. Forehead. She didn't stop. I held her tighter, burying my face in her hair.
God, her scent. Vanilla and smoke and trouble.
"Breathe," I muttered. My voice cracked. "You're suffocating me, baby."
"I don't care," she mumbled into my neck. "I'm never letting you go again."
I didn't know how to tell her I was never letting her go either.
People were still staring. Still whispering. Some laughed. Some took pictures. I didn't give a single damn. Let the world think what it wanted.
She's mine.
Only mine.
And I just got home.