Her chest felt hollow.
Because the moment she had seen Axton walking away — his back turned, his name called by another woman — something inside her had cracked, quietly and irreversibly. She didn't even remember when she had stopped talking, or when the colour drained from her face.
Sebastian walked a few steps behind her, giving her space. He didn't try to comfort her, didn't fill the silence with words she wasn't ready to hear. He just stayed close enough that she could feel his presence beside her, steady and quiet.
When they reached his car, he opened the passenger door for her.
She hesitated before slipping inside, murmuring a faint, automatic "thank you."
He nodded once, closing the door gently, as if afraid a louder sound might make her break.
The ride began in silence. The hum of the engine was the only thing filling the space between them. The city outside blurred past — flashes of palm trees, colourful shophouses, the glint of the Singapore Flyer in the distance.
Elin stared out the window, her reflection faint against the glass. Her eyes looked tired, rimmed with red. The soft music playing through the speakers did little to soothe the storm brewing inside her.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, as if to hold in the words she didn't want to say. But they slipped out anyway. "I want to go home," she whispered.
Sebastian's hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "Alright."
He didn't question her. He just turned onto the quieter road that led out of Sentosa.
Minutes passed before the first tear rolled down her cheek. She didn't even notice it at first. But once it fell, another followed, and another. She turned her face toward the window, hoping he wouldn't see, but the trembling of her shoulders gave her away.
Sebastian glanced at her, the faintest crease forming between his brows. "Elin."
She shook her head quickly, wiping her cheeks. "I'm fine." Her voice cracked. "I just— I thought he'd stay."
The words dissolved into a sob. She covered her face with her hands, but the sound still escaped — soft and raw, like a small wound reopening.
Sebastian slowed the car and pulled over by the side of a quiet street lined with old trees. He turned off the engine. The hum faded, leaving only the distant chirp of cicadas and her muffled crying.
For a long moment, he didn't move. Then, softly, he said, "You don't have to hide it."
Her breath came in shaky pulls. "He just left," she whispered. "I asked him to stay. I begged him."
Sebastian's eyes softened. "And he didn't."
Her hands clenched on her lap. "He had someone else with him. Vivian. She called his name and he just—" Her voice broke again. "He walked away."
Sebastian leaned back slightly in his seat, his jaw tightening before he spoke. "He's a man who doesn't know what he has until it's gone."
Elin turned toward him, her eyes glassy with tears. "Don't say that. You don't even know him."
"It's true." He leaned back, watching the rain trail down the windshield. "People like Axton — they forget what it's like to feel something deeply. They start thinking love is another appointment they can reschedule."
Her shoulders tensed. "Don't talk about him."
"I'm not," he said smoothly. "I'm talking about you."
He waited as he let the silence stretch, then he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the steering wheel. His voice dropped, lower, quieter. "You spend so much of yourself trying to be enough for him. You pour your time, your heart, your joy into someone who keeps walking away. And he doesn't even see it."
Her breath caught, her throat tightening as if his words had struck something raw.
"I don't know what you want me to say," she whispered.
"You give everything," he murmured. "I saw it, even back at the bakery. The way you try to make people happy. The way you wait for him, hoping he'll show up, even when he doesn't." His gaze darkened slightly. "You deserve more than to be someone's afterthought."
The words hung there, heavy and tender at once. Then, slowly, he reached out — fingers brushing lightly against a strand of hair near her cheek.
Elin froze. Her first instinct was to pull back, but he hesitated just long enough to make the gesture feel unthreatening, almost comforting. His thumb ghosted near her jaw, lingering in the air rather than touching.
"Stop," she whispered. Her voice trembled. "Please."
But he didn't stop. His tone dipped lower, intimate, the kind that made it hard to breathe. "You think caring is weakness, but it isn't. It's what makes you... intoxicating."
And that's when it happened — a flicker in his eyes.
A momentary shift. The kind that separated empathy from intent. His gaze trailed down to her lips, and something in his expression sharpened, the faintest crack in his calm. He knew exactly what he was doing.
The air between them seemed to contract. The hum of the rain, the distant city noise, even her heartbeat felt muffled beneath the weight of that silence.
"Sebastian," she said, barely above a whisper, "don't."
He smiled faintly, tilting his head. "You deserve to feel wanted, Elin. Even just for a moment."
Before she could respond, he leaned in, giving her every second to stop him. But she didn't. Or couldn't. The exhaustion and grief in her chest hollowed her resistance, blurring her thoughts into a haze.
And before she could move, before she could think, he kissed her.
It wasn't demanding, but coaxing and practiced, like a man who knew how to turn vulnerability into opportunity. For a heartbeat, she let it happen. It was easier than fighting.
Her mind felt distant, hollowed out by exhaustion. Then reality returned — the wrongness of it, the ache in her chest twisting into something sharper. She pulled back with a startled breath, eyes wide and wet.
"Sebastian..." Her voice cracked. "Don't do that again."
"I'm sorry," he said, though his tone didn't sound sorry at all. "You just looked like you needed someone."
Elin turned away, clutching her coat tighter around herself, silent tears slipping down her face. She didn't answer him.
He drove slowly, unhurried, as if the world outside could wait. Every so often, he'd glance at her, memorizing the curve of her profile, the faint tremor in her lip, the quiet strength even in her brokenness.
When they reached her building, she murmured a soft thank-you, barely meeting his eyes.
Sebastian didn't try to stop her when she stepped out of the car, didn't offer to follow her up. He only watched as she disappeared through the entrance, her shoulders small beneath the fading orange sky.
But as the door closed behind her, his hand lingered on the steering wheel, his gaze still fixed on where she had stood. A slow, thoughtful smile curved his lips.
Whatever this feeling was, it was no longer just curiosity.
He wanted her.
And now, he knew exactly how to get close.
***
The suite smelled faintly of rain and wine. Vivian had left the balcony doors open, the night breeze threading through sheer curtains that swayed like whispers. She was still in her silk blouse, her hair twisted into a careless knot, and yet she carried herself like the room belonged to her.
When Sebastian stepped in, he didn't announce himself.
He took his time crossing to the minibar, poured himself a drink, and sat on the edge of the couch as if he owned the place.
Vivian didn't turn immediately. "You're late."
"Traffic." He took a sip, his tone unreadable.
Her eyes lifted to the mirror across from her, catching his reflection. "Don't lie to me, Sebastian. You're never late."
He smiled faintly. "Maybe I took the long way here."
Something in his voice made her turn, her patience thinning. "Don't test me. I told you to focus on keeping Elin away from Axton, not... whatever it is you're doing now."
"I did keep her away. I sent her home."
"You took your time," she said lightly, swirling her glass. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten who you work with."
"I didn't forget," he said. His tone was quiet, calm, but threaded with something that made her turn.
He wasn't smiling.
His shirt sleeves were rolled up, hair slightly dishevelled, his jaw tense. There was a stillness in him that unnerved her more than any display of anger could.
Vivian raised her brow. "You look... rattled. Don't tell me she managed to get under your skin already."
Sebastian's gaze met hers, cold and sharp. "I kissed her."
The words landed heavy. Vivian's lips parted, disbelief flickering before sharp composure took over. "You what?"
"She was crying. I comforted her."
"By kissing her?" Vivian's voice rose, the edge cutting through the calm room. "You were supposed to keep her occupied, not—"
"Not what?" he interrupted, his tone low and steady. "Not touch her? Not want her?"
Vivian's jaw clenched. "You're playing a dangerous game, Sebastian."
He took a slow sip of his drink, unbothered. "I don't play games. I win them."
"That's not what this looks like," she shot back. "You're supposed to be helping me get Axton Creighton to be mine, not fall in love with his little baker."
Sebastian's lips twitched at that. "Love?" He gave a soft, humourless laugh. "Don't insult me. This isn't love."
"Then what is it?"
He turned to her fully now, his stare piercing, his voice calm but filled with quiet menace. "It's fascination. Obsession, maybe. You wouldn't understand it. She's... everything that doesn't belong in our world. Soft. Honest. Unaware of how dangerous people like us can be."
Vivian's grip on her glass tightened. "And that's exactly why you're going to ruin everything. You're losing focus."
Sebastian took a slow step toward her. "No, Vivian. I'm the only one who still has focus. You think you're in control, but you've been reacting ever since Axton caught your little betrayal. I've been watching you scramble, pretending you're still two steps ahead."
Her eyes flashed. "Careful."
He smiled faintly. "You're not used to being challenged, are you?"
Vivian's chin lifted. "I don't need to be challenged. I give the orders."
Sebastian's laughter was soft, dangerous. "Not to me, you don't."
She wasn't afraid, not quite but the realization that she might have misjudged him prickled in the back of her mind.
Vivian set her glass down with a sharp clink. "You think you can turn this on me? You forget who started this arrangement. Who pulled you in when your precious company nearly burned from that scandal three years ago."
"I remember," he said evenly. "And I also remember cleaning up your mess in return. That makes us even."
Her eyes narrowed. "Even doesn't mean you get to dismantle everything I've built."
He moved closer again, until the scent of his cologne mingled with her perfume. His voice dropped, quiet and dangerous. "Everything you've built? You really think this is your game? You brought me in because you needed someone ruthless enough to finish what you started. Don't pretend you could have done it alone."
Vivian's lips parted, but no words came out. The air between them was heavy, humming with tension.
He leaned in, his voice a low murmur that felt like a threat. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I work for you. I work with you...for now. But if you ever try to interfere with what I want, I'll make sure the board, the press, and every one of Axton's investors knows exactly what you did."
Vivian forced a smile, though it trembled slightly. "You're threatening me."
"No," he said. "I'm warning you."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
She finally took a step back, crossing her arms to steady herself. "You're obsessed. You don't even see how dangerous this is for both of us. If Axton finds out—"
"He won't," Sebastian cut in. "Because unlike you, I don't leave loose ends."
Vivian stared at him, truly studying him now. He wasn't the same man she'd partnered with weeks ago.
He picked up his coat and glanced over his shoulder. "You should get some rest. You look... unsettled."
Her glare followed him. "If you destroy this operation, I'll make sure you regret it."
He paused at the door, his hand on the handle.
He let the suite's door click shut and then turned back to her slowly, like a predator that had decided the hunt would not be interrupted
"You keep talking about plans as if they are lines in a ledger," he said softly. "But plans are only fragile until someone decides to break them." He took a step closer until the space between them felt like a wire pulled taut. "I do not make idle promises, Vivian. I make outcomes."
Her practiced smile thinned. "Outcomes for whom?" she asked. The wine glass in her hand trembled the smallest bit. She had built herself on being unshakable. The flicker of uncertainty was new to her.
He watched her take in a breath and then tossed a small object onto the marble counter. She recognized the shape at once. It was her own business card, the one she had left at a certain restaurant in a certain company of men who were friends with enemies. The card sat there like a quiet accusation.
"You like leaving things behind," he said. "I picked them up. I catalogue everything I find useful."
Vivian's throat moved. For years she had traded in leverage and favours, but she had always assumed the ledger was private. She had not expected someone to be writing in a different hand.
"You are bluffing," she said, but the edge was gone. She forced herself to steady the glass. "You think a card or two will ruin me?"
He smiled without warmth. "Not a card. The context. The timing. The recipients." He moved nearer until he was almost close enough to touch her, but he did not. His voice dropped lower, patient and cold. "I already have a copy of the email you sent to Procurement last quarter. I have the transfer schedule you arranged to obscure that donation. I have the voice clip of you coaching an assistant on what to say if the board ever asks. I have a file, Vivian. It is ordered. It is timestamped. It is ready."
She blinked, then laughed once, too sharp to be amused. "You are ridiculous."
"Ridiculous people do not win." His hand tapped the edge of the counter, a metronome to his words. "I can deliver it to three inboxes simultaneously. The board. The press. Axton's primary investor. Or I can make it smaller and more intimate. I can call the investigator you cheated. I can send the packet to the regulator with a friendly note. I can stream the clip when your name trends. I can make your reputation crumble while you are still on your feet, and by the time you reach for damage control it will be over."
Vivian's face lost colour. She had survived rumours, hostile reporters and boardroom betrayal. She had not allowed fear to sink into her bones. Now the room felt too bright and too loud. He was not offering choices. He was listing pathways, each one a precise mechanism of ruin.
"You cannot do that," she said finally, and the desperation leaked through. "You do not know what would happen to you if you try that."
His smile sharpened at her warning. "I do. I have calculated the profit of silence against the cost of exposure. The math favours me. I am not naïve about risk, Vivian. I am patient about it."
She swallowed. Pride had taught her to fight, to parry with half-truths and counter-threats, to call in favours from a roll of names she kept in reserve.
Now she felt the old list beat back at her uselessly. She could ask for mercy. She could threaten countersuits. She could beg allies to step in. Each of those moves required time and visible motion and other people. He did not need any of it.
"You are playing a game you do not understand," she hissed.
He folded his arms and leaned his weight against the counter, unconcerned with her fury.
"I understand the only rules that matter. Know your leverage. Know the threshold of exposure. Know what people will sacrifice to stop the leak and know what they will not. I know which of your colleagues have mortgages with offshore stipends and which of your friends will disown you if the press names names. I know the exact day the markets react to that kind of scandal."
Vivian's composure dissolved into a strip of white panic. She smelled faintly of expensive perfume and the metallic tang of fear.
"You will not get away with this," she said, too small for the sentence.
He let that land and then pushed.
"If you interfere, I will not merely publish. I will orchestrate the narrative. I will place the documents in the hands of people who will treat them like a dossier rather than gossip. I will fund the journalist who loves digging into corporate fraud. I will let the investigator find the tiny mismatches that lead to subpoenas. I will insist that the audit board look closer."
She realized she had stepped back without meaning to. The suite had narrowed around them until the lights of the city felt like witnesses.
"You will sink with me," she said, voice brittle, the old venom returning. "You do not understand what you are saying."
"I understand more than you think." He reached into his pocket and produced another object, sliding it across the marble with a soft click. It was a small thumb drive encased in plain plastic. "This is an encrypted copy. If I die, if I vanish, if you fail me, it goes out on a timer. It goes to five addresses and a dozen people who will not hesitate. It goes live in sixty hours if I do not execute my plan."
Her hand hovered near it as if it might catch fire. She had slept with deals and blackmail before. She had never slept with a clock.
"You would be reckless," she said, but it was a splintered thing now. "You cannot make that call."
He pulled back as if the move were obvious. "I will not make the call recklessly. I prefer leverage that gives you a clear path to compliance. I want you to be useful while I take what I want. Do not imagine I am some enemy who wants to watch everything burn. I want the asset. I want your cooperation. I want no surprises."
Vivian lifted her chin, the last of her ice reassembling into a blade. "And if I refuse?"
His eyes were colder than the room. "If you refuse, I will dismantle you precisely enough that you cannot play the same game with anyone else. You will lose the board, the investors, the charitable façade you hide behind. You will lose credibility with regulators who will never forgive impropriety. Then I will go public with the rest. That is a promise, not a threat."
"Oh, not to forget, you will lose your precious Axton too." he added.
She plopped down on the couch, her fists turned white.
"You are dangerous," she whispered.
He shrugged and the movement was casual, as if danger were a suit he preferred. "I told you I do not play games."
"F-Fine. For now I will stay out of your way. But if you betray me, Sebastian, if you try to take what is mine—"
"I will not betray you," he interrupted. "I only take what I want, and you will help me get it."
The battle lines were drawn. She knew how to counterattack. She had networks, people who would dig, who would plant counter leaks and assassinate the story. But now the story had a timer. Now the missing pieces required motion.
She rose slowly and straightened. "You better be right," she said.