The rehearsal dinner sparkled with soft gold light, laughter, and the sound of crystal glasses clinking in perfect rhythm. The ballroom of the Whitford Hotel gleamed with luxury cascading chandeliers, velvet drapes, and tables decked in white roses and silver cutlery. The air smelled of champagne and anticipation, thick and suffocating all at once.
And in the center of it all sat Isabelle Laurent, the woman of the hour, smiling like she belonged in the fairy tale everyone else believed she was living.
Her diamond engagement ring glittered under the lights, perfectly polished, perfectly empty.
Her fiancé, Daniel Whitford, heir to one of New York's wealthiest families, stood beside her with a charming grin that didn't reach his eyes. He was saying all the right things about love, family, and destiny but every time he looked at her, Isabelle felt like a prop, not a partner.
She lifted her glass of champagne, pretending not to notice the way his phone buzzed on the table beside his plate. Again. And again. The same name flashed on the screen before he quickly turned it over.
Chloe.
His "business associate."
She knew better.
Her stomach twisted, but she smiled anyway because that's what good fiancées did.
As the toasts ended, Daniel's father rose, clapping a firm hand on Daniel's shoulder. "To the perfect union," he said with booming pride. "May the Whitford legacy continue strong."
Isabelle forced another polite smile. The room applauded. Flashbulbs went off from journalists covering the event.
It was supposed to be her dream come true the perfect engagement, the perfect man, the perfect life.
So why did it all feel like a cage?
When she finally excused herself, claiming she needed air, she slipped out through the terrace doors and leaned against the marble railing, breathing in the cool night breeze. The city stretched before her glittering and vast as though mocking the smallness she felt inside.
Her reflection in the glass doors caught her eye.
She didn't look like herself anymore. The soft, uncertain girl who used to paint late into the night, who believed love could heal she was gone. In her place was a woman draped in designer silk and silence.
A voice cut through her thoughts. Deep, smooth, and far too familiar.
"Running away already?"
Her pulse jumped.
She turned and there he was. Sebastian Kane.
He leaned lazily against the terrace doorway, his tuxedo unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair damp from the misting rain outside. His gray eyes stormy, unreadable locked onto hers.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, trying to steady her voice.
"Neither should you," he replied calmly, stepping closer. "You look miserable."
She folded her arms, trying to hide her trembling hands. "I'm fine."
"Liar," he murmured, his lips curving slightly. "You're about to marry a man who doesn't even notice you've been crying."
Her breath caught. "You've been watching me?"
"I notice things Daniel doesn't," he said simply.
His tone wasn't mocking it was dangerous because it was true. Sebastian always saw her. Not the flawless debutante. Not the perfect bride. Her.
"Why are you here, Sebastian?" she asked quietly.
He glanced back toward the ballroom. "Business, technically. Your fiancé's father invited me to discuss the merger. But let's be honest I didn't come for them."
Her heart thudded. "Then who did you come for?"
His gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. "You."
For a moment, the only sound between them was the soft hum of the city below. Isabelle's chest tightened.
"Don't," she whispered. "Don't say things like that. Not tonight."
"Why not tonight?" he asked. "Because tomorrow you're marrying a man who treats you like an investment?"
She flinched. He'd said it out loud the ugly truth she'd been trying to ignore.
"You don't understand," she said, turning away. "My father"
"Your father's bankrupt. Everyone knows that. Daniel's family bailed him out to secure your engagement." He took another step forward, voice lower now. "But what about you, Isabelle? What do you get out of this?"
She closed her eyes. "Stability. A future."
"A prison," he countered. "You're too good for that."
Her eyes flashed with anger. "You don't know me!"
"Oh, I do." He reached out, brushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek. "I know you love the smell of turpentine and paint. I know you used to sneak to the art district on weekends before your father found out. I know you hate champagne but pretend to love it because it's what's expected. And I know you haven't been happy since the day you said yes to Daniel Whitford."
Her breath hitched. How could he possibly remember all that?
He lowered his hand, stepping back, giving her space to breathe. "Tell me I'm wrong," he said softly.
She couldn't.
Instead, she looked away at the lights, at the rain, anywhere but him. "You should leave," she whispered.
But he didn't. "Say you don't want me to, and I will."
The words tangled in her throat. Because she couldn't say it. She didn't want him to leave.
Her body betrayed her before her mind could catch up she took one small, desperate step toward him. That was all it took.
He caught her wrist gently, pulling her closer until the world narrowed to the sound of rain against glass and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.
"Sebastian," she breathed, shaking her head. "This is wrong."
He brushed his thumb over her pulse. "It feels right."
She tried to pull away, but he was gravity itself. And she was falling.
They ended up outside. The rain came harder now, washing away her makeup, her composure, her fear. He followed her down the hotel steps, his coat draped over his arm.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Away," she said. "Just away from all of this."
He hesitated, then offered his hand. "Then let me drive you."
She should have said no. She should have gone home, locked herself in her room, and reminded herself that she was a bride. But instead, she nodded.
The car ride was silent except for the low hum of the engine and the rain tapping against the windows. The tension was unbearable thick with all the things they weren't supposed to feel.
When they reached his penthouse, she should have told him goodbye. Instead, she followed him inside, drawn by something she couldn't name.
The city stretched endlessly beneath the glass walls, lights shimmering like a thousand temptations. His home was sleek, modern, masculine all sharp edges and quiet power.
She stood there, dripping rainwater on his polished floors, her pulse racing.
Sebastian handed her a towel, his movements steady but his eyes wild with restraint. "You're freezing," he said.
"I shouldn't be here," she murmured, voice trembling.
"I know," he said, stepping closer. "But you are."
Her breath caught. "You think this will fix me?"
"No," he said. "I just don't want you to break alone."
That was the moment everything inside her snapped.
She reached for him or maybe he reached for her she couldn't tell. The distance disappeared in a heartbeat. His lips found hers, soft at first, then hungry, desperate, inevitable.
The kiss deepened. His hands framed her face as she melted into him, tasting the rain on his lips. For once, she wasn't Daniel's fiancée or Laurent's daughter. She was just Isabelle and he made her feel seen.
When he lifted her into his arms, she didn't resist. When he laid her on the bed, she didn't think.
It wasn't gentle it was honest, raw, human. Two souls grasping for something real in a world built on lies.
Hours blurred into warmth and whispers. He called her mine like it was a vow. And she believed him.
M
When dawn came, the rain had stopped. Sunlight spilled through the windows, painting gold over tangled sheets and quiet breaths.
Sebastian watched her sleep, his jaw tight, his chest rising with the weight of something dangerous emotion. He wanted to wake her, to tell her not to marry Daniel, to fight for her. But he didn't. He wasn't the kind of man she was supposed to choose.
So he wrote a note instead:
You deserve a man who won't make you feel small.
S
He left before she could wake.
When Isabelle opened her eyes, the bed beside her was empty. The note sat on the pillow, its words searing into her heart.
Tears blurred her vision as she folded it carefully, pressing it to her chest.
By the time she got dressed and slipped out of his apartment, the sun was high and the city alive again. People moved on as if nothing had changed.
But everything had.
Because tonight, she would walk down the aisle and every step would carry the memory of the man she should never have touched.
And deep down, she knew that no matter what happened next, Sebastian Kane would never truly let her go.