Isabelle woke to the sound of birdsong and the faint hum of morning light filtering through sheer curtains.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
The bed was too soft, the sheets smelled faintly of cedar and expensive linen, and the silence was too complete. Then memory returned the mansion, the terrace, the way she had broken down in his arms.
Sebastian Kane's arms.
She sat up quickly, pressing a hand to her chest. Her heart still beat too fast. The realization of how much she'd let herself crumble last night made her stomach twist with equal parts shame and relief.
You're not supposed to need him, she reminded herself. You're supposed to stand on your own.
But when she looked toward the balcony, the morning sun catching on the silver skyline, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted.
The soft knock at the door startled her.
"Come in," she called, trying to compose herself.
It was one of the maids a young woman with a polite smile and a breakfast tray balanced neatly in her hands.
"Good morning, Ms. Hart," she said gently. "Mr. Kane asked me to bring you breakfast in your room."
Isabelle blinked. "He, he did?"
"Yes, ma'am. He said you might prefer privacy this morning."
Her chest tightened. Of course he did. He was always one step ahead, always anticipating her defenses.
"Thank you," Isabelle said quietly, as the maid set the tray down on the small table by the window.
When the door closed, Isabelle walked over and stared at the spread toast, fresh fruit, tea, even a small vase of white lilies. She frowned. White lilies. The same flowers she had chosen for her wedding bouquet.
Her throat tightened. He remembered.
She was halfway through her tea when another knock came firmer this time.
Before she could respond, Sebastian stepped in.
He looked freshly showered, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark hair still slightly damp. The morning light softened the sharp lines of his face, but there was no mistaking the authority that clung to him like a second skin.
"I thought you might still be asleep," he said.
"I wasn't," she replied quietly, setting her cup down. "You didn't have to send all this."
"I know," he said simply. "I wanted to."
He walked closer, stopping by the window across from her. "Did you sleep at all?"
"A little." She hesitated. "You didn't have to check on me, Sebastian. I'm not your responsibility."
He turned to her, eyes dark and steady. "You're carrying my child, Isabelle. That makes you my priority."
She sighed, folding her hands in her lap. "You keep saying that like it makes everything simpler."
"It doesn't," he admitted. "But it makes everything clearer."
She looked up sharply. "Clearer how? You barely know me, yet you keep acting like"
"Like I've been waiting for you," he finished, his tone low but unwavering. "Because I have."
Her breath caught. "You don't mean that."
"I do." He stepped closer, voice softening. "You think that night was just a mistake, a moment of weakness. But for me, Isabelle, it was the first time in years I felt anything real."
Her pulse thundered. "Don't do this," she whispered. "Don't twist what happened. I was hurt, confused"
"And honest," he interrupted. "You were the only honest thing in my world that night."
She shook her head, struggling to breathe. "You're saying all the right things, Sebastian, but this isn't real. Whatever this is between us it's built on guilt and chaos."
He smiled faintly, but there was sadness in it. "Maybe. But sometimes chaos is the only way two broken things find each other."
Silence fell, thick and charged.
He was standing close enough now that she could feel his warmth, the faint brush of his breath. The air between them trembled with something dangerous and undeniable.
"Why do you do this to me?" she asked softly. "Why do you make it so hard to hate you?"
"Because I don't want your hate, Isabelle," he said. "I want your trust."
Her throat tightened. "Trust isn't something I give easily anymore."
"Then let me earn it."
She searched his face for deception, but there was none. Just raw sincerity, the kind that terrified her more than his temper ever could.
"Why me?" she asked finally. "You could have anyone."
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered just long enough to make her shiver.
"Because when I look at you," he said quietly, "I don't see what the world sees. I see someone who's been burned and still chooses to stand in the light. Someone who doesn't even know how strong she is."
Tears welled in her eyes again, unbidden. "Stop saying things that make me feel," she whispered.
He smiled slightly. "Then stop pretending you don't."
She turned away, but he caught her wrist gently not to restrain, just to hold her there. The touch was light, reverent.
"Sebastian"
"I know," he murmured. "You're scared. So am I."
That admission broke something in her. He was always in control always composed and yet here he was, confessing fear like it was sacred.
She looked up at him, and the truth hit her like a wave. He wasn't trying to possess her; he was trying to keep her from slipping away.
And God help her, a part of her didn't want to run anymore.
The moment stretched, fragile and electric.
Then Sebastian stepped back, releasing her hand as if the act itself cost him something.
"You should eat," he said quietly. "You need your strength."
Her lips curved faintly. "For what? Surviving you?"
He smirked. "Among other things."
For the first time, a laugh slipped from her soft, unexpected. It caught him off guard too, because he froze, eyes flicking to her mouth.
The sound seemed to undo him.
He cleared his throat. "I'll have the doctor come by later this week, just to make sure everything's fine with the pregnancy."
"I told you, I don't need"
"It's not up for debate," he said gently. "You can hate me for it later."
She rolled her eyes, but there was no real venom in it. "You're impossible."
"I've been called worse."
He gave her one last look lingering, protective, something unspoken burning behind his calm mask then turned toward the door.
"Sebastian," she called softly.
He paused.
"Thank you. For last night."
He turned halfway, his expression softening. "You don't have to thank me for caring, Isabelle."
And then he was gone.
When the door closed, Isabelle sank back into her chair, her pulse still racing.
He was too much too intense, too sincere, too real.
And yet she could still feel the ghost of his touch, the way his voice softened when he said her name.
Something inside her whispered that no matter how hard she tried to build walls, Sebastian Kane would always find his way through.
But another part the small, trembling part of her heart hoped maybe this time, letting someone in wouldn't destroy her.