That night, the mansion felt different,quieter and heavier.
Isabelle sat in the library, curled on one of the velvet chairs with a book open in her lap. She hadn't read a single word in an hour. Her thoughts kept circling the same things Sebastian's voice, the look in his eyes that morning, and the way her heart wouldn't stop betraying her.
She told herself it was only gratitude, maybe confusion. It couldn't be more than that. It shouldn't be more than that.
And yet when she heard his footsteps in the hallway, her body reacted before her mind could. Her pulse quickened, her breath caught.
The door opened.
Sebastian stepped in, his suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked tired, but there was still that dangerous kind of grace to his movements a man who carried command like it was stitched into his skin.
"I thought you'd be asleep by now," he said quietly.
"I couldn't," she admitted. "Too much noise in my head."
He walked to the bar cabinet, pouring himself a drink, then paused. "Would tea help?"
She smiled faintly. "Tea, not whiskey?"
"I save the whiskey for when I lose control."
She looked up, surprised by the honesty in his tone. "And when does that happen?"
He met her gaze. "When it involves you."
The words landed like a spark between them. For a long moment, neither moved. The tension in the air wasn't loud it was soft, slow, dangerous.
Sebastian set his glass down and crossed the room. "You shouldn't stay up like this," he murmured. "You need rest."
"I told you, I can't sleep."
He stopped beside her chair. "Then let me keep you company."
There was a gentleness in his voice that unsettled her. Sebastian Kane was supposed to be the man who broke hearts and built empires not the one offering quiet companionship in a silent library.
She closed her book. "You don't have to babysit me."
"Maybe I want to."
He sat on the couch across from her, the firelight catching the sharp planes of his face. "You still don't believe me, do you?"
"Believe what?"
"That I'm not your enemy."
She hesitated. "You're not my friend either, Sebastian. You're something I don't understand."
He smiled slightly, a flash of something bittersweet crossing his face. "That makes two of us."
They sat in silence for a while, the flames crackling softly between them.
Isabelle watched him from across the room how he looked so at ease yet somehow miles away. His gaze was distant, almost haunted.
"Do you ever stop working?" she asked finally.
"Rarely," he said. "It's easier than thinking."
"About what?"
"About things I can't fix."
His voice had softened, almost as if he was speaking to himself. She leaned forward. "Like what?"
He hesitated, then took a slow breath. "My family. My father built this company, and in the end, it destroyed him. I swore I wouldn't make the same mistakes. But the more I fight to control everything, the more I feel like I'm becoming him."
Isabelle listened quietly. There was something raw beneath the calm surface a flicker of pain that few people ever saw.
"You're not your father, Sebastian," she said softly.
He looked up sharply, as if the words had caught him off guard.
"I barely know you," she continued, "but I know this much you care more than you want anyone to see. Maybe that's your curse. You feel too much, but you hide it behind control."
His expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing. "You see too much."
"I pay attention."
He gave a faint, almost sad smile. "Then you'll know this caring for you isn't part of my plan."
She tilted her head. "And yet, you do."
"Against my better judgment," he admitted.
Their eyes met again, and this time neither looked away.
It wasn't the kind of gaze that asked for permission it was one that remembered. The night they first collided. The kiss that had ruined everything. The ache that had never really gone away.
The room seemed smaller. The air heavier.
She stood up before she could think, clutching the edge of her sweater. "I should go to bed."
Sebastian rose too. "Isabelle"
"Don't," she said softly, turning to face him. "If I stay here, I'll forget why I'm supposed to keep my distance."
He moved closer, slow, deliberate. "Maybe you don't need to."
Her heart raced. "This isn't fair."
"I'm not asking for fair," he murmured. "I'm asking for truth."
Her voice trembled. "You're the last person I should trust."
"And yet, here you are."
He was close enough now that she could feel his breath, warm and unsteady. His hand hovered near her cheek, trembling slightly the only sign of the restraint it took not to touch her.
"Sebastian," she whispered, "please"
He searched her eyes, and for the first time, she saw it clearly the war inside him. Desire. Fear. Devotion. Regret.
Then, with visible effort, he stepped back.
"You're right," he said hoarsely. "It's not fair. You're not ready."
She blinked, confused by the rawness in his tone.
He turned away, running a hand through his hair. "I don't want you to feel trapped here, Isabelle. I need you to know that. This isn't a prison."
"Then what is it?" she asked quietly.
He faced her again, eyes burning. "A place where you can heal. Where no one can hurt you again."
Something fragile in her chest loosened. "Why does that sound like a promise?"
"Because it is."
Later that night, Isabelle stood at the window of her room, watching the city lights. She pressed a hand to her belly, whispering softly to the life inside her.
"I don't know what's happening to us," she murmured. "But I think he means it. I think he really wants to protect us."
She didn't notice the shadow moving outside the figure parked on the street below, camera lens glinting faintly in the dark.
A photograph clicked.
Then another.
And another.
Downstairs, Sebastian stood in his office, staring at the security feed. He didn't sleep anymore not when she was under his roof.
His phone buzzed with a message from his head of security.
UNKNOWN VEHICLE DETECTED. POSSIBLE SURVEILLANCE. WILL INVESTIGATE.
Sebastian's jaw tightened. His protective calm melted into something darker.
Whoever was watching her was going to regret it.
He turned toward the window, his reflection fractured in the glass. "No one touches what's mine," he said under his breath. "Not again."