Vivian
The room did not change.
The light remained soft. The sheets remained warm. London still shimmered beyond the tall glass windows like a distant promise of ordinary life — steady, glowing, unaware.
But the air between us had shifted.
It felt watched.
Not physically. Not visibly.
Claimed.
Sebastian did not release me after showing the message. His arm stayed firm around my shoulders, holding me against him with quiet finality — as if he refused to allow even the idea of distance to exist.
His heartbeat had changed.
Not faster.
Sharper.
Controlled.
I realized something then.
He was not surprised by danger.
He was measuring it.
"Say something," I whispered, my voice softer than I intended.
He did not look at me immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the dark window, where London's lights fractured across the glass like scattered constellations.
"Someone wants a reaction," he said quietly. "They will not get fear."
