The jet door opened.
Cold air rushed in.
Washington greeted him without warmth.
Sebastian stepped out without hesitation.
The driver was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
Same posture.
Same uniform.
Same expression.
Nothing had changed.
"Welcome back, Mr. Wolfe," the driver said.
Formal.
Polite.
Empty.
Sebastian gave a small nod.
Nothing more.
The car door opened.
He got in.
The drive began.
Silence filled the space immediately.
No music.
No conversation.
Just the low hum of the engine and the passing blur of the city.
Familiar roads.
Too familiar.
His gaze stayed forward, but his mind didn't.
Memories slipped in without permission.
The same roads.
The same car.
A younger version of himself sitting exactly where he was now.
Back straight.
Hands still.
Eyes forward.
"Composure," his father's voice echoed faintly in his mind.
"Always maintain composure."
His jaw tightened.
The memory faded, but the feeling stayed.
The car turned.
The gates appeared.
Tall. Black. Imposing.
The Wolfe estate.
The gates opened slowly.
Like they always had.
Like they had been waiting.
The car pulled through.
The mansion stood ahead.
Grand. Cold. Untouchable.
It didn't feel like home.
It never had.
The car came to a stop.
The driver stepped out first, opening Sebastian's door.
Sebastian didn't move immediately.
Just for a second… he sat there.
Then he stepped out.
The doors opened before he reached them.
Of course they did.
The butler stood there.
Older now.
But the same.
"Welcome back, sir," he said.
Sebastian gave a slight nod.
"It's been a long time," the man added carefully.
"Nine years," Sebastian replied.
Precise.
Controlled.
The butler stepped aside.
"Your room has been prepared."
Prepared.
Like he had never left.
Sebastian stepped inside.
The air was different.
Still.
Heavy.
Watching.
Voices echoed faintly from the sitting room.
He turned his head slightly.
Distant relatives.
Dressed in dark tones.
Speaking in hushed voices.
They noticed him immediately.
Of course they did.
Eyes followed him.
Judging. Curious. Measuring.
Whispers started the second he passed.
"He's back."
"After all this time…"
"They don't belong here…"
"Always wondered why he never fit in…"
"The scandal runs deep…"
"He looks just like—."
Sebastian didn't slow.
Didn't acknowledge them.
Didn't care.
He walked past them like they weren't there.
Straight to the stairs.
Each step felt heavier than it should have.
The hallway upstairs was exactly the same.
Nothing changed.
Nothing moved.
Like time had frozen the moment he left.
He stopped in front of the door.
His door.
For a moment…
He didn't open it.
Then he did.
The room was untouched.
Perfect. Clean. Preserved.
Like a memory no one wanted to disturb.
His eyes scanned slowly.
Desk.
Wardrobe.
Shelves.
Everything exactly where it had been.
Nine years… and nothing had changed.
His chest tightened slightly.
He stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind him.
The silence grew louder.
Too loud.
He moved further into the room.
Each step careful.
Controlled.
Then his gaze landed on it.
The picture frame.
On the shelf.
Exactly where it had always been.
He stopped.
Completely still.
His breath hitched.
He didn't want to look.
But he couldn't look away.
He stepped closer.
Slowly.
Like approaching something dangerous.
His fingers hovered near the frame.
Then he picked it up.
Him.
Younger.
Standing between them.
His mother.
His brother.
Smiling.
Happy.
Alive.
His grip tightened.
His breathing changed.
Shallow. Uneven.
His chest rose and fell too quickly.
His hands began to shake.
Slightly at first.
Then more.
"No…" he muttered under his breath.
His vision blurred.
The room felt smaller.
Closer.
Like it was closing in on him.
His fault.
The thought hit hard.
Too hard.
He should have—
No.
He could have—
No.
His grip tightened around the frame.
His breathing became heavier.
Louder.
He set the frame down quickly.
Too quickly.
Stepping back.
Like distance would help.
It didn't.
His chest tightened further.
Air felt harder to take in.
His hands trembled at his sides.
He dragged a hand through his hair.
"Stop…" he muttered.
But it didn't stop.
It never did.
Not here.
Not in this room.
He sat down on the bed.
The mattress dipped under his weight.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
He leaned forward slightly.
Elbows on his knees.
Hands clasped together.
Trying to steady them.
Trying to steady himself.
It didn't work.
His breathing stayed uneven.
His chest tight.
His thoughts louder than they should be.
He shut his eyes.
Tried to focus.
Control.
That's what he needed.
Control.
But this…
This wasn't something he could control.
His hand moved to his pocket.
Paused.
Hesitated.
He didn't do this.
He didn't reach out.
Not like this.
Not for this.
But the thought of staying like this…
Alone in this room…
Was worse.
He pulled out his phone.
His fingers shook slightly as he unlocked it.
Her name was right there.
Lillian.
He stared at it for a second.
Then pressed call.
The ringing started.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each second felt longer than it should.
She should be at work.
Busy.
Focused.
The call kept ringing.
His breathing didn't slow.
Didn't settle.
Then—
Click.
"Sebastian?"
Her voice.
Slightly rushed.
Soft.
Familiar.
"I'm in the middle of—."
She stopped.
Silence filled the line.
All she could hear was his breathing.
Heavy.
Uneven.
Wrong.
"…Sebastian?" she said again.
Different now.
Worried.
Careful.
He tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
His throat felt tight.
He swallowed hard.
Tried again.
"…Lillian."
Quiet.
Strained.
Barely holding together.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Sebastian… what's wrong?"
Her voice was softer now.
Steadier.
But underneath…
Fear.
He didn't answer.
Not yet.
He couldn't.
He just sat there.
In that room.
With the past pressing in on him.
And the only thing keeping him grounded…
Was her voice on the other end of the line.