I sat on the bed, my gown crumpled beneath me, my cheeks streaked with tears that had dragged my makeup into dark, uneven smudges.
We had driven to one of Sebastian's hotels after the wedding in silence, sitting at opposite ends of the car like strangers forced into the same cage. The moment we stepped out of the courtroom, his hand had left my waist. He had not looked at me since. Had not spoken.
I preferred it that way.
Our flight to Monaco was in an hour.
Honeymoon.
The word sat wrong in my chest, twisting into something bitter. A month alone with Sebastian Morales. One of us would not make it out unchanged.
Or alive.
My thoughts kept circling back to his voice. Calm. Certain.
"You will see why it had to be you."
A chill slipped down my spine.
The corset tightened around my ribs, stealing my breath. I reached behind me, fingers fumbling with the laces, irritation building as they refused to loosen.
I did not hear the door open.
But I felt him.
The air shifted.
Then his hands were on me.
I went completely still.
Sebastian.
"Let me," he said quietly, close enough that I felt the words more than heard them.
"Don't touch me." My voice came out sharp, but it lacked the force I intended.
His hands did not leave.
"Then stop struggling," he replied, almost mildly.
There was no anger in his tone. No impatience.
That unsettled me more than anything.
I should have moved. Should have pulled away.
But I didn't.
His fingers worked at the laces, slow and precise, as if he had all the time in the world. As if I was not someone forced into his life, but something he had chosen to take his time with.
Each loosened knot made it easier to breathe.
Each brush of his hand against my back made it harder to think.
My jaw tightened.
I hated this.
Hated the way my body reacted before my mind could catch up.
When he tugged my hair forward to free the last tie, his fingers skimmed the side of my neck. Heat flared instantly, sharp and unwelcome.
I stiffened.
He paused.
Just for a second.
As if he noticed.
As if he understood exactly what he was doing.
That realization made my stomach twist.
The final knot gave way. Air rushed into my lungs.
His hands lingered for a fraction longer than necessary before falling away.
Freedom.
I stepped forward immediately, putting distance between us, refusing to turn around.
"You know," he said, his voice measured, "you could ask for help."
I let out a short, humorless laugh.
"I don't need anything from you."
A pause.
"I know," he replied.
Too easily. Too calmly.
I turned then, folding my arms tightly, forcing steel into my expression.
"No, you don't. You think I'm something you can just acquire. Move around. Control."
His gaze locked onto mine.
Unblinking. Steady.
Not offended.
Not even surprised.
That was worse.
For a moment, it felt like he was studying me, not reacting to me. Like he was already ten steps ahead in a game I did not know we were playing.
"You're wrong," he said quietly.
My chest tightened.
"Am I?" I shot back.
He did not answer immediately.
And somehow, that silence felt heavier than any argument.
"If you have nothing else to say," I continued, sharper now, "leave. I need to get out of this dress."
His eyes flickered, briefly, to the loosened fabric at my back before returning to my face.
That small movement made my skin prickle.
"An hour," he said instead. "Be ready."
Not a request.
A statement.
Then he turned and walked out.
Just like that.
As if he had never been standing close enough to feel my pulse.
The door shut behind him with a quiet click.
I exhaled slowly, only then realizing I had been holding my breath.
In less than a day, Sebastian had dragged me through anger, resentment, unease… and something I refused to name.
Something I would not name.
I stood there for a long moment before forcing myself to move, stepping out of the dress and into the bathroom.
The shower ran over me, hot at first, then gradually cooling, but I did not move. I let the water fall over my skin, over my shoulders, down my spine, as if it could erase the feeling his hands had left behind.
It didn't.
I pressed my eyes shut.
Useless.
When I finally stepped out, the air felt colder than it should have. I wrapped the robe tightly around myself, as if that could do anything at all.
I called room service.
The attendant who arrived carried herself with confidence, her uniform doing little to hide what it was clearly designed to emphasize.
"At your service, Mrs. Morales."
"I need a hair dryer."
"Of course. Sir Sebastian ensured everything was prepared for you."
I frowned.
"He did?"
"Yes, ma'am. Including your wardrobe."
Before I could respond, she signaled, and three more attendants entered, arms filled with clothing, shoes, accessories.
I stared at them.
This was not preparation.
This was control.
"Are you certain this came from him?"
"A hundred percent."
Of course it did.
"Then we should begin," she added. "You are expected downstairs in an hour."
Expected.
Not invited.
Not asked.
By the time they were finished, I barely recognized the woman in the mirror.
The red dress fit like it had been made for me. Backless. Precise. Intentional. The gold necklace rested perfectly against my skin.
Everything about it felt… chosen.
Calculated.
Like I had been dressed for something, not by chance, but by design.
I met my own gaze in the mirror, my expression hardening.
Whatever game Sebastian Morales was playing…
I was not going to be the one who lost.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and I stepped into the lobby.
Cool air brushed against my skin, but it did nothing to calm the unease settling deep in my chest. My heels clicked against the polished floor, each step measured, controlled, even as my thoughts refused to be.
Then I saw him.
Sebastian stood near the center of the lobby, his back turned to me, one hand tucked into his pocket. Even from behind, he was impossible to ignore.
Still.
Composed.
As if the entire space existed around him, not the other way around.
He wore a black suit, tailored so precisely it looked like it had been stitched onto him. The fabric clung just enough to define the sharp lines of his shoulders and the strength in his build without appearing excessive. Effortless. Intentional. The white shirt beneath was crisp, untouched by a single crease, the collar sitting perfectly against his neck.
Everything about him was… controlled.
Calculated.
Even the way he stood there, unmoving, felt deliberate, like he already knew I was behind him and was simply choosing not to turn.
My steps slowed.
For a brief second, I considered stopping altogether.
Walking away.
But that would mean acknowledging him in a different way. And I refused to give him that.
I forced myself forward.
Closer.
Closer.
Until I was standing just a few steps behind him.
He still didn't turn.
A flicker of irritation rose in my chest.
Was he trying to prove something?
Or worse… did he think I would speak first?
My fingers curled slightly at my sides.
I wasn't going to say his name.
I wasn't going to call out to him like I was expected to.
If he wanted my attention, he could take it himself.
The silence stretched between us, thick and deliberate.
And then, without turning, he spoke.
"You're late."
His voice was calm. Not raised. Not irritated.
Just certain.
I felt my jaw tighten.
"I'm not," I replied evenly. "You're early."
For a moment, he didn't move.
Then, slowly… he turned.
The movement was unhurried, controlled, like everything else about him.
And then his eyes found mine.
Cold hazel.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
It felt like being caught in something I didn't understand. Like he wasn't just looking at me, but through me, peeling back layers I had no intention of revealing.
I held his gaze anyway.
I refused to look away first.
A flicker of something passed through his eyes. Gone almost as quickly as it came.
Approval?
No.
Assessment.
Like he had just confirmed something.
My fingers curled slightly at my sides.
"What?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
His gaze dropped briefly, taking in the dress, the necklace, the way it all sat on me, before returning to my face.
"You followed instructions," he said.
I let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"Don't flatter yourself. I dressed for me, not for you."
Something in his expression shifted. Not visibly. Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But I did.
A subtle tightening.
Like he found that… interesting.
"Of course," he said.
The lie sat easily on his tongue.
Silence settled between us again, but this time it felt different. Heavier. Like something unspoken was pressing against the surface, waiting to break through.
"Are we leaving," I asked, "or are you going to keep staring?"
His gaze didn't waver.
"We're leaving."
He stepped closer.
Not enough to touch.
But enough.
The air shifted again, and I hated the way my body reacted before I could stop it.
Then he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering just enough that no one else would hear.
"You checked three exits on your way here."
My breath hitched.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
His eyes sharpened.
"You always do that when you're planning something."
Ice slid down my spine.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said quickly. Too quickly.
A faint smile touched his lips. Not warm. Not amused.
Knowing.
"You're not as unpredictable as you think, Ariana."
My heart pounded harder, but I forced my expression to remain steady.
"Then stop watching me."
"I'm not watching you," he said quietly.
A pause.
Then, softer…
"I already know you."
Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten.
"That's impossible."
This time, the smile stayed.
Small. Dangerous.
"You still think this is about your father."
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
He straightened, the moment gone as quickly as it came.
"It never was."
The world around me seemed to blur for a second.
"What are you talking about?"
But he had already stepped back, already turning away.
"Come," he said simply. "We're going to miss our flight."
Like nothing had just happened.
Like he hadn't just shattered the only explanation I had been holding onto.
I stood there for a moment, my pulse unsteady, my thoughts spiraling.
If this wasn't about my father…
Then why me?