(Sebastian s POV)
Control was my only constant.
It was how I built my empire. How I kept my enemies at bay. How I stayed alive.
But Ocean… she was undoing it one thread at a time.
I stood in my office, watching her move across the living room on the security feed. She didn't know the cameras were there — she thought the penthouse was just expensive marble and glass, not a fortress with eyes in every corner.
She was pacing. Stopping to glance out the windows, then pacing again.
That restlessness was dangerous. Restless people made reckless choices. And in my world, one reckless choice could be fatal.
I buzzed Jacob, my head of security.
"Find out why Ethan Vale is back in the city," I said.
There was a pause on the line. "Vale? Old money. Clean record on paper, but we've heard rumors. Wouldn't surprise me if he's tied to Carter."
My grip on the phone tightened. "Confirm it. And if he is—"
"Understood," Jacob said, and the line went dead.
When I emerged from the office, Ocean was waiting. Arms folded, chin tilted in defiance.
"Are we going to talk about what happened this morning?" she asked.
"No."
She stepped closer. "Then I will. You don't get to drag me out of a coffee shop like I'm—"
"Like you're mine?" I said evenly. "Because you are."
Her eyes flashed. "That's not how this works, Sebastian."
"It's exactly how this works."
She turned away, but I caught her wrist. Not hard — just enough to make her stop.
"You think you're safe because you're here with me," I said. "But Carter's showing up, Vale appearing out of nowhere… those aren't coincidences. They're moves. And if you're not careful, you'll end up as someone else's leverage."
"I'm not a pawn in your game."
"Not yet," I said, letting her go. "And I intend to keep it that way."
That night, I had her followed.
Not because I didn't trust her — trust had nothing to do with it. In my world, information was insurance.
She went to a boutique downtown. Stopped at a bookstore. Took the long way back, as if she knew she was being tailed.
That sent a chill through me. Isla wasn't supposed to know how to spot surveillance.
Unless someone had taught her.
When she returned, I was in the living room, drink in hand.
"Good shopping?" I asked casually.
She arched a brow. "You had me followed."
I didn't deny it. "You were careful today. Too careful."
Her lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Maybe you're not the only one who understands the game."
Something hot and sharp moved through me.
Possession. Challenge. The urge to pin her against the nearest surface and make her forget whatever tricks she thought she'd learned.
But there was something else beneath it — the knowledge that if she was learning these things, it was because someone wanted her prepared.
And in my world, preparation meant war was coming.
"I'll ask once," I said, stepping close enough to feel her breath. "Who's been talking to you?"
"No one."
I studied her face. She was good — not a flicker of guilt, not a stutter in her tone. But I'd built an empire reading liars.
She was hiding something.
I didn't push. Not yet. Pressure worked better when you let it build.
Instead, I said, "You'll be with me tomorrow night. Carter's hosting a gathering."
Her eyes widened. "You just said he's dangerous."
"He is," I said. "Which is why I want him looking at you and remembering you're under my protection."
"That sounds a lot like parading me in front of your enemies."
"It is," I admitted. "And if you're going to survive in this world, you'd better get used to it."
She didn't answer. Just turned and walked toward the bedroom, her steps measured, her spine straight.
I watched her go, knowing she was furious — but also knowing she'd be there tomorrow, standing beside me.
Because in this game, walking away wasn't an option.
That night, as I lay awake, I realized something unsettling:
It wasn't just my enemies I was watching anymore.
It was her.
And I wasn't sure whether I was protecting her from them… or from me.
(Ocean's POV)
The storm outside had been building all night — low thunder rolling over the city, flashes of lightning reflecting in the penthouse windows.
Inside, the air was just as charged.
Sebastian hadn't touched me all evening, but every move he made was deliberate, as if he knew I could feel him even from across the room.
The way his gaze lingered too long.
The way his voice dropped lower when he addressed me.
The way his presence pressed against me without ever closing the distance.
By the time he finally walked toward me, my nerves were frayed in the best and worst ways.
He stopped in front of me, so close I could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the clean, sharp line of his mouth.
One gloved hand slid into his pocket; the other came to rest on the back of the sofa, boxing me in without touching.
"Do you enjoy pushing me, Ocean?" His tone was low, silk over steel.
"I don't know what you mean," I said, though the lie was as thin as my composure.
His mouth curved faintly. "You know exactly what I mean."
A flash of lightning lit his eyes — molten, unblinking.
He reached up and traced a finger along the chain of my necklace, slow enough that I felt every inch of contact.
"You've been looking at me all night like you want something," he murmured. "Say it."
"I don't—"
The pad of his thumb brushed the base of my throat, just over my pulse. My breath hitched.
"Yes, you do," he said, stepping closer until the heat from his body seeped through the thin fabric of my dress. "But you're afraid of what happens if you ask for it."
I swallowed hard. "And if I did?"
His gaze dropped to my mouth. "Then I'd give it to you. And you wouldn't be the same after."
The words lodged in my chest, dangerous and intoxicating. I could smell him — expensive cologne, whiskey, something darker underneath. My knees ached to bend, my body ached to lean into him.
I didn't move.
Neither did he.
The air between us was molten, and we both knew it was a matter of seconds before someone broke.
He reached past me, slow, deliberate, until his hand rested on the curve of my hip. Not a grab — a claim. His fingers spread, pressing into me, holding me in place.
"You think you're ready for me, Ocean?" His voice dropped to something barely audible. "You have no idea."
I let out a shaky exhale. "Then show me."
The hand on my hip tightened, drawing me the last inch into his chest. The contact stole my breath — solid, warm, all-encompassing.
Sebastian's eyes burned into mine for a single, dangerous beat before his mouth descended.
It wasn't a kiss at first. It was a possession — his lips coaxing, then taking, until my back was against the sofa and his body was caging me in.
Every brush of his mouth sent heat rushing through me; every drag of his breath against my cheek felt like a brand. His fingers slid along my spine, pressing me closer still, until there was no space left to breathe, only him.
When he finally tore his mouth from mine, his lips were just at my ear.
"One day," he whispered, his breath hot against my skin, "you'll beg me for more than this. And when you do, Ocean… you'll know exactly what it means to be mine."
I didn't trust myself to speak. My hands had fisted in his shirt without me realizing it, and even now I couldn't let go.
His gaze raked over me, slow and unhurried, like a predator cataloging every reaction. Then he stepped back, leaving me flushed, breathless, and aching for something I wasn't sure I could survive.
The storm outside finally broke, rain pelting against the glass.
Inside, the storm between us was only getting started.