Emily Chu came down the staircase like someone walking out of a storm.
She was barefoot.
An oversized men's shirt hung loosely on her frame—too large in the shoulders, too long in the sleeves, the collar slipping slightly to reveal the elegant line of her collarbone.
The shirt didn't fit her.
That alone was an accusation.
Her own blouse—she remembered clearly—had been ruined upstairs. Buttons torn away like they had never mattered. She had searched through the wardrobe with trembling hands and grabbed the first thing that could cover her.
Cover. That was the word.
Not comfort.
Not warmth.
Just cover.
She had to leave.
She had to get home.
Because somewhere outside this nightmare, a child was waiting.
Bean.
She had promised him she'd land at three.
It was already past nine.
Every minute that passed was another minute of panic for him.
Emily's throat tightened at the thought.
And yet—
The moment she stepped into the living room, she felt the shift in the air.
Another presence.
A woman.
Elegant.
Sharp.
Watching her like a blade wrapped in perfume.
Vivian Ross.
Vivian's gaze landed on Emily's shirt first.
Then her bare feet.
Then the faint redness at her collarbone—marks left not by affection, but by force and struggle.
Vivian's eyes narrowed.
The hostility was immediate.
Like a door slamming shut.
She raised a hand and pointed directly at Emily.
"Sebastian," she demanded, voice controlled but cutting, "who is she?"
Sebastian Hawke stood near the center of the room, one hand resting casually on the back of the sofa as though this were his normal evening.
At Vivian's question, he didn't answer right away.
His gaze locked on Emily instead.
It wasn't relief.
It wasn't warmth.
It was possession.
"Who told you to come downstairs?" he asked.
His voice was calm.
But the calm was the kind that came before violence.
Emily reached the last step.
"I'm leaving."
Sebastian's eyes darkened.
"And I allowed that?"
"I don't need your permission."
She started toward the front door.
Sebastian took one step forward.
Not rushing.
Not blocking her yet.
Just reminding her that he could.
Vivian moved faster.
She grabbed Emily's wrist, nails biting lightly into skin.
"What are you doing in his house?"
Emily turned her head slowly.
Looked at Vivian with a level stare.
Then glanced at Sebastian.
"You're asking the wrong person," Emily said coldly. "Ask him."
Vivian's grip tightened.
Emily yanked her hand free and kept walking.
She took two steps.
Then—
A sharp sting at the back of her neck.
The world tilted.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Emily tried to turn, tried to shout—
But her vision collapsed into darkness.
Sebastian caught her before she hit the ground.
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't fumble.
He caught her with practiced efficiency, as if he had done it before.
He lifted her into his arms.
Vivian froze.
Her face drained of color as she stared at the unconscious woman cradled against his chest.
It wasn't the action itself that destroyed her composure.
It was the ease.
The familiarity.
The fact that Sebastian Hawke—who had kept the world at arm's length for years—was holding someone as though she belonged there.
Vivian stepped in front of him, blocking the staircase.
"Sebastian." Her voice shook now, anger slicing through the elegance. "You don't get to ignore this."
"There is nothing to explain," he replied.
It was so flat it sounded like a sentence carved from stone.
Vivian's eyes flashed.
"I'm your fiancée."
Sebastian's gaze met hers. Cold. Precise.
"By agreement," he corrected.
Vivian flinched as if struck.
"You promised—"
"I promised nothing you didn't insist upon," he cut in calmly. "Six years ago, when you demanded an engagement, I told you the terms."
His tone didn't rise.
He didn't need it to.
"We do not interfere."
Vivian's breath stuttered.
"But six years…" she whispered. "Does none of it matter?"
Sebastian looked down at the woman in his arms.
Then back at Vivian.
"You already know the answer."
Vivian's eyes dropped to Emily again.
To the oversized shirt.
To the way Emily's hair spilled across Sebastian's sleeve.
To the way Sebastian's arm was locked tightly around her back—as if the rest of the world could not be trusted with her.
A tremor ran through Vivian.
Her voice came out strained.
"Have you… already crossed the line with her?"
Sebastian didn't answer.
He didn't deny it.
He didn't confirm it.
He simply turned his head slightly.
"Marcus," he said.
Marcus Reed stepped forward immediately.
"Escort Miss Ross home."
That was the answer.
Vivian's composure cracked like glass.
"For six years," she hissed, "you wouldn't give me even an inch of your life. Not your time. Not your trust. Not your body—nothing."
Her eyes burned.
"And now you bring her into Seacliff Heights—into your bedroom—"
"Enough," Sebastian said.
One word.
Final.
Vivian's hands trembled.
"You think you can humiliate me and face no consequences?" she shouted. "You think Uncle Victor will accept this?"
Sebastian's expression did not change.
"You may tell him," he said, voice bored. "If you wish."
And then he walked past her.
Up the stairs.
Emily's weight in his arms did not slow him.
Vivian stood at the bottom of the staircase, shaking.
Because she understood something she had refused to accept for years:
Sebastian Hawke was no longer the cornered man he had once been.
He was no longer the son controlled by Victor Hawke.
He had rebuilt.
He had seized control of Blue Ember Group.
And now, no one—not even his father—could force him to choose.
Vivian's eyes followed him up the stairs.
And something hard formed in her chest.
If she couldn't control Sebastian—
Then she would control the woman.
Morning
Emily woke to sunlight and pain.
Her neck throbbed.
A deep ache radiated down her shoulder.
She lifted a hand to rub the spot and winced.
"That lunatic…" she muttered under her breath. "He actually—"
She stopped.
Because she wasn't alone.
A figure lay beside her.
Sebastian Hawke.
Close enough that the warmth of his body bled into the air around her.
Emily's heart slammed violently.
Her first instinct was panic.
She looked down at herself.
The oversized shirt was still on.
Rumpled, twisted from sleep—but on.
She exhaled sharply in relief.
Then rage followed.
She shoved herself backward.
Too fast.
Her heel caught the edge of the mattress.
She rolled right off the bed.
A solid thud.
Her head hit the floor.
Pain detonated.
She let out a sharp, humiliating cry.
Above her, Sebastian sat up.
He looked down with an expression of cool disbelief.
"You are… astonishingly incompetent," he said.
Emily gritted her teeth, pushing herself up.
"I fell because you kidnapped me!"
Sebastian swung his legs off the bed and stood.
He was already fully awake. Already composed.
As if he had slept in chaos and woken in control.
"You fell because you panicked," he corrected.
"You're the reason I'm panicking!"
Sebastian didn't bother to argue.
He walked toward the bathroom.
Emily scrambled up.
"Wait!"
He paused at the door, hand on the handle.
"When are you letting me go?"
He didn't turn.
"When you remember."
"I don't remember because there's nothing to remember!" she snapped. "You grabbed the wrong person!"
Silence.
The bathroom door closed.
Emily stared at it.
Breathing hard.
Her mind raced.
If she couldn't overpower him physically, she had to outthink him.
She moved to the bedroom door and yanked it open—
Only to find two men in black standing outside.
They didn't threaten her.
They didn't grin.
They simply stood there like walls.
"Move," Emily ordered.
One of them spoke without expression.
"Without Mr. Hawke's permission, you may not leave this room."
Emily's hands clenched into fists.
"This is unlawful detention."
The man's face didn't change.
"No orders for release."
She slammed the door so hard the frame rattled.
The sound didn't relieve anything.
It only made the room feel smaller.
She paced, counting steps, forcing her breathing to steady.
Think.
What leverage did she have?
None.
No phone.
No exit.
A man who believed she was someone else.
And—worse—
A man who had resources powerful enough to make an airport abduction look effortless.
The bathroom door opened.
Sebastian stepped out, towel-drying his hair. Fully dressed moments later in a tailored gray suit, as if the morning were ordinary.
Emily forced herself to meet his eyes.
"You can't keep me here," she said carefully, choosing a calmer tone. "If you need answers, there are other ways."
Sebastian's gaze held hers.
"There are," he said.
"Then use them."
He stepped closer.
He lifted her chin lightly with one finger, as if testing the shape of her defiance.
His voice lowered.
"If you are not her," he murmured, "then you are a mistake."
Emily's blood ran cold.
She didn't move.
She didn't blink.
She made herself hold his gaze.
"What do you do with mistakes?" she asked quietly.
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"I remove them."
The words were delivered with such calm certainty that Emily's stomach twisted.
He released her chin.
Then, as if flipping a switch, he tapped her head lightly—almost casually.
"Relax," he said. "That was a joke."
But his eyes didn't joke.
His eyes promised.
"Think," Sebastian continued, voice smooth, "before I return tonight. I want something useful."
And with that, he walked out.
Emily stood frozen in the silence.
A hollow cold settled in her bones.
He wasn't joking.
Not really.
Because in that moment, she had seen something in him—
Not madness.
Not lust.
Not even anger.
Calculation.
And calculation was always more dangerous.
The Doorbell
Sebastian descended the staircase toward breakfast.
The house was quiet again.
Then the doorbell rang.
Once.
Then twice.
A servant hurried to answer.
Sebastian stopped mid-step.
He didn't know why.
Only that something in the air felt… different.
The servant opened the door.
A small voice spoke, clear and polite.
"Hello. Is Mr. Sebastian Hawke home?"
Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly.
A child.
The servant hesitated.
"And who are you?"
"My name is Lucas."
A pause.
"I'm here for my mother."
Sebastian went still.
Mother.
The word landed heavier than it should have.
He descended slowly.
The servant stepped aside.
A boy stood at the doorway.
About six years old.
Neatly dressed.
Too composed.
Too alert.
Dark eyes that looked at the world like it was a puzzle to solve.
The boy lifted his chin slightly.
"You must be Mr. Hawke," he said calmly.
Sebastian studied him.
"You said your mother is here."
"Yes."
"Who is she?"
The boy didn't hesitate.
"Emily Chu."
The name struck like a controlled explosion.
Upstairs, Emily suddenly felt something snap inside her.
An instinct.
A pull.
She didn't know why, but she ran toward the stairs.
Bare feet against marble.
Heart pounding.
She reached the landing—
And saw him.
A small figure at the door.
The boy turned his head.
Their eyes met.
His expression softened instantly.
"Mom," he said quietly.
Emily's throat closed.
"Bean…"
Behind her, the entire house seemed to shift.
Because Sebastian Hawke was staring at the boy now—
And the look on his face wasn't anger.
It wasn't suspicion.
It was something colder.
Something far more dangerous.
Recognition.