Chapter 212

[ 1,157 words ]

Emilia’s POV

After that night’s nearly humiliating street confession of love, Sebastian finally stopped his childish possessiveness and punishment games. He moved back into the master bedroom. Of course, not before pulling me into bed while I was still wearing that sexy dress and making love to me all night long.

My back was covered in his kiss marks the next morning. Literally covered.

“You’re not wearing that dress out again,” Sebastian had said. “Ever.”

“It’s my dress,” I’d protested weakly.

“It was your dress. Now it’s evidence in a crime scene.” His green eyes glinted with satisfaction. “From now on, you dress like a Luna. Elegant. Refined.”

I’d wanted to argue, but honestly? After dealing with his jealous tantrums and cold shoulder treatment, I was too exhausted to fight. Besides, arguing with Sebastian when he was in possessive Alpha mode was like trying to reason with a brick wall. A very attractive, very stubborn brick wall that had incredible stamina in bed.

“Fine,” I’d muttered. “But you’re buying me a new wardrobe then.”

“Done.” He’d kissed my shoulder. “I’ll have the most elegant dresses delivered tomorrow. You’ll look like the Luna you are.”

I should have known better than to agree so easily. The man had no concept of “elegant” versus “matronly.” Half the dresses he ordered made me look like I was ready to host a tea party with the Queen.

But that was a battle for another day.

By Saturday morning, Lily asked me out for coffee. We met at Blue Moon, a cozy little coffee shop near the shopping district that served the best Jamaican Blue Mountain in Silverlake City.

“I ordered your usual,” Lily said. “Jamaican Blue Mountain, extra cream.”

“You’re a saint.” I took a grateful sip, letting the rich flavor wake up my brain. “So what’s this about? You sounded weird on the phone.”

Lily fidgeted with her cup, which was never a good sign. Lily didn’t fidget. She was the most straightforward person I knew.

“I’m thinking about resigning,” she said finally.

I nearly choked on my coffee. “What? Why?”

“It’s not the job,” she said quickly. “I love working at Hanson Group. It’s just… I haven’t seen my parents in years, Em. They keep asking me to visit, and I keep making excuses. Maybe it’s time I actually went.”

Her parents had moved to Canada when she was in college, opened a restaurant that did surprisingly well. Lily had always been stubborn about staying here, building her own life. The fact that she was even considering leaving now sent up major red flags.

“This is about Scott, isn’t it?” I said flatly.

“No.” Her denial came too fast. “It’s not.”

“Lily.”

“Okay, fine.” She sighed, slumping back in her seat. “Maybe it’s a little bit about Scott. But not in the way you think.”

“Then explain it to me, because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re running away.”

“It’s not.” She wrapped both hands around her cup. “Look, I’ve liked Scott for years, Em. Years. And he’s a great guy, he really is. But he doesn’t see me that way. He never has. And I’m tired of waiting for something that’s never going to happen.”

I wanted to argue, but the sad truth was she had a point.

“Even so,” I said carefully, “leaving the city entirely seems extreme. Why not just… I don’t know, take a vacation? Visit your parents for a few weeks and then come back?”

“Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced. “I haven’t decided anything for sure yet. I just wanted to tell you I was thinking about it.”

“Well, stop thinking about it,” I said firmly. “You love this city. You have friends here, a career, a life. Don’t throw all that away because of some guy who doesn’t have the sense to appreciate what’s right in front of him.”

“Lily. Just… think about it, okay? Don’t make any rash decisions.”

“I won’t, I promise.” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Thanks, Em.”

I was about to respond when movement outside the window caught my eye. A figure walking past, something familiar about the way he moved, the set of his shoulders.

My blood went cold.

The coffee cup slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor.

“Em!” Lily jumped up. “Are you okay?”

But I was already grabbing my bag, my eyes locked on the figure now disappearing around the corner.

“I have to go,” I said quickly.

“What? Em, wait—”

I didn’t wait. I was already running for the door, my heart pounding in my chest.

It couldn’t be him. It was impossible. He was supposed to be in France, or maybe he’d moved on to somewhere else by now. There was no reason for him to be here, in Silverlake City, walking past my coffee shop like he had every right to be here.

The figure was about two hundred meters ahead of me now, moving fast. Too fast for someone who was just out for a casual stroll.

He knew I was following him.

I picked up my pace. He sped up too, ducking into the entrance of the Silverlake Shopping Mall. I followed without hesitation, my breath coming faster now.

The mall was crowded with Saturday shoppers, which made it harder to keep track of him. But I caught glimpses of him weaving through the crowd, trying to lose me.

Not a chance.

I pushed past a group of teenagers, ignored the annoyed looks from shoppers I nearly collided with. My lungs were burning, my legs aching from running in heels, but I didn’t care. I had to catch him. I had to know if it was really him.

Ahead of me, I saw him glance back over his shoulder. Our eyes met for just a second.

It was him.

He bolted, and I ran faster, adrenaline overriding the pain in my feet. But before I could close the distance, one of the mall security guards suddenly appeared from a side corridor.

“Stop!” the guard shouted.

The man tried to dodge, but the guard was faster, tackling him to the ground in a move that would have made any football coach proud.

I slowed to a stop, gasping for breath, watching as the guard pinned him down.

“Ma’am, did this man steal something from you?” the guard asked, looking up at me.

“No,” I managed between breaths. “No, I just… I need to talk to him.”

Slowly, I walked over. The guard kept him pinned, and I could see the tension in the man’s shoulders, the way his muscles were coiled tight like he was ready to bolt again the second he got the chance.

I reached out and placed my hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the contact.

“It’s been a long time,” I said softly. “Should I call you Ethan Rowling? Or do you go by Damien Zordon these days?”

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