Chapter 22

[ 943 words ]

Emilia’s POV

My stomach twisted as Henry poured another generous glass of aged whiskey for Sebastian.

This is going to be a disaster.

I knew Henry’s drinking habits—relentless, boisterous, the kind that didn’t take “no” for an answer. And Sebastian? He was an Alpha. A powerful, unpredictable Alpha who could snap at any perceived disrespect.

If Sebastian took offense to Henry’s insistent toasting, this whole lunch would implode. The fragile peace we’d maintained would shatter, and I’d be left picking up the pieces.

“Alpha Sebastian, just one more!” Henry’s face was already flushed, his voice too loud. “It’s not every day I get to drink with the Alpha of Silver Moon Pack!”

I held my breath.

Sebastian’s green eyes flickered toward the glass, then toward me. For a heartbeat, I thought he’d refuse. Thought he’d unleash that cold fury I’d witnessed before.

Instead, he picked up the glass.

And drained it in one swallow.

My jaw nearly dropped.

“Good man!” Henry roared with delight, slapping the table. “Another!”

Sebastian didn’t even wince. His face didn’t change as he drank glass after glass, matching Henry’s pace effortlessly.

I watched, stunned, as the two men fell into an easy rhythm of toasting and drinking. Sebastian’s tolerance was extraordinary—he showed no signs of intoxication, no stumbling words or glazed eyes.

The Sebastian I knew would have shut this down immediately. Would have dismissed Henry with a single cutting remark. But here he was, playing the role of the accommodating son-in-law with Oscar-worthy skill.

He’s doing this for show, I realized.

Still, something about the way he handled himself made my chest tighten.

Then his hand moved.

Sebastian reached across the table and placed a cracked crab claw on my plate. “You like this the most. Eat more.”

I froze.

I stared at the crab claw. My mind went blank.

How does he know I like crab?

We’d barely spent any meaningful time together. Our interactions had been cold, transactional, hostile even. There was no way he should know my food preferences.

“Emilia?” Dorothy’s saccharine voice chimed in. “You’re so lucky, dear.”

I looked up. My stepmother’s smile was poisonous honey.

“Sebastian is such a patient man,” Dorothy continued, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “Especially with your… temperament. Not many men would be so understanding of a difficult personality.”

The table went silent.

Linda smirked behind her wine glass. Henry looked uncomfortable but said nothing.

My blood turned to ice, then to fire.

Difficult personality.

It was Dorothy’s specialty—wrapping insults in compliments, delivering poison with a smile. Making me look unreasonable if I reacted, making herself look gracious if I didn’t.

I set down my fork.

“My temperament,” I said quietly, “has never been the problem. The problem has always been people who mistake kindness for weakness and silence for submission.”

Dorothy’s smile faltered. “Emilia, I was just…”

“Praising me?” I tilted my head. “By implying I’m difficult to live with? By suggesting Sebastian deserves a medal for tolerating me?”

“I didn’t mean…”

“You meant exactly that. You’ve spent years perfecting that technique, haven’t you? Backhanded compliments that make you look generous while making me look problematic.”

“How dare you speak to your mother that way!” Henry’s voice rose, finally finding his spine when it came to defending Dorothy.

“She’s not my mother,” I said flatly.

Linda gasped. Dorothy’s face turned red.

Sebastian’s voice sliced through the awkward silence.

“Emilia is perfect exactly as she is.”

Every head swiveled toward him.

Sebastian’s expression was cold steel, his green eyes fixed on Dorothy. “You sent her to me as my bride, and I am extremely satisfied with what I received.”

“She’s intelligent, capable, and far more gracious than many women I’ve encountered.” His gaze swept across the table, landing briefly on Linda before returning to Dorothy. “If there’s a temperament issue at this table, I assure you, it’s not with my wife.”

His delivery was flawless. The perfect devoted husband, protective and proud. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe every word.

Dorothy’s mouth opened and closed. Linda wilted. Henry cleared his throat awkwardly, reaching for the whiskey bottle again.

“Well,” Henry said too loudly, “let’s toast to that! To Sebastian and Emilia!”

Glasses clinked. The conversation stumbled forward, everyone pretending the confrontation hadn’t happened.

As I watched Dorothy’s pinched expression and Linda’s barely concealed rage, satisfaction bloomed in my chest.

It was almost worth the awkwardness of this entire lunch.

Sebastian served me another crab claw. Then another. His movements were casual, automatic, as if he’d been doing this for years instead of weeks.

At my confused look, Sebastian smirked.

“Stop wondering how I know what you like to eat,” he murmured, leaning close enough that his breath brushed my ear. His scent—mint and cedar—washed over me. “Whatever you enjoy is what I despise. Simple as that.”

Oh.

Of course. That made perfect sense. At the Simons’ dining table, I’d noticed Sebastian never touched crab while I happily indulged. I’d assumed he was avoiding anything I’d eaten out of some fastidious disgust.

But no. He just hated crab.

Which meant he’d been paying attention to my preferences purely to avoid them himself.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the lunch began winding down.

I pushed back my chair and stood. “Excuse me. When we got married, everything happened so quickly—I left a lot of things here. I should go upstairs and pack them up before we leave.”

“Oh, let me help…” Dorothy started to rise.

“No need,” I said quickly. “I can manage.”

Sebastian’s eyes met mine, and he nodded slightly.

I slipped out of the dining room and climbed the stairs to my old bedroom.

If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.