Ana Huang is a No.1 New York Times, No.1 USA Today, and No.1 Sunday Times bestselling author of contemporary romance. Her subgenres range from sports to billionaire and suspense, but all her books feature her signature blend of steam and swoon.

Her work has sold over 25 million copies worldwide and has been translated into thirty-four languages. She’s been featured extensively in the media, including on Good Morning America, The Kelly Clarkson Show, The Drew Barrymore Show, The Washington Post, and more.

A BookTok phenomenon, her breakout Twisted series has over two billion views on the platform. It is currently in development for television at Netflix.

Ana is also a crossword puzzle enthusiast and an avid traveler. She’s visited nearly forty countries, several of which have served as inspiration for her books.

Also by Ana Huang

GODS OF THE GAME SERIES

A series of interconnected standalones

The Striker

The Defender

The Keeper

KINGS OF SIN SERIES

A series of interconnected standalones

King of Wrath

King of Pride

King of Greed

King of Sloth

King of Envy

King of Gluttony

King of Lust

TWISTED SERIES

A series of interconnected standalones

Twisted Love

Twisted Games

Twisted Hate

Twisted Lies

IF LOVE SERIES

If We Ever Meet Again (Duet Book 1)

If the Sun Never Sets (Duet Book 2)

If Love Had a Price (Standalone)

If We Were Perfect (Standalone)

Copyright

Published by Piatkus

ISBN: 978-0-349-43642-5

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2026 by Ana Huang

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Internal images © elalalala.yandex.ru

Depositphotos, ARTSTOK/Depositphotos

Character artwork by Julia Jacob Mori

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

Piatkus

An imprint of

Little, Brown Book Group

Carmelite House

50 Victoria Embankment

London EC4Y 0DZ

The authorised representative

in the EEA is

Hachette Ireland

8 Castlecourt Centre

Dublin 15, D15 XTP3, Ireland

(email: info@hbgi.ie)

www.littlebrown.co.uk

www.hachette.co.uk

To finding courage in the face of fear.

Playlist

“We Can’t Be Friends (Wait for Your Love)” – Ariana Grande

“When Did You Get Hot?” – Sabrina Carpenter

“The Walls” – Chase Atlantic

“Tennessee Whiskey” – Austin Giorgio

“Lose Face” – Daniel Di Angelo

“Haunted” – Beyoncé

“Strawberries & Cigarettes” – Troye Sivan

“Bad Habits” – Ed Sheeran

“Self Control” – Bebe Rexha

“Moonlight” – Kali Uchis

“The Best I Ever Had” – Limi

“Always Been You” – Chris Grey

“Dancing in the Kitchen” – LANY

“Maula Mere Maula” – Roop Kumar Rathod

Content Notes

This story contains explicit sexual content, profanity, and topics that may be sensitive to some readers.

For a detailed list, please scan the code below.

CHAPTER 1

Maya

“WE’RE FUCKED, DO YOU HEAR ME? FUCKED! AND NOT in a good way. In a dry, lubeless, close-your-eyes-and-think-of-England way.”

“Is that really what you do when you’re having bad sex? Seems counterintuitive.”

“Maya.” Ezra sounded pained. “Please. This is an emergency.”

“I’m well aware.” I nestled my phone between my ear and shoulder and grabbed the bottle sitting on the top shelf of my parents’ medicine cabinet. “First, stop talking about lube, or the lack thereof. Second, calm down. I have a plan.”

“Oh, thank God.” He let out a relieved sigh. “What is it?”

“We’re pulling every product in the pasta line off the shelves. Put together a press release that we can send out within the next two hours. The sooner, the better.”

“Every product?” Ezra spluttered. “But the reported cases have only been linked to the lasagna. If we pull every product in the line, the financial loss would—”

“Still be less than the long-term harm of keeping them on the shelf. We haven’t traced where the outbreak started, but the frozen pasta all comes from the same factory. The last thing we want is to pull the lasagna, only to have new cases crop up related to other products. This is about consumer trust and health, not money.”

As the chief brand officer for Singh Foods, my top priority was protecting the company’s reputation. That included managing crisis communications—and a listeria outbreak linked to our most popular product definitely qualified as a crisis.

“Right.” Ezra cleared his throat. “Then consider it done. I’ll have a draft press release to you within the hour.”

His foul language and dramatic outbursts aside, Ezra was great at his job as communications director, which was why I didn’t question him before I hung up.

I clutched the bottle I’d “borrowed” from my parents and slipped out of their bathroom. Despite my cool assurance on the phone, my heart raced like it was in the last mile of a marathon.

Ezra was right. It was a lot of product to pull off the shelves, but I’d convinced the CEO it was the right thing to do after the third reported case. I’d staked my reputation and possibly my job on it.

If it turned out the contamination really was limited to the lasagna, and our stock didn’t improve after the press release…

My heart rate climbed another notch.

No. I’d made the right call. I couldn’t risk more people getting sick because I wanted to save the company money.

Something about the outbreak nagged at me, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was, so I pushed the thought aside for now.

I had one non-work-related item on my to-do list tonight, and it was just the distraction I needed to brighten up an otherwise hellish day.

I jogged downstairs and almost made it to the kitchen when a familiar figure stopped me in my tracks. She planted her hands on her hips and pinned me with a suspicious stare.

Crap.

I quickly hid the bottle behind my back and summoned my most innocent smile. “Hi, Diya.”

Diya was my family’s head of household. She’d practically raised me and my sisters, which meant she knew all of our tricks inside and out.

“Hand it over, Ms. Maya.” She held out her hand, her expression stern.

“Hand what over?”

“Don’t be cute. Tonight’s party is important for Mr. and Mrs. Singh, and I won’t let you ruin it by pulling a childish prank on that boy.”

I suppressed a grimace at the mention of that boy.

“I would never prank anyone, not even him.” I placed my free hand on my heart. “I’m a top executive at a Fortune 500 company. Do you really think I have time to run around and play tricks on our dinner guests?”

Diya raised her eyebrows and kept her hand outstretched. She didn’t say a word.

Dammit. So much for my distraction.

I reluctantly moved the bottle out from behind my back and placed the laxatives in her hand.

She clucked her tongue in disapproval.

“He wouldn’t have died,” I said defensively. “It’s the mild version. But he would’ve thought twice about accepting another dinner invitation from us.”

Despite our busy schedules, my family gathered for dinner at my parents’ Westchester estate at least twice a month. Tradition was important, and my parents made sure we honored it. I usually looked forward to the dinners… unless he was also invited.

“Considering your families have been friends for generations, I doubt it.” Diya shooed me toward the stairs. “Go. Dinner starts soon, and your mother will have a heart attack if you show up dressed like that.”

I knew better than to argue.

“Good to see you too!” I called over my shoulder. “One day, you’ll let me have some fun!”

“Don’t count on it!” she yelled back, but I heard the smile in her voice.

The adrenaline high from my run-in with Diya faded when I got to my room. It was hard to control my overthinking when I didn’t have another person to distract me, and I automatically reached for the stash of sweets in my nightstand drawer.

I’d blitzed through my favorite chocolate bonbons after news of the first listeria case broke earlier that day, so I settled for the backup gummy worms instead. I shoved one into my mouth.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. It wasn’t like my family’s company’s reputation hinged on my actions or like tens of millions of dollars were at stake.

If I failed, I would be a public laughingstock, the name business school professors trotted out as a prime example of what not to do. My past accomplishments wouldn’t matter; people would only see my failure.

No big deal.

I consoled myself with another gummy worm and checked my phone. No updates from any of the news alerts I’d set for “Singh Foods.”

Okay. I let the double hit of sugar calm my nerves. In this situation, no news was good news.

No news is good news.

I repeated the mantra as I changed out of my jeans and T-shirt and into a silk dress. By the time I finished my hair and makeup, I’d coaxed my heart rate down to something resembling normal.

I had an hour left until dinner, so I slipped out of my room and down the back staircase toward the conservatory.

The sunny, glass-enclosed space was my favorite room in the house. When I was a teenager, I spent hours here reading, doing homework, and daydreaming. No one else ever came in here except to clean, so it was perfect.

I sank onto a cushioned wicker couch and checked my phone again. One new email from Ezra. He’d sent the drafted press release.

I read it over and sent back my notes. They were minimal; Ezra had done a fantastic job.

Still, my stomach knotted as I stared at the landscaped greenery outside the windows. This wasn’t how I’d wanted to spend the last weekend before Labor Day. I was supposed to be hanging out with my friends, not dealing with a work emergency before I had dinner with one of my least favorite people on the planet.

Sometimes, I wondered what’d happen if I simply… walked away. No more stress, no more sleepless nights or clawing my way toward some undefinable destination.

It sounded nice, but the thought of giving up made my skin itch in an entirely different way. I wasn’t sure what I was striving for, but I knew I had to do more and be more. If I stood still, people would pass me, and that was unacceptable.

Ezra replied in record time with an edited statement. I read it over twice before I sent the fateful response.

Approved.

I put my phone away and bounced my knee. God, I could use some chocolate right now. Maybe—

“Hiding in your own family’s house? That’s a bit sad, Sal.”

My leg froze mid-bounce as every muscle recoiled.

There weren’t many things in the world capable of sending me into instant fight-or-flight mode, but that deep, languorous drawl was one of them.

I didn’t have to turn to know who’d arrived.

It was the fucking devil himself.

CHAPTER 2

Maya

POP CULTURE DEPICTED THE DEVIL AS A HIDEOUS thing, clawed and fanged with red skin and horns that broadcast his evilness to the world.

Pop culture was wrong.

In reality, the devil was tall and sculpted, with perfect teeth and a year-round tan that made him look like he’d just returned from a beach vacation in the south of France. Thick, artfully tousled brown hair hid his horns, and he moved with the lazy, self-assured confidence of someone who was used to getting everything handed to him on a silver platter.

If you hadn’t grown up with him (which I had) or endured his lifelong, cleverly hidden snark (which I also had), you might be duped into thinking he was an angel instead of Satan reincarnate.

Fortunately, I knew better.

Unfortunately, no one else did.

Lucifer, otherwise known as Sebastian Laurent, leaned against the wall and gave me the half-smirk he only revealed when it was the two of us.

He was too smart to let it show in front of other people. Everyone thought he was this perfect golden boy, but I’d seen through his mask since we were three years old, when he’d purposely tripped me during a game of tag and claimed the candy prize for himself.

It was the first and last time a boy ever made me cry.

“I was hiding from you.” I ignored that hated nickname, Sal, and gave him a saccharine smile instead. “I didn’t want to spoil my appetite before dinner.”

“Is that the type of hospitality you offer an old friend?” He tsked. “No wonder your company’s in trouble.”

My jaw tightened. He would bring up the crisis the first chance he got. “We’re not friends, and this has nothing to do with work.”

“Frenemies, then.” Sebastian straightened and sauntered over. His walk was loose-limbed and graceful, as if it took him a fraction of the energy it would for anyone else.

He sprawled onto the couch opposite me, seemingly oblivious to my go-away-and-jump-into-a-lake-of-flesh-eating-piranhas energy.

Some people never get the hint.

“We’re not that either,” I said coolly. “Friends is still part of ‘frenemies.’”

“That’s what you say, but I know you better than most ‘friends.’” A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “How many sweets have you stress-eaten since news of the first case broke?”

Damn him.

“None.” The falsehood slipped easily off my tongue. “I don’t do that anymore.”

Sebastian’s eyes bored into mine. They were clear amber shot through with flecks of gold. In the dying sunlight, they appeared almost leonine.

“Liar,” he said softly.

My skin flushed. My heart beat in double time again, its rhythm a loud drum in my ears as we stared at each other. The air crackled with long-simmering animosity.

I loathed him so much I almost couldn’t breathe.

“Is there a reason why you keep showing up where you’re not wanted?” I asked. “Or do you simply enjoy getting on my last nerve?”

“Yes and yes.”

I really wished I could’ve pulled off the laxatives stunt. Seeing him writhe in discomfort would’ve been worth every bit of the consequences.

“You keep forgetting I’m an invited guest.” Sebastian leaned back, his gaze filled with cool amusement. “I didn’t barge in here unannounced.”

“You were invited to dinner, not here. With me.” This is my spot, I almost added, but that sounded too petty. Besides, if Sebastian knew how much I loved the conservatory, he’d never leave.

“You can get up and leave any time you want.” He shrugged. “No one’s forcing you to talk to me.”

“I was here first. I’m not leaving.”

“Ah.” A faint smile touched his mouth, contrasting with the boredom stamped across the rest of his face. “Then it appears we’ve reached an impasse. C’est dommage.”

Translation: That’s too bad.

I wasn’t a native French speaker like him, but I was fluent in the language thanks to my Swiss boarding school education.

I swallowed some other choice words I could’ve said in French.

This was ridiculous. We were full-grown adults acting like children, but that happened every time we were in close proximity. He always brought out the worst in me.

But Sebastian was like the world’s most annoying peacock. He craved attention. Maybe if I deprived him of that oxygen, he’d do me a favor and wither away.

Instead of acknowledging him further, I pulled out my phone again. A deluge of news alerts flooded the screen, and all thoughts of my unwanted company fled as my pulse kicked into overdrive.

The press release.

It’d gone out, and the media had latched onto it like wildfire to dry brush.

A frantic skim of the headlines revealed only a basic regurgitation of the facts, so I went to the one corner of the internet where I was guaranteed to see opinions: social media.

My heart climbed into my throat as I typed “Singh Foods” into the app’s search bar. The topic was already trending, with new posts refreshing every other minute.

There were a few cynical naysayers, but overall, the initial reactions were overwhelmingly positive.

The vise around my chest loosened. For the first time in hours, I was treading water instead of drowning.

I exited my socials and switched to my email, where I sent Ezra a follow-up and checked the rest of my messages.

Sebastian didn’t say a word the entire time, but the heat of his stare seared into my skin.

Now that my initial adrenaline rush had subsided, I was hyperaware of how silent it was. Of the way my blood pulsed in my veins and the way his presence charged every molecule in the room.

I didn’t have to see him to feel him there.

Silent. Assessing. Judging.

I stared at my phone, willing myself not to twitch or do anything that would indicate his scrutiny had any effect on me whatsoever.

Which it didn’t. Obviously.

“It’s a good press release.” His tone contained the casualness of an afterthought. “Let me guess. You convinced your father to pull the entire line because you were worried about cross-contamination. Trust over profit. Very on-brand for the chief brand officer.”

I remained silent and jabbed the Delete button on a generic party invite with more force than necessary.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Sebastian yawned. “Smart. It’s what I would’ve done.”

“I’m so glad I have your seal of approval.” I couldn’t hold back anymore. “What would I have done without it?”

I regretted taking his bait the second the words left my mouth, but it was too late. I caught a flash of triumph in his eyes before he unfolded himself from the couch. It was almost time for dinner. I should leave too, but I’d rather gouge my eyes out than leave with him.

“Always happy to be a source of validation,” Sebastian drawled. He retrieved something from his pocket and tossed it at me. I caught it a split second before it smacked me in the face. “You’re welcome.”

I heard a glimmer of laughter as he left the conservatory and disappeared into the depths of the house.

I waited until he was well and truly gone before I unclenched my fingers. An orange-foil-wrapped candy sat in my palm.

It was a chocolate bonbon.

Of course, I didn’t eat the chocolate.

I wouldn’t put it past Sebastian to give me expired candy, and the bonbon was clearly a power play. A subtle way to indicate he knew things about me that he had no business knowing, and a sneaky reminder that I needed the stress relief because I was caught up in a public relations shitstorm.

Meanwhile, he was riding high on a wave of glowing publicity, including two newly minted Michelin-starred restaurants in the Laurent Restaurant Group’s portfolio and a fawning profile in the New York Times.

My family didn’t own restaurants. Our money came from frozen foods, and there was no Michelin star equivalent for frozen foods.

I knew that, but it didn’t stop me from wanting one.

I think that was the real reason Sebastian grated on my nerves. No matter how hard I worked or how much I accomplished—personally, professionally, academically—he always made me feel like I was behind.

I got straight A’s by studying my ass off; he got straight As just by waltzing into the classroom after rolling out of bed.

I was salutatorian; he was valedictorian.

I won the International Marketing Excellence Award; he won it first and got more press coverage for it.

It was infuriating.

I glanced at him across the dining table. He was busy chatting with my younger sister Neha and pretending to be a normal human being.

Dinner started half an hour ago, and both the Singh and Laurent clans were gathered in my parents’ formal dining room. My father sat at the head of the table, with my mother on his left and Sebastian’s father, Michel, on his right. Michel’s wife, Yvonne, gossiped with my mom about the latest society scandal while Neha’s husband gulped down his wine like this was his last supper. My grandmother sat at the other end of the table, her expression serene as she took everything in. She wore a plain white linen shirt that contrasted with the enormous emerald earrings dripping from her earlobes.

The only person missing was my youngest sister Priya, who was vacationing in Bali with her boyfriend. It was their six-month anniversary, which was why my mother let her absence slide.

Everyone seemed to be having a grand time except for me and Sebastian, who was seated directly across from me. Although he was laughing and smiling, I could tell it was fake.

When he really smiled, his eyes would crinkle at the corners, and the pitch of his laugh would be a decibel or two lower than it currently was. He wouldn’t be gripping his wineglass that tightly or focusing that intently on Neha, like he had something to prove.

“Before we get to the main course, I want to thank everyone for coming tonight.” My father’s booming voice drew everyone’s attention to the head of the table.

The room quieted.

My stomach twisted in anticipation. My father had hinted at some “big news” he wanted to share tonight, but I had no idea what it might be or how the Laurents were involved.

I glanced at Sebastian again. My heartbeat stumbled—he was already looking at me, his expression inscrutable.

He arched an eyebrow and raised his wineglass with a sardonic smirk.

I pressed my lips together and refocused on my dad.

At age sixty-one, Neal Singh remained an indomitable force in any room he walked into. His hair had gone full gray, but his eyes and mind were as sharp as ever.

“I know you’re all busy, but I have some news I’d like to share that is relevant to both our families.” Despite his jovial tone, tension strained his smile. The press release had gone over well, but the recall crisis still hung over us like a thundercloud. “As you obviously know, Michel and I have been good friends for many, many years, but we’ve never gone into business together.”

“We’ve thought about it,” Michel added. “But the opportunity never came up. Until now.”

The nape of my neck prickled with foreboding. Across from me, Sebastian frowned, his smirk gone.

“Let’s cut to the chase since I’m sure everyone would like to eat their dinner before it gets cold,” my father said. “I’m happy to announce that Singh Foods and the Laurent Restaurant Group will be collaborating on a special line of frozen food products. The expertise of…”

A strange buzz filled my ears. I didn’t hear what my father said next because the same three words kept looping in my head.

What. The. Fuck.

The high-low collaboration model wasn’t a new concept. It’d already made its mark in the fashion industry (see: designer brands collaborating with big-box retailers on affordable, limited-edition lines) and was gradually creeping into the food world. But us? Working with the Laurent Restaurant Group? That would be like trying to sell Hermès and H&M in the same store.

Some brands meshed; others didn’t. And the Laurents’ ultra-luxury, fine-dining portfolio was so far removed from our affordable supermarket staples that it might as well be on a different planet.

Judging by the tight set of Sebastian’s mouth, he agreed.

“Is this an idea or a done deal?” There was no inflection in his tone. It was pure, smooth calm, but I detected a dangerous ripple beneath the surface.

“It’s a done deal.” Michel shot his son a warning look. “Neal and I have been talking about it for months.”

“We should still discuss—”

“This isn’t the right—”

Our overlapping protests burst forth in synchronized outrage. Sebastian and I glared at each other before we faced our fathers again.

No one else seemed that invested except for my grandmother. She watched us, her eyes alive with interest as she nibbled on her bread like it was popcorn.

“This is the first time I’m hearing of this, and I’m the chief marketing officer.” Sebastian beat me to the punch in elaborating. His voice sounded sharp, brittle, and extremely unlike him. “With all due respect to Singh Foods, there are certain brand incompatibilities that have to be reconciled—if they can be reconciled—before we take such a drastic step.”

“And this isn’t the right time to launch such a big collaboration,” I added. “We’re still dealing with a… delicate situation.”

“We’ve made up our minds,” my father said, his voice firm. “The collaboration will be financially beneficial for both of us, and if we pull it off, it’ll be a huge PR coup.”

“It’ll also diversify our consumer base by giving us a new market entry,” Michel added.

Sebastian didn’t appear mollified. “But—”

“Enough,” the elder Laurent said sharply. “Like Neal said, we’ve made up our minds.”

“We’re fast-tracking this project,” my father said. “I have it on good authority that Whitaker Farms is planning a similar collaboration. They’re in the early stages, but we have to announce before they do, or we’ll look like we’re copying them.”

Whitaker Farms was our biggest competitor. Despite their wholesome-sounding name, their CEO was ruthless, and they’d been slowly but surely eating away at our market share over the past two years.

“Whitaker itself isn’t a worry,” Michel said dismissively. My father gave him a sharp look, but he didn’t interject when the other man added, “Neal is right about fast-tracking, though. The first to market gets the advantage. That’s why it’s important.”

“Define fast-tracking,” I said.

“We want it announced by next month. I trust the optics will be better by then.” My father gave me a pointed look. His voice was like iron, stern and unyielding.

I swallowed another protest and sank deeper into my chair. That was an order—fix our company’s image before the announcement, or else.

I wasn’t thrilled about the collaboration, but I’d never let my father down before. I wasn’t about to start now. His opinion and our family’s reputation mattered more than my personal grievances.

Besides, I couldn’t argue with an elder, especially not in front of company. It simply wasn’t done.

“We’re aiming for a nine-month product launch window,” Michel said. “This new line should be on shelves before next year’s shareholder meetings.”

Sebastian’s eyes flared. “That’s impossible. A project of this scale—”

“Is possible when you have the right people and resources.” Michel leaned forward and laced his fingers together. “It’s a good thing you and Maya both feel so strongly about this matter. Considering you’re the top marketing executives for our respective companies, you’ll both play a pivotal role in this launch.”

A giant pit opened in my stomach. My earlier foreboding whooshed in, turning my nerves into a pulpy mess. “Meaning?”

He couldn’t be implying what I thought he was implying. No way, no how.

“Meaning we’d like you and Sebastian to be the point people on this project,” my father said. “For the next nine months, your top priority is working on the collaboration. Together.”

CHAPTER 3

Sebastian

“YOU GOING TO TELL ME WHAT CRAWLED UP YOUR ASS and fucked you over, or do I have to wine and dine you before you give up the goods?” Xavier leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.

“Charming.” I turned off the heat and moved the scallops to a tray, where I let them rest for a minute. “Does Sloane wash your mouth out with soap every night, or have you corrupted her so much that she doesn’t care?”

He grinned. “Neither. She’s always loved my filthy mouth.”

I snorted and tossed my kitchen towel at him. He caught it easily, his eyes glittering with laughter.

We were in the Vault’s kitchen. I often tested new recipes here since I couldn’t bulldoze my way into any of my family’s restaurants. Professional chefs didn’t take kindly to other people invading their space.

The recipes were for me more than anyone else, but I took them as seriously as if I were serving them to a critic. That was why I was willing to call in a favor with Xavier to use his space.

The Vault was primarily a nightclub, but it also served as a luxury event space. Its private top floor included a wet bar, a twenty-person dining room, and a full-size gourmet kitchen, which was currently empty except for the two of us.

“Seriously, man. You’ve been moody all day, and that’s not like you,” Xavier said. “What’s going on?”

I hesitated, my brain flipping back and forth over whether to tell him the truth or make up some bullshit.

I’d known Xavier Castillo since boarding school. We’d been casual friends, but we hadn’t struck up a true friendship until a few years ago, when he’d cleaned up his act and opened the Vault.

The Colombian beer heir had been infamous in our social circle before his publicist/ girlfriend straightened him out. Gone was the hedonistic playboy whose debauched parties made the gossip rag headlines every other week; in his place was a savvy businessman who’d turned the Vault into New York’s ultimate place to see and be seen. He’d kept the place relevant since it opened, which was no small feat in a city where today’s hotspot was tomorrow’s trash.

One thing hadn’t changed, though. He was still nosy as hell.

“I have a lot on my mind,” I finally said. “Work stuff. The usual.”

“Work stuff, huh?” Xavier’s eyebrows shot up. “Does it have to do with the Singh collab you mentioned earlier?”

I kept quiet as I plated the scallops and carefully spooned beurre blanc au citron onto each one.

The mere mention of the collab made my head pound. It was the world’s most ill-thought-out plan, and I was the one who had to make sure it was a success. With Maya.

A brief image of brown eyes and full lips flashed through my mind.

My jaw clenched.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes.” Xavier sounded amused. “I thought you liked the Singhs. What’s the problem?”

“I do. Most of them anyway.” I garnished the scallops with chopped parsley. “The problem is, it’s not on brand, and we have nine months to accomplish something that usually takes twice as long. Plus, I have other priorities besides working with someone who’ll fight me on every little thing.”

I didn’t get it. It wasn’t like my father to be so impulsive. He was all about routine.

He’d played tennis at the Valhalla Club every Sunday for the past twenty years, spent precisely three weeks at our château in Provence every August, and always ate his steak medium rare with a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

Michel Laurent was not a man who liked change, which was why I was convinced an army of brain-eating bacteria was actively eroding his good judgment.

Part of me resented how easily Neal had convinced him to take a huge business risk when I’d failed repeatedly at getting him to support my own risks. If it weren’t for my mother’s quiet but steadfast support, I’d never go home. There were only so many dismissals I could endure before I snapped.

“Ah.” Xavier laughed. “So that’s the problem. Maya. I should’ve guessed.”

I bristled, my focus shifting from my father back to the other thorn in my side. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that girl has had you all twisted up since boarding school.” He snagged a scallop off the plate and popped it in his mouth. “Every time you act weird, it’s because of her.”

“Yeah, because she’s insufferable.”

“Whatever you say.” Xavier reached for another scallop. “These are fucking delicious, by the way.”

I was so nonplussed by his (completely wrong) observation that I barely processed his compliment.

Maya did not have me all twisted up. That was ridiculous.

Did her hyper-competitiveness drive me up the wall? Yes.

Did I take perverse pleasure in getting a rise out of her and making that perfect, type-A mask crack? Also yes.

Did the thought of working closely with her for almost a year bring me dangerously close to the brink of losing it? Yes. I mean, no.

Fuck.

I rubbed a hand over my mouth. An image of her floated through my mind again.

Last week. She was sitting in her family’s conservatory, brow scrunched with concentration as she pointedly ignored me. The sun was setting, and the light made everything about her glow. Her hair. Her skin. Her eyes.

She hadn’t wanted me there, and I shouldn’t have sought her out. We always ended up bickering. But we hadn’t been alone together, just the two of us, in… years. Not since boarding school, in fact. Not since—

I slammed the door on that thought before it fully formed.

A prickle crawled over my skin. Embarrassment, maybe, or resentment. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter.

That night had happened forever ago. It had no bearing on my relationship with Maya now.

Instead of entertaining Xavier’s delusions, I tried the scallops myself. A burst of flavors exploded on my tongue. Rich garlic, tangy lemon, and a refreshing hint of parsley mixed with the naturally sweet, briny taste of the seafood.

Xavier was right. It was delicious.

But it wasn’t perfect, which meant it wasn’t up to my standards. It certainly wasn’t up to my father’s standards.

“Dammit.” I tried another one. Same result. “This isn’t it. It’s still missing something.”

“Yeah, it’s missing another batch,” he said through a mouthful of food. “Seriously, man. You’ve been trying to nail this recipe for months, and this is the best it’s ever been. I think you got it.”

“No.” My teeth ground together. Frustration flared in my gut, hot and sharp. “The best it’s ever been isn’t the best it can be. I’m overlooking something.”

I paced the length of the kitchen. The air was stifling.

I forced myself to take a deep breath and not unravel in front of Xavier. He’d seen glimpses of what it was like when I hit a wall, but he didn’t know the extent of it.

No one did.

“Seb.” Xavier’s smile faded as I walked back and forth, my mind spinning. “Seriously. Your food is incredible, and I’m not saying that because we’re friends. Who cares if it’s not perfect in your eyes?” He jabbed a finger at the half-empty plate. “I guarantee you that nine out of ten people who eat that would say it’s perfect. Hell, everything you do is perfect. That’s why so many people secretly resented you when we were in school.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

I stopped in front of the stove and stared at the remaining scallops. A jumble of words clogged my throat, but they refused to form a coherent explanation.

How could I explain the gaping, gnawing restlessness inside of me? Every day, I woke up on top of the world, but instead of enjoying the view, all I could think about was how much I hated it. And then I hated myself because I should be grateful.

I had everything, yet everything wasn’t enough. It didn’t fill the emptiness inside me.

It’d been easier to slap a Band-Aid over it when I was younger. I’d papered over that missing part of myself with sex, parties, and alcohol. I’d lived it up around the world and pretended that was all I needed in life. And yeah, some people had resented me for that. They’d looked at my life and thought it was perfect.

But the older I got, the less my coping mechanisms worked.

I needed purpose, and the scallops had become a symbol of that. Perfecting them was a goal, and goals kept me from losing myself in the darkness.

The problem was, not perfecting them fucked with my head too. I couldn’t figure out what was worse—floating aimlessly or failing spectacularly. Either way, I couldn’t distill my feelings into words for Xavier.

Thankfully, an incoming call saved me from making up another bullshit excuse.

I was so relieved I picked up without checking the caller ID, but I tensed again when a familiar voice flowed over the line. “Sebastian Laurent, picking up on the first ring. Wonders never cease.”

“I’ll always pick up on the first ring for you, Sal.” I pushed my spiraling thoughts aside and slipped effortlessly into my Maya voice. Cool. Detached. Amused. Anything that hid how much she got under my skin. “All you have to do is call.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“You’re the one calling me on a Friday night.” I turned my back to Xavier, whose sly smile had returned when I said “Sal.” Whatever he thought this was, it wasn’t. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m only calling you because I have no choice,” Maya said. “If I wait for you to take the initiative, this collaboration will be dead in the water before it starts.”

That was fine with me.

“You might be fine with that,” she continued with eerie precision. “But I won’t let your lack of work ethic affect my track record, so I’m calling to set up a time for us to meet and hash out the details. I’ve already emailed you a proposed work schedule and initial ideas for the launch.”

“You were always an overachiever.”

“And you were always an underachiever.”

“Yet we’ve achieved roughly the same things so far. So who’s really getting the short end of the stick here?”

Her sputter of indignation brought a small grin to my face.

“Seriously, we’re already behind schedule,” she said after she calmed down. “It’s been a week, and we have nothing concrete to show for it. I sent you a couple of time slots for Monday. Pick one that works and come prepared with ideas.”

“I’m always prepared. Just don’t get mad when my ideas are better than yours.”

“Please.” Maya scoffed. “You couldn’t find a good idea if it crawled out of your closet and punched you in the face.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon,” I drawled. “See you Monday, Sal. Looking forward to it.”

She hung up.

My grin widened. I pocketed my phone and turned to find Xavier wearing a shit-eating grin of his own.

“What?” I placed the now-empty plate in the dishwasher—apparently, he’d finished off the food while I’d been on the phone—along with other utensils and cookware.

The club opened soon, and I wanted to get everything cleaned up before Xavier went downstairs to play host.

“Nothing.” He pushed off the counter and helped me with the trash. “But I can’t wait for your project updates. Making you two work together is like putting two starving lions in the same room. Only one of you is coming out alive.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. We’ve done school projects together before.”

“That was a long time ago, and you guys argued so much, everyone requested to transfer to another group.”

I shrugged. “Not everyone can handle the pressure.”

At the risk of sounding like an egotistical jerk, there was only one person who had ever kept up with me.

I might feel purposeless, but I still excelled at almost everything society deemed “important”—school, sports, work. I beat my peers in any of those fields without breaking a sweat—unless my opponent was Maya.

She was the only one who challenged me. Even when she lost a battle in our ongoing war, she didn’t make it easy. It intrigued me almost as much as it pissed me off.

“Maybe not.” Xavier slid a sideways glance at me. “Just try to keep it together while this project is going on. I don’t want to be the one picking up the pieces if things go south.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t happy about the circumstances, but I’d survived Maya Singh for this long. I could handle another nine months with her.

CHAPTER 4

Maya

“WERE YOU ON A WORK CALL?”

I returned to my table at the Tipsy Goat to find two pairs of eyes drilling into me—one accusing, one amused.

“No?” It came out more like a question than I’d intended. I bit my lip, my cheeks flushing with guilt. “Okay, yes, but it was one call, and it lasted, like, five minutes tops.”

“Maya.” Ayana groaned. “We agreed this would be a work-free night. It’s Friday! We’re young, we’re hot, and we’re… well, we’re not all single, but the guys aren’t here, so we should have some girls’ night fun. Which we can’t do”—she reached for my phone—“if you insist on being a buzzkill.”

I held the phone away from her and laughed when she scowled at me. Even when she was frowning, she was the most beautiful person in the bar. It was the perk of being a famous supermodel.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” I promised. I put my phone in my bag and held up my hands. “See? Out of sight, out of mind.”

Mollified, Ayana pivoted her attention to Sloane. The blonde arched a perfectly shaped brow in response.

“No,” she said. “My phone remains on the table.”

“Look on the bright side.” I patted Ayana on the shoulder. “At least it’s not glued to her hand anymore. Progress.”

Sloane Kensington was New York’s publicist supreme and a total badass. She was also a notorious workaholic. She’d represented my family for years (our personal brand, not our corporate one), and I remembered the days when she’d toted her phone around like it was her precious firstborn.

Old Sloane would’ve never put it down on the table, but New Sloane—aka slightly more relaxed, head-over-heels-in-love Sloane—only rolled her eyes good-naturedly when Ayana giggled at her expense.

“Okay, one last thing about work, and then we can talk about something else.” Ayana raised her martini. “A toast to Maya, who turned a disaster into a huge PR coup. Congrats, babe. I knew you could do it.”

I blushed, my insides fizzing as I clinked my glass against hers and Sloane’s. “We’re not totally out of the woods yet, but at least I know I won’t be jobless,” I joked.

My family might own Singh Foods, but my dad was big on everyone pulling their weight. He’d fired one of my cousins after they fucked up a report during their first week on the job, and he’d never hired them back. I didn’t get special treatment just because I was his daughter.

“You could run your own PR agency,” Sloane said. “Put me out of my job.”

“Please. I know a bit about PR, but I’m more of a marketing girl.” People often conflated the two, but they were pretty different. “And I would be terrified to go up against you.”

She laughed but didn’t refute me. Sloane knew exactly how good she was at her job. It was one of the things I loved about her. She didn’t fake humility.

“PR, marketing. Doesn’t matter.” Ayana waved an elegant hand in the air. “What matters is that your stock’s up and shareholders are happy, which means we need another round of drinks.” She signaled our server, who immediately came over to take our order and whisk away our empty glasses.

My blush deepened from a combination of alcohol and pleasure. After a week of crisis-management meetings and knots in my stomach, happy hour with my friends felt like sinking into a warm bath after a long trek in the cold.

I’d known Sloane forever, but we hadn’t become friends friends until recently. Ayana was the one who brought us together. We’d met at a Valhalla Club event last year, and we’d instantly hit it off. She was also Sloane’s client, so our trio had evolved organically. We often hung out with Sloane’s three best friends too, but they were busy with their husbands tonight, so it was just us.

“Do you actually read the business section, or did Vuk give you the rundown before you came?” I teased.

Ayana was a fashion girl. Wall Street news bored her to death.

She shrugged, her eyes brightening at the mention of her boyfriend. “Is there a difference? He always gives me what I need.”

“Mmhmm. I bet he does.”

“Maya!” She shoved at my arm, her voice shaded with embarrassment. “Take your mind out of the gutter.”

“I didn’t say anything!” I protested with a laugh. “You were the one who took it there.”

“Whatever,” she said, but I saw a smile threatening to form. “I can neither confirm nor deny any details about my sex life. All I can say is…” She took a delicate sip of her drink, her eyes sparkling. “I’m extremely happy.”

Sloane and I shrieked like schoolgirls as Ayana’s grin broke free. She shook her head and covered her face with her hands, ignoring our demands for more information.

She and Vuk were so private, but it made sense.

Vuk Markovic was the most intimidating person I’d ever met. The huge, scarred billionaire was a notorious recluse, and he attended most public functions with the loving reluctance of someone indulging his girlfriend. He scared the shit out of me, but he treated Ayana like a queen, so I was over the moon for her—even if I, personally, was too terrified to date someone like him.

“Speaking of the men in our lives, how are your blind dates going?” Sloane asked after we settled down. “Find a winner yet?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Hardly. Dating in New York is like trying to find a diamond in a sea of crap. Shitty and not fun.”

“You’ll find your person,” Ayana said, her tone consoling as our server brought out our new drinks. “If you want to, that is.”

“I do. I just…” I blew out a sigh. “I want to find them on my own terms, you know? Being forced to go on a date with someone doesn’t exactly scream ‘romantic’ from the get-go.”

I’d tried to argue with my mom about it, but there was no fighting her on stuff like this. She loved to meddle in her children’s lives, and I was the only single one among my sisters. That meant I’d have a neon target on my back until I got married and popped out some grandchildren for her to dote on.

My eyes strayed to my bag. My phone was in there, along with my keys, wallet, lip gloss, and the stupid chocolate bonbon Sebastian gave me.

I wasn’t going to eat it, but throwing away premium chocolate seemed like a huge waste. What if I had a major crash out one day, and that bonbon was the only thing standing between me and a total meltdown?

It was best to keep it with me for emergencies (even if it came from the devil incarnate). Just in case.

“We’ll find someone for you,” Sloane said. “I’ll ask Xavier for help. Eligible bachelors come through the Vault every week. He has to know a few who’d be a good fit.”

I brought my attention back to her, my eyes rounding in horror. “What? No! That’s so embarrassing. I can’t ask your boyfriend to set me up.”

“Is it more embarrassing than having your mother set up your dates for you?” she asked pointedly.

Ayana giggled.

“Low blow,” I grumbled.

“You know what? I’m texting him right now.” Sloane’s fingers flew over her phone. “It’s girls’ night, but you need a date for your cousin’s wedding next year, right? I guarantee we can find you someone better than those generic finance bros your mother loves.”

“Actually, she likes doctors. But I see your point,” I quickly amended when Sloane glared at me. “Text away.”

“Already done.” She tossed a wad of cash on the table and stood, her expression determined. “Let’s go. We’re finding you a date.”

Thirty minutes later, we arrived at the Vault. The exclusive nightclub was located in a former bank vault, hence the name, and for most people, it was harder to get into than Fort Knox. But since Sloane was the owner’s girlfriend and Vuk was a silent partner in the club, we received red-carpet treatment from the moment we exited our cab.

Our personal escort whisked us past security and up to the VIP floor, where the bartender promptly served us a round of signature drinks, on the house.

Ayana wasted no time in scouting out the crowd. “What about him?” she shouted over the music. She gestured toward a tall, good-looking guy with auburn hair. “He’s cute.”

“Yes, and he’s wearing a Patagonia vest in a club.”

“You have a point. I can’t believe the bouncer let that fly.” She pursed her lips. “Okay, what about him? The guy with—oh, never mind. That’s either his girlfriend or someone whose ass he really likes grabbing.”

I let Ayana have her fun, though I was almost certain I wouldn’t find what I was looking for in a nightclub.

Sloane stopped texting Xavier to nod at my phone. “Should you get that?”

I glanced down to see the screen lighting up every other second with a new text.

“It’s my family group chat,” I said. “I bet it’s Priya. She’s been bombarding us with vacation pictures all day.”

Whereas Neha was the sporty, uptight one, and I was the smart-mouthed, type-A one, Priya was the hippie free spirit. She wanted nothing to do with the family business and made a living painting portraits of other people’s beloved pets.

Secretly, I thought she was fleecing her customers because no dog portrait was worth a thousand dollars, but she was too bubbly and earnest for anyone to say no to.

“Last I heard, she joined an artists’ commune or something. Or maybe it’s a cult.” I clicked into the group chat while Ayana continued my husband hunt. I was half afraid she was going to drag some poor schmuck over and lock us in a closet until we kissed. “I’ll just mute—”

My sentence broke off abruptly.

The first thing I saw in the chat was a photo of Priya and her boyfriend beaming at the camera.

The second thing I saw was the glittering diamond on her finger.

PRIYA

Ben and I got engaged!!!!

A string of congratulatory texts ensued, followed by a scolding from our mom, who couldn’t believe that Priya broke the big news over WhatsApp instead of in person.

I stared at the photo until the ring blurred into a taunting mass of white and platinum. Sourness stung the back of my tongue.

Priya was engaged. My sister, who was five years younger than me and had, up until she met Ben, insisted she “didn’t believe in tying herself down to any one person,” was engaged.

The sourness sharpened into something more acrid.

“Are you okay?” Ayana asked. I looked up to find her and Sloane staring at me with concerned frowns. “You’re a little pale.”

“I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “Priya’s engaged.”

“Your sister? Oh my God! That’s amazing.” Ayana faltered, obviously picking up on my distress. “It is amazing. Right?”

“Of course it is.” I upped the wattage of my smile until my cheeks hurt. “I’m surprised, that’s all. I didn’t—we didn’t think it would happen so soon. They’ve only been dating for six months.”

I was happy for my sister. Truly.

But a secret, shameful part of me resented her for reaching that milestone before me. It wasn’t a competition, yet I felt like I’d fallen behind.

No one would let me forget it either. If my mom had been insufferable with her matchmaking before, Priya’s engagement would send her into overdrive. I dreaded finding out what she had in store for me now that I was her last single daughter left standing.

“Hey, Luna.” Xavier came up beside us, breaking the tension. He kissed Sloane on the cheek, and despite the cramp in my stomach, I couldn’t help but smile at the way her entire body softened at the sight of him.

With his smoldering dark looks and plethora of tattoos, Xavier looked like the ultimate bad boy until he smiled. Those dimples of his could melt even the iciest heart.

He bestowed those dimples on me a minute later. “So, I hear you need a proper date for your cousin’s wedding. Someone who’ll blow everyone else away.”

“I do, but I can find one on my own. You don’t need to… you know.” I gestured vaguely around us.

“Oh, it’s no problem.” Xavier’s grin widened. He appeared unusually thrilled about the situation. “I’d be delighted to set you up. I already have someone in mind.”

That was fast. “Who—”

“Who are you trying to set up now, Castillo?”

My smile vanished.

Sebastian joined our group, dressed down but irritatingly gorgeous in jeans and a black shirt. He greeted Ayana and Sloane warmly but didn’t acknowledge me.

I wanted to crawl under a rock when Xavier said, “We’re helping Maya find a date for her cousin’s wedding.”

Heat scorched my neck and chest. Sebastian was never going to let me live this down.

“Really?” His gaze flicked toward me for a split second. “Interesting.”

I braced myself for a taunt, a snarky comment, anything, but it never came.

I blinked, thrown by Sebastian’s uncharacteristic terseness. That was it? He wasn’t going to give me shit for needing help to find a date? What was wrong with him?

I almost reached over to check if he had a fever, but Xavier slung an arm around his shoulder and saved me from my own impulse. “We should pair her with Killian. He’s always down for a good party.”

“Killian Katrakis?” Ayana perked up. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of him. He’d be perfect!”

“He is really good-looking,” Sloane mused. “Not as good-looking as you, of course,” she added when Xavier shot her a wounded look. She patted him on the shoulder like he was a golden retriever instead of a six-foot-plus billionaire. “But Killian could work. What do you think, Maya? You’re acquainted with him, right?”

“Sure. We know each other,” I said with some wariness.

Killian Katrakis was the CEO of a major electronics conglomerate. Gorgeous, single, and richer than God, he was one of the city’s most sought-after bachelors. There was an ongoing bet amongst the single (and not-so-single) socialites in New York to see who could lock him down first. So far, no one had gotten even close.

“Great! We’ll give him a call.” Xavier’s dimples flashed again. “Right, Seb?”

A muscle feathered in Sebastian’s jaw. “We aren’t doing anything,” he said coolly. “I’ll leave the matchmaking to you. I’m not interested in doomed endeavors.”

“Fine.” Xavier appeared undeterred by the brushoff. In fact, he almost looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Don’t worry, Maya. I got you. Be back soon.” He grabbed a bemused Sloane and dragged her to another part of the club.

“I’ll be back too. Restroom,” Ayana elaborated. She winked at me and disappeared into the crowd.

And then there were two.

Sebastian and I eyed each other. His hair was more tousled than usual, and there was a bandage wrapped around his thumb. It hadn’t been there last week.

“Here I thought you’d be in the office,” he drawled. “Did you call me from the club earlier? That’s sad.”

The urge to ask about his bandage disappeared beneath a comfortingly familiar avalanche of annoyance. “I called you from happy hour, and that’s because I needed the alcohol to make talking to you bearable.”

His lips curved. “I’d find that more believable if we hadn’t had many conversations sober, Sal.”

I hated that he was right.

A specific memory rose, unbidden, like an old ghost emerging from a long sleep.

Boarding school. The hushed silence of the library. The faint, distinctive smell of old books, like dry wood mixed with sweet vanilla.

And Sebastian and I, cooped up there so late during finals that we were the only ones left. We were wired from too much caffeine and delirious from too little sleep, and we would stay there long after midnight, our conversations meandering from the function of cells to debates about art, literature, and philosophy. We’d fall asleep arguing, and…

I blinked away the memory before it sank its claws into me.

That was then; this is now.

“Many conversations, yes. Many conversations I’ve enjoyed? Not so much,” I said, recovering.

A smirk played around the corners of his mouth. “Stock’s up day over day this past week,” he said, abruptly changing subjects. “Good job.”

“Are you so obsessed that you’re stalking my company’s performance?”

His expression flickered before it smoothed again. “It’s the first rule of business, Sal. Always keep a close eye on your competition.”

“We operate in completely different fields.” They were both food-focused, sure, but there was a vast difference between frozen foods and gourmet restaurants.

“I’m not talking about our companies.”

My eyes flew to his.

There it was.

We’d never said it out loud, but we’d both known from the start that it’d never been about work, or school, or who got the last word in a student debate.

It was about him and me. Always had been, always would be.

The half-dozen drinks I’d consumed earlier hit me all at once.

I set my glass on the counter, my stomach queasy. Ayana hadn’t returned from the restroom, and Sloane and Xavier were nowhere in sight.

I was forced to stand there like a bug under a microscope and participate in this endless back-and-forth we’d had going on for decades.

On a normal day, I’d relish the opportunity to try to take Sebastian down. But between the stress of the past week, the news of my sister’s engagement, and that stupid smirk on his face, I was suddenly, completely over it.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said. Fire licked against my ribcage and burned away any filters I might’ve had. “There is no competition between us. You’re smart, I’ll give you that. And sometimes you win over me. But I will always work harder than you, and care more than you, and feel more than you. You can collect as many accolades as you want, Sebastian, but they’re as empty as everything else in your life. You want those wins so you can say you have them, but you don’t actually give a shit about them. I can’t be in competition with someone whose heart isn’t in the race. So tell me, who’s the real winner here?”

I wasn’t conscious of what I was saying; I didn’t even know where the words came from. But they were out there, and I couldn’t take them back.

My heart pounded as Sebastian’s eyes pierced mine. He hadn’t so much as twitched during my rant, and his gaze was eerily calm.

“Is that what you think?” he said, so softly I shouldn’t have heard it over the synchronized pounding of my heart and the music.

But I did. Every word. They snuck inside me and twisted something deep in my chest.

I swallowed past the sudden tightness in my throat. “It’s what I know.”

Those cool amber eyes darkened. The air pulsed with subtle danger, and the something in my chest scrabbled for a foothold.

“Disappointing.” Sebastian stepped back, his face wiped of emotion. “I expected more from you.”

Before I could ask what he meant, he turned and walked away. “Check your email.”

I was left standing alone at the bar, my pulse thundering. The queasiness in my stomach coiled into a tight knot.

I hated that this had happened twice in one week—him walking off and leaving me at a loss for words.

I especially hated the prickle of guilt inside me.

I’d told the truth. Other people were too afraid or too in awe of Sebastian to be honest, but that had never been a problem for us. We held up a mirror to each other’s faults.

So he shouldn’t be hurt by what I’d said, and I shouldn’t care how he felt about it.

Still, I couldn’t shake the sense that I’d crossed some sort of invisible line as I opened my email. His message sat at the top of my inbox, and the knot in my stomach cinched painfully tight when I read through it.

It was a response to the product launch ideas I’d sent earlier. He’d marked them up with his own notes and observations. They were witty, insightful, and dammit, they made my proposals stronger. A lot stronger.

I’d emailed him at the Tipsy Goat, which meant it’d taken him less than an hour to read and edit all eight pages.

The prickle of guilt hardened into splintering shame.

I shoved my phone into my bag and searched the crowd for a head of tousled dark hair, but he was nowhere to be seen.

CHAPTER 5

Sebastian

THE FIRST PULL OF ALCOHOL STUNG.

The second went down smooth and easy, like my body realized it should soak up every drop before I deprived it again.

I savored the rich, almost chocolatey taste of the whiskey as the bartender left to tend to other duties. I hadn’t allowed myself to indulge since the Prague incident, but I needed it tonight.

It wasn’t enough to fill the void, but it was better than nothing.

They’re as empty as everything else in your life.

Maya’s voice echoed through my head. I clenched my jaw and continued drinking, hoping it’d drown out the memory of her.

It didn’t.

God, I couldn’t stand her. I couldn’t stand how she argued with me every time we talked or the way she cut through the bullshit and nailed me right where it fucking hurt. I couldn’t stand knowing that no matter what I did or how much I won, she’d never see me as anything other than her nemesis.

Most of all, I couldn’t stand the way she haunted my thoughts for days, weeks, months.

Years.

She was right about so much, and wrong about so much more. But I couldn’t begin to untangle that web because we didn’t have that type of relationship.

So I sat there in the private bar of the Vault, and I drank.

The floor was closed to the general public. Only select VIPs had open access to it, and besides the bartender, I was the only person here.

Or rather, I used to be.

The door opened, and I caught a whiff of sweet perfume before the newcomer slid onto the stool next to mine.

“A seltzer with a twist of lime, please,” she told the bartender. “Thank you.”

“Ayana.” I didn’t turn my head. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs with your friends?”

“Maya’s busy, and Sloane is scheming with Xavier.” She crossed her legs, her crystal-studded dress sparkling in my peripheral vision. “I saw you sneak up here and decided to keep you company. You looked upset.”

If it were anyone else, I’d think they were flirting with me, but Ayana and Vuk were locked at the hip. There was no breaking up that couple unless some poor fool wanted to be fish food in the East River.

“That’s nice of you, but you should really leave before Vuk throws me into a meat grinder and serves me up to the dogs.”

Ayana laughed. “Come on. He’s not that bad. He’s a big teddy bear once you get to know him.”

I huffed out a laugh at the thought of how Vuk Markovic would react to anyone other than his girlfriend calling him a “big teddy bear.”

Big, sure. That motherfucker was the size of a small mountain. Teddy bear? Only if said teddy bear had silent anger issues and was more unhinged than a screen door in a hurricane.

I was about to excuse myself when I finally registered what she’d said earlier. “Maya’s busy? Doing what?”

“She’s talking to some guy.” Ayana accepted her drink with a smile. “Xavier couldn’t get a hold of Killian, so he introduced her to one of his old buddies who’s in town.”

I grimaced. “Not one of his party buddies, I hope. They’re bad news.”

“Maybe for long-term relationships, but she’s just looking for a wedding date. Someone who’s fun and down to party sounds like the perfect fit.” Ayana arched an eyebrow. “Unless you want to take her?”

I barked out a laugh. “No. I don’t.”

“Okay, so it shouldn’t bother you if she goes with another guy.”

“It doesn’t bother me. I never said it—” I cut myself off and took a deep breath. “She can go with whoever she wants. I was simply pointing out that the people from Xavier’s past can’t be trusted.”

“Aren’t you from his past?”

“I’m the exception, obviously.”

“Obviously,” she said.

I cast a suspicious glance her way as she drank her seltzer. I didn’t buy her excuse about following me because I looked upset.

Ayana and I were friendly, but we weren’t close enough for her to seek me out like this. Either she was really bored, or she had an ulterior motive.

I never got a chance to figure out what it was because the door opened again, and six feet, five inches of scarred, brooding Serb walked in.

Ayana’s face lit up.

“Markovic.” I raised my glass as he approached us. My time here was now limited, but that wasn’t an excuse to chug prime liquor like a Neanderthal. “Good to see you.”

Pale, nearly colorless eyes narrowed. Vuk didn’t appear thrilled to see me with his girlfriend, but his face softened a smidge when she stood and kissed him on the cheek.

“Hi, my love,” she said. “Did you get what you needed done?”

He nodded, his arm curling protectively around her waist.

He was selectively nonverbal, and he rarely spoke out loud to anyone except Ayana. However, I picked up his get-the-fuck-out-and-leave-us-alone vibes, loud and clear.

“Sebastian and I were just chatting,” Ayana said.

Vuk signed something in American Sign Language.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she assured him. “He’s way too focused on Maya to think about anyone else.”

I stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. You just talk about her a lot.”

“I don’t. Other people bring her up first.”

“Weren’t you the one who asked what she was busy doing?”

The heat creeping across my face wasn’t a blush. It was the alcohol. Clearly.

Beside Ayana, Vuk’s glower melted into a smirk.

Wonderful. Even the world’s grumpiest man was laughing at my expense.

“As much as I would love to stay and argue, I have something I need to check on.” I took one last sip of whiskey and slid off the stool. “Vuk, Ayana, always a pleasure. I’ll see you both again soon, I’m sure.”

I left, abandoning my drink and ignoring the voice in my head that told me to stop running every time I was uncomfortable.

Maybe one day, I would.

But today wasn’t it.

I should’ve gone straight home, but I took a lap around the club first.

I had to find Xavier and say goodbye. That was the polite thing to do.

What I wasn’t going to do was ask who he’d set Maya up with. I didn’t care, and everyone who said I did was wrong.

Besides, Maya and Killian? I couldn’t fathom a worse pairing, and I said that as someone who’d watched every season of every trashy dating reality show out there.

Still, something pinched in my chest as I wove through the crowd—nothing dramatic, just that annoying pinch I got when I couldn’t stop overthinking.

I scanned the room, trying to pick out Xavier in the sea of people. He wasn’t in the VIP lounge, but maybe—

My gaze snagged on a sliver of blue. It was the exact shade as the dress Maya had been wearing.

I didn’t find Xavier, but I did find the guy he set her up with. He stood facing me, his expression utterly charmed as he listened to whatever Maya was saying.

Her back faced me, but dress aside, I’d recognize that midnight-colored hair and those long, athletic legs anywhere.

The guy laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He leaned down to whisper something to her, and her shoulders shook with what was either genuine amusement or the maniacal glee of a succubus before she ate him alive.

Poor schmuck. Little did he know, her pretty face hid a razor-sharp tongue and enough acid to melt the Statue of Liberty.

Everyone knew that the most beautiful creatures in the wild were also the most poisonous. If they didn’t, it was my duty to save them.

Consider it my charity work for the month.

I walked over. “There you are, Sal,” I drawled. “The date hunt is going well, I see.”

Maya’s shoulders visibly tensed. She ignored me, but the guy’s brow creased with confusion.

“I think you have the wrong person. Her name’s Maya,” he said.

“Oh, no. I know. Sal’s my nickname for her. We go way back.” I held out my hand. He shook it warily. “Sebastian Laurent. I saw you talking and just wanted to check in. She has a bad history with men, you see. Never manages to get past the first date, but it’s not her fault. Her anger issues have improved a lot since her court-mandated classes.”

The guy’s mouth rounded. His eyes darted back to Maya in horror.

“Ignore him,” she said through a smile that was better described as “bared teeth.” It lent considerable credibility to my claims. “Poor Seb suffers from delusions. He’s not supposed to leave his house without a caretaker, but he must have wandered off on his own. Again.”

“I couldn’t resist looking for you, mon ange.”

“Resist harder.”

“And miss your date hunt? Never.”

“Listen.” The guy interrupted us with a nervous laugh. “Uh, it’s clear you two have something going on here—”

“We don’t.” Maya moved away from me. “There’s nothing going on other than the strong possibility that one of us will leave in a full-body cast.”

“See?” I gave the guy a conspiratorial look and whispered, “Anger issues.”

“Right.” He backed away. “Either way, it was nice meeting you, but I have to, uh, find my friend. See ya.” He bolted into the crowd like Cerberus itself was nipping at his heels.

Satisfaction ignited in my chest. He didn’t know it, but I’d just saved him.

Maya whirled on me. “What is wrong with you? We were having a great conversation before you ruined it.”

“Please. You’re not upset he left. You’re upset because I interrupted you.”

“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Maybe not, but tell me what you were talking about before I showed up.” I raised an eyebrow. “The weather, his job, or the stock market?”

She pursed her lips. I’d hit the nail on the head.

“What are you still doing here? I thought you left,” she said.

I shrugged. “The night’s still young. I went upstairs to have a drink after you so helpfully psychoanalyzed me.”

Maya winced. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, her expression torn. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” She grated the words out with painful slowness. “It’s been a rough week, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have.”

I almost stumbled back a step before I caught myself.

Maybe I was wrong, and this wasn’t Maya. The real Maya must’ve been snatched by aliens and replaced with a nicer doppelgänger because we never apologized. Not to each other.

It was a core tenet of our relationship. We didn’t dish out what we couldn’t take, and we always took it. We were too competitive not to.

Her unprecedented apology gave me at least twenty points in our invisible scorebook, but my answering quip died on my tongue when she crossed her arms.

It was a defensive gesture, one she rarely used. And when I looked at her, really looked at her, I picked up on the little signs that I should’ve noticed earlier—the shadows underneath her eyes, the tense lines carved around her mouth, and the stiffness in her shoulders that, for once, didn’t have anything to do with me. Not entirely, anyway.

The week must’ve taken an even bigger toll on her than she let on, but that was how she was. She suppressed everything and pretended she was okay even when she wasn’t.

“Apology accepted,” I said.

Maya blinked, her surprise evident. She’d probably expected me to give her shit for apologizing, and yeah, that was the first thing that’d crossed my mind. But she was obviously feeling crappy and vulnerable enough without me piling on.

I liked competing with her, not hurting her.

An uncomfortable sensation spread behind my ribcage. It was a slow, creeping pressure, like my chest was shrinking around something I didn’t have the vocabulary—or guts—to name.

I shook off the feeling before it grew legs. “Now that that’s behind us, we can focus on something more fun.” I nodded at the bar. “Do you remember the Five Trials?”

“Of course.” Maya wrinkled her nose. “I haven’t done it in a while, though.”

“Neither have I, but I think it’s time to bring it back.” Our old drinking challenge was guaranteed to obliterate any nagging thoughts—or any thoughts in general. “First person to finish gets bragging rights.”

Her eyes gleamed. She loved nothing more than a challenge. “You’re on.”

Twenty minutes later, we’d assembled what we needed and recruited our friends as witnesses.

Xavier and Sloane found us when we were ordering drinks, and Ayana and Vuk wandered over a little later. The four of them watched us prep with varying degrees of amusement, anticipation, and trepidation.

The Five Trials was a student tradition at our old boarding school. Every senior had to “pass” it in order to unofficially graduate. It consisted of five shots, each containing a different liquor: tequila, vodka, whiskey, rum, and gin, in that order. The combo was guaranteed to fuck you up, but that was the point.

Adrenaline streaked through my blood as I lined up the shots.

I hadn’t done this in years, but doing it with Maya? It was almost like old times.

“It’s like I’m at a college frat party.” Sloane gave us a warning look. “If either of you throw up on my Louboutins, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“We won’t,” Maya and I said in unison.

“I’ve never thrown up from alcohol,” she added, side-eyeing me.

“Neither have I.” I’d done lots of shit because of alcohol, but vomiting wasn’t one of them.

Despite our reassurances, Sloane took several steps back while Xavier took on the role of timekeeper. “You guys ready?”

We nodded.

He held up his phone. “Three… two… one… go!”

I snatched the first shot off the counter and downed it in one smooth gulp. I had a head start because Maya despised tequila, but she made up for lost time on the second shot, since I hated pure vodka.

I slammed the glass down, my heart racing. The counter was sticky with spilled alcohol, but I paid no mind to the liquid soaking my shirtsleeve or my friends’ cheers.

There was only one thing on my mind: winning.

I didn’t care that I was on a self-imposed alcohol fast, which I’d already broken, or that I was no longer seventeen and in—

Somewhere in the distance, glass shattered.

The rum went down the wrong pipe, and I choked, my vision blacking out for a second as the sound wrenched a buried memory out of its casket.

The crash of bone hitting china. The screams. The stampede.

My fault.

My fault.

My fault.

My head pounded. The music dulled, and a gallery of images flickered through my mind. Bits and pieces of my life since that night, woven together by a tenuous string of anxiety and persistent, unrelenting doubt.

Then the song changed to some frenetic synth-pop number, and I was flung back into reality.

The Vault. The Five Trials. Maya.

I finished the rest of the rum and knocked back the last shot, my eyes still burning from my earlier choking fit, but it was too late.

Maya slammed her empty glass on the counter mere seconds before me. Xavier grabbed her hand and raised it in the air. “Ding ding ding! We have a winner! Sorry, Laurent.” He patted me with his free hand. “Better luck next time.”

I forced a smile over the continued hammering of my heart. “Can’t win them all. Congrats, Sal.” I inclined my head toward her. “You’ve redeemed yourself after last time.”

Maya snorted. “Last time was almost ten years ago. I don’t think about it anymore.”

“Lying again.” I tsked as Xavier returned to Sloane’s side. She appeared mostly relieved that her shoes had survived the Five Trials intact.

“I know you can hold your alcohol, but add that Trials thing to the list of challenges you should never do,” Ayana told Vuk. “I almost threw up watching it.”

He chuckled.

While our friends broke off into their own little worlds, I kept my attention on Maya. “You never forget a loss. I bet the outcome of our last challenge keeps you up at night.”

“If we’re going to go there, I could say the same for you.”

“A drinking contest doesn’t mean much to me.”

“Maybe not, but I know you.” She shrugged. “You lost, and it’s killing you inside.”

Despite our back-and-forth, the interaction lacked our usual edge. Maya was practically glowing after five consecutive shots and a victory, and I was… not happy, exactly, but I was glad to see her return to form. It restored the sense of balance in my world.

My gaze swept over her face, taking in her bright eyes and flushed cheeks. Whatever haunted her earlier had subsided, and that was worth taking the loss this time.

Only once, though.

I didn’t make a habit of coming in second.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” I took out my wallet and slipped the bartender an extra fifty for their help. “I guess I’ll go home now and lick my wounds in private.”

“You’re joking, but just know that mental image brings me great pleasure.” Maya gave the delighted bartender a hundred-dollar bill.

My mouth quirked. She had to one-up me at everything, including tipping.

“Good to know mental images of me give you pleasure.” A laugh climbed up my throat at her horrified expression.

“That’s not—”

“Have a good night, Sal. I’ll see you Monday.” I nodded goodbye to my friends, but Maya’s hand caught my sleeve before I left.

“Seb.”

I paused, my muscles tensing. I needed to get out of here before I had a fucking breakdown, but her light touch effectively tethered me to the spot.

Maya looked up at me, her expression softening a smidge. “Thank you.”

My chest constricted. Of course she figured it out. She always did.

A dozen unspoken words passed between us, charging the air and making it thicken to the point of suffocation.

It set my world dangerously akilter again, but I remembered what happened the last time I’d been this off-balance. I had no desire to relive the experience.

I removed her hand from my sleeve. The brief graze of my skin against hers sent a small jolt up my arm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I walked away.

I didn’t look back, but the memory of her touch lingered. So did the echo of shattering glass.

I set my jaw and continued walking, out through the door and down the sidewalk, until those memories were nothing more than faint imprints in time.

CHAPTER 6

Sebastian

“… MAKE SURE OUR EXPENSES ARE IN LINE WITH OUR financial goals…”

I twirled a pen between my fingers as Allen, the chief financial officer, droned on. I’d strategically picked my seat so I could stare out the windows while the rest of the execs went over last quarter’s numbers.

I hated these meetings, but as the CMO, I was required to attend them.

I held back a groan as Allen flipped to slide fifty-whatever of his PowerPoint.

It was a gorgeous day. Golden sunshine, seventy-three degrees with a gentle breeze, and the buzz of a city returning to life after Labor Day weekend.

I should be outside, soaking up the last bit of warmth in Central Park, or at least in a kitchen, perfecting my scallop recipe. Instead, I was wasting my time in an overly air-conditioned building, listening to shit I couldn’t care less about.

My recipe had to be missing an ingredient. I’d checked and triple-checked the rest of the ingredients. Their ratio was spot on, which meant—

“Sebastian.” My father’s sharp voice brought my attention back to the boardroom.

I dragged my eyes away from the skyscrapers outside to find the whole table staring at me. “Yes?”

“Please.” My father leaned back and laced his fingers together. “Share your thoughts on what we were discussing. I’d love to hear them.”

I sighed, my mind still on the scallops, but I obliged. “We’re spending too much on operating costs for restaurants in the red. One of the simplest ways to cut expenses is to reduce food waste. We can partner with local charities who could benefit from the extra food. We’ll emphasize the no-food-waste angle for marketing, get good PR for the charity work, help feed the community we’re part of, and reduce costs all at once. Four for four.”

I met my father’s gaze head-on, and the rest of the room held a collective breath as his brow furrowed.

He loved doing this shit—calling me out when I least expected it to see if I was paying attention (rarely) and, if not, whether I had the chops to land on my feet anyway (always).

I was bored to tears, but it didn’t take a genius to skim a PowerPoint slide, and whoever was sweating most profusely at the moment was the person who last spoke. That meant the topic at hand was related to their job. Today’s winner was the CFO, who’d been harping about operating costs for months.

“Good,” my father said. He nodded at his head of operations. “Corbin, put together a plan for implementing those changes. Now, talk to me about our supply chain. What’s the latest…”

I tuned him out again and checked the clock.

How had it been only thirty minutes? I could’ve sworn I’d been trapped in here for at least three hours.

On the bright side, this was my last internal commitment for the day. Maya and I were scheduled to meet later to nail down a plan for the product collab, but at least that wouldn’t be boring.

Nothing with her ever was.

My mind wandered back to Friday night, its focus torn between the way she’d eviscerated me, her subsequent apology, and, strangely enough, Xavier’s insistence on setting her up with Killian. I’d had three nights to think about it, and it was still the stupidest idea I’d ever heard.

Not that I thought about it a lot. It just so happened to pop up now and then, like an annoying little gnat that couldn’t take a hint.

I lowered my hand and tapped my pen against the table until my father’s glare forced me to stop.

Half an hour later, the meeting finally, blessedly ended.

I pushed my chair back and headed straight for the door, but my father stopped me before I could escape.

“Sebastian. Let’s talk.”

Dammit. I eyed the exit with longing. “About?”

“Your proposal.”

My gaze snapped up to meet his, and it took all my willpower to keep my expression neutral. “And?”

I’d submitted my proposal months ago. This was his first time acknowledging it, so I wasn’t getting my hopes up. But maybe…

“It’s not a good idea.” He stood and walked over. He was technically two inches shorter than me, but he’d towered over me my entire life, his shadow stifling my every attempt to break free. “You’re too valuable as CMO. One day, you’re going to lead this company, and you can’t do that if you waste your time toiling away in a kitchen instead of here. Making the decisions.” He rapped his knuckles against the table.

A slow, bitter burn simmered in my gut. “Waste my time? That’s an interesting way to devalue the work your entire company is built on.”

“I’m not devaluing it. The actual chefs? They’re meant to be running kitchens, not boardrooms. You’re the opposite.” My father’s eyes flashed. “You have an MBA, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t pay for all that schooling only for you to chop vegetables and grill meat for the rest of your life.”

The burn solidified into a white-hot flash of fury. “I also went to culinary school. There’s more to the job than chopping vegetables and grilling meat. You, of all people, should know that.”

I’d convinced my parents to let me attend culinary school so I could “get a better understanding of the craft side of the business.” In reality, I’d gone because I wanted to. Learning knife skills and different cooking techniques was infinitely more interesting than earning a boring MBA.

They’d agreed, as long as I graduated top of my class from business school first, which I had. I took more pride in my culinary degree than my MBA, but the former would be a waste if I didn’t use it.

“It doesn’t matter. No is no.” My father’s face hardened. “Don’t forget what happened the last time you insisted on running a kitchen. It’s a miracle we survived.”

His words landed like a punch in the gut. A lifetime of practice kept me from visibly betraying my emotions, but inside, my chest tightened to the point of suffocation.

Years ago, I’d overseen the soft opening of one of our restaurants in the city. It’d been my first time taking charge of the food, and it’d ended with a high-profile guest literally dropping dead in the middle of dinner.

The coroner had attributed his death to anaphylactic shock from a peanut allergy. I was ninety-nine percent sure we hadn’t prepared his food anywhere near peanuts—he had to have been exposed elsewhere—but it didn’t matter.

The remaining one percent of uncertainty had sent me spiraling, and the resulting media frenzy had tanked our stocks until the public’s short attention span and our aggressive PR efforts dragged the company back from the brink of disaster.

It’d taken dozens of therapy sessions—plus a few less healthy coping mechanisms—to dull the horror of that night.

I’d put on a brave face for the world, but my father knew how hard I’d fought to step foot in a kitchen again without panicking.

He knew, and he still used it as a weapon against me.

My hands curled into fists. I wanted to slam them into the table just so I had something solid to push back on, but if I did that—if I showed any outburst of emotion—he’d win.

“Seb.” My father’s frown melted into a sigh. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy here. You might hate me for this now, but you’ll thank me in the long run.”

“Don’t,” I said, my voice sharp. “If you don’t want me to be a chef because you feel it’s beneath the Laurent name, then stick to that. But don’t try to justify it as some act of benevolence. This has always been about your ego, nothing else.”

His eyes flashed again. “You have no fucking idea what this is about.”

“Then enlighten me.” When he fell silent, I barked out a rough laugh. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

I walked out. He didn’t stop me, but his words followed me down the hall and out onto the sidewalk, where even the sun couldn’t ward off a sudden chill.

Dots danced before my vision. A familiar knot coiled around my chest, and I had to force in several deep breaths to loosen its hold.

Don’t forget what happened the last time you insisted on running a kitchen.

With one cleverly aimed reminder, my father had torn off the Band-Aid and dragged my ugly, festering insecurities back to the surface.

I hated how easily he manipulated me. I saw it for what it was, but a small part of me wondered if he was right, and if my return to the kitchen would be a disaster waiting to happen.

I couldn’t even perfect fucking scallops, for Christ’s sake. But I could whip together a marketing plan in my sleep, even if doing so inspired about as much excitement as a root canal.

If I really wanted, I could ignore my father and strike out on my own, my inheritance be damned. I had no doubt he’d cut me off if I went against his wishes. But at the end of the day, I was still a Laurent, and I held a deeply ingrained loyalty to my family, if not to my father himself. Besides, that big a rift would destroy my mother, who was fragile enough after my aunt died. I refused to cause her any more distress.

I sucked in another lungful of air until the dots disappeared from my vision. The conflicting voices in my head retreated, and not for the first time, I ignored the restlessness stirring inside me.

I’d worry about the future later.

For now, I just needed to get through the day.

You’re late.

The Post-it note was affixed to the table in front of my seat when I arrived to my meeting with Maya later that afternoon.

We’d exchanged increasingly heated emails over the weekend regarding our weekly meeting spot until we’d agreed on neutral territory—the library at the ultra-exclusive Valhalla Club, where we were both members.

I’d cleared my head during the long, brisk walk to Valhalla, and I felt close to myself again as I took the seat opposite Maya’s. I didn’t touch the note.

“You’re early.” I tapped the face of my watch. “It’s three o’clock on the dot.”

“When you’re on time, you’re late.” She pushed a manila folder across the table. She was dressed in what I secretly called her get-shit-done outfit—crisp white shirt, diamond studs, and her lucky gold elephant pendant. Her hair draped over one shoulder in a thick, glossy braid.

Some things never changed.

I yawned. “Sorry, not everyone lives by your personal rules, Sal.”

She leveled me with a cool look. “Is this how you want to kick off our partnership? Because trust me, I’d be happy to argue with you all day long, but we’ll be much more efficient if we actually work together. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can go our separate ways.”

My eyebrows winged up. I assessed her, trying to gauge whether she was sincere or fucking with me.

I’d come prepared for war, and she was initiating a quasi-truce? Her apology was one thing. Her (albeit reluctant) willingness to work together without saying something snarky first was another.

Then again, the passive-aggressive Post-it note was classic Maya Singh, so maybe she hadn’t gotten a personality transplant. Perhaps she’d hit her head so hard her personality had split in two, and she was now forced to switch back and forth between them like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

“You’re right,” I said. “Let’s get this done.”

“Thank you.” Maya gave me a sweet smile, and I had the sense that I’d somehow lost a battle I hadn’t known was being fought. “Our first task is the announcement plan. We have to nail the messaging from the start, or we’re fucked.”

“Language.”

“Fuck off.”

I laughed. Much better. Her niceness freaked me out.

Maya huffed out a sigh, but I swore her mouth twitched before she flattened it into a straight line. “Shh. You’ll get us kicked out.”

She tilted her head toward the librarian, who was indeed glaring at us from behind her desk. She was only here once a week since the Valhalla library operated more as a networking hub than an actual library, but judging by her scowl, you’d think I’d killed her cat instead of merely laughing.

“I’d like to see her try.” I smiled at the librarian. She didn’t smile back. “She’s what, eighty? I can take her.”

Maya shook her head. “Of course, you wouldn’t see anything wrong with tackling a nice old lady.”

“I didn’t say anything about tackling, and she doesn’t look so nice.”

“That means she has discernment. Unlike other people, she doesn’t fall for your Euro charm bullshit.”

A slow smile crept across my face. “Did you admit I have charm?”

“Bullshit charm. Don’t cherry-pick my words.” Maya’s cheeks appeared a shade redder than usual as she opened her laptop. “Now stop talking and start working. I don’t have all day.”

I chuckled, but I acquiesced and flipped open the folder she’d handed me. She’d printed out my response to her proposal and given me notes on my notes. Typical.

I skimmed them without analyzing every comment the way I would if she were anyone else. I didn’t need to micromanage her; I trusted her to get things right on her own.

That said, we did have a ton of work to do. A project of this magnitude involved a thousand moving parts, and our tight timeline meant we both needed to be at the top of our game.

“We need a big marquee chef to handle the recipes and be the face of this collaboration,” I said. “I emailed you some names. If you don’t have any objections, I’ll start reaching out to see if any of them are interested.”

“Perfect. I’ll draft the press release and leave a placeholder for their name and bio.” Maya highlighted something in her notebook. “Can you finalize it by next week?”

“Of course.” It would take some arm-twisting, but the Laurent name went far in the culinary world.

We worked quietly for a while, our conversation lapsing into the scratch of pen on paper and the rhythmic clacking of our keyboards.

The library bustled with activity, but the noise seemed muted somehow, the other patrons barely noticeable despite their proximity to us. It was as if an invisible bubble insulated us from the rest of the room.

I glanced at Maya, who was typing furiously on her computer. Light streamed in through the stained-glass windows behind her, settling softly on her hair and highlighting the stubborn set of her mouth. A tiny crease dug in between her brows, and she muttered something under her breath as she paused typing to underline a sentence in her notebook.

We hadn’t worked side by side like this since college, when we’d kept getting thrown into group projects together. We’d pulled countless all-nighters in the library, both of us refusing to be the one to bail first, but I’d forgotten how laser-focused she got. How she radiated intensity, and how she tackled every task with a military-grade precision that left little room for error.

I’d made a game out of trying to distract her. I’d succeeded a number of times, but I’d kept those victories to myself. They were a secret indulgence, and I hoarded them the way dragons hoarded treasure, away from the prying eyes of those who wouldn’t understand.

Sometimes, I didn’t understand either.

“If you stare any harder, I’ll have to start charging you,” Maya said without looking up from her screen. “I’m not here for your entertainment.”

I hadn’t said a word, and I’d already distracted her. One point for Team Laurent.

I suppressed a smile. “Does my attention make you uncomfortable?”

“Everything about you makes me uncomfortable.”

“Yet here we are,” I drawled, taking great delight in the subtle flare of her nostrils. Two points for Team Laurent.

“Only because we have to be.” Her eyes flicked up to meet mine. They were dark with exasperation. “Have you looked at the draft I sent you yet? I’m meeting someone downtown in an hour, so I need to leave soon.”

“Yes. It’s fine.”

“Fine?” Maya looked like I’d told her she had a terminal disease and only two weeks left to live. “Our marketing timeline can’t be fine. It has to be perfect. What—”

“Who are you meeting later?” I interrupted. “Killian?”

Maybe Xavier had finally gotten a hold of the elusive bachelor and introduced them after I’d left the Vault. Killian did love his downtown haunts, though he was typically allergic to Monday-night gatherings unless they involved a bottle of whiskey, a pair of supermodels, and a threesome.

Maya gave me a strange look. “Killian Katrakis? Why would I be meeting with him?”

A twinge of heat crept over my cheeks. “No reason,” I said, silently kicking myself for the slip-up. Why the fuck was I bringing up Killian first? “But I talked to him earlier, and he said he had a meeting downtown tonight too.”

Fortunately, she was too distracted by my lukewarm assessment of her marketing plan to notice my blatant lie.

“What’s wrong with the timeline?” She flipped furiously through her notebook. “I guess we can move the ad campaign up a month, but if we do it too early, it’ll lose steam—”

“Maya.” I placed a hand on her wrist. “Relax. Fine is just a word. The timeline is perfect.”

She froze. Her eyes dropped to my hand before traveling to my face, and I realized a beat too late that I’d fucked up.

The invisible bubble around us shrank. My skin stretched too thin and too tight, like it wasn’t an adequate shield for the sudden blaze of panic inside of me. My pulse thudded hard enough for her to feel it through my fingers, and I would’ve yanked my hand away if doing so wouldn’t have made things worse.

Instead, I lingered, even though I’d sworn I wouldn’t, and the light contact rekindled emotions that were best forgotten.

Her skin was softer than I remembered, and a pit opened in my stomach before I slowly withdrew, careful to keep my expression neutral.

“If it’s not Killian, who are you meeting?” I asked casually. I glanced around the room, trying to calm the irritating patter of my heart. “Some other poor sap your mom convinced to go on a date with you?”

Maya unfroze. She retracted her hand from the table, keeping it well out of my reach, and busied herself with packing up. I had the distinct feeling that she was avoiding looking at me. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m meeting Vivian. She’s helping me plan my birthday party.” Her birthday was in two and a half months.

“So you are having a party.”

“Of course.”

“I haven’t received my invitation yet.” I placed a hand over my chest. My heart rate was starting to return to normal, thank fucking God. “I’m hurt.”

“Maybe you’re not invited,” she said, the picture of innocence. “Maybe I decided our competition isn’t worth having to share my favorite day of the year with you anymore.”

“Your birthday wouldn’t have much meaning without me, Sal.”

We’d been inviting each other to our birthday celebrations our entire lives. It was the perfect chance for us to one-up each other, and I looked forward to seeing her different themes—and planning ways to beat her—every year.

Maya snorted. “You think way too highly of yourself.”

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “But tell me I’m wrong.”

“You—”

“Mr. Laurent. Ms. Singh.” I didn’t realize the librarian had left her station until she popped up next to us with a disapproving frown. “Please. Keep your voices down. Other people are trying to work.”

Those “other people” were chatting at the same volume as us, but neither Maya nor I argued. We apologized, our gazes locked as the librarian huffed and left.

Without taking her eyes off me, Maya scribbled something on a Post-it note and slapped it on the table.

My mouth curled when I read it.

You’re wrong.

“You’re a bad liar, sweetheart,” I said, my voice soft enough for only her to hear.

Maya’s jaw tightened. The air pulsed between us, and I saw the indecision warring inside her—should she take my bait and respond, or should she walk away and let me have the last word?

I got my answer a minute later, when she hitched her bag onto her shoulder and brushed past me with a terse “See you next week. Don’t be late.”

I didn’t watch her leave, but a hint of her perfume trailed behind her. It smelled like a mix of amber and florals.

My smile faded, and I waited until the scent fully evaporated before I folded her note into neat thirds and slipped it into my pocket.

I stood, my gaze lingering on her empty seat for an extra beat before I, too, left.

Eight months, three weeks. That was the amount of time we had left in our partnership.

It wasn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things, but I had the unsettling feeling that it was just enough to drive me insane.

CHAPTER 7

Maya

MINOR ANTAGONISMS ASIDE, SEBASTIAN AND I SETTLED into a surprisingly easy rhythm over the next three weeks. We already knew how the other worked, and our meetings were actually productive once he stopped rage-baiting me.

Thanks to him, we got Derek Gardiner to create the recipes for the frozen foods collab. The handsome, award-winning chef was the perfect person to headline a national campaign, and I had to give Sebastian my reluctant props. As annoying as his golden-boy status was, his connections did come in handy sometimes.

“I heard this place is the best date spot in town,” Nikhil said. “I hope you like it.”

I blinked, disoriented by the sudden conversation. Right. I wasn’t at work, and I wasn’t with Sebastian.

I was on another date, this time with a doctor whom my mother assured me was “one of the most eligible bachelors in the tri-state area.” The last man she set me up with had a Napoleon complex and a penchant for mansplaining every dish on the menu, so I took her words with a grain of salt.

Nevertheless, I firmly pushed aside thoughts of a certain Frenchman and smiled at my companion. “I’m sure I’ll love it,” I said as we entered the restaurant in question.

Nikhil gave his name to the hostess, who checked us in and led us to our table in the center of the dining room.

Brasserie M was the city’s latest restaurant du jour. New York cycled through new hotspots every few months, but the intimate bistro had kept its chokehold on people ever since Mode de Vie named it “the most romantic restaurant in the U.S.”

Ambiance-wise, I could see it. It was only big enough for a dozen or so tables, and the dim lighting, cozy seating, and soft background music lent it an air of sexy elegance. I recognized several other diners, including a famous news anchor, a Tony Award-winning actress, and Charles Whitaker, my father’s business rival. He was having dinner with his wife and didn’t seem to have noticed me.

“So, I hear you’re a surgeon,” I said after we placed our orders. “That must be exciting. Tell me the truth: how accurate is Grey’s Anatomy?”

Nikhil laughed. “Not that accurate, I’m afraid. I mean, in the first episode alone…” He launched into a long-winded explanation of every detail the show got wrong.

I kept my smile in place even as my eyes glazed over. I’d promised my mom I would give my dates a fair chance instead of dismissing them from the start, but so far, none had passed my first test.

I asked them about themselves and waited to see how long it took for them to ask me something about my life. The answer was usually never.

Nikhil was still going on about Grey’s Anatomy and his own medical training after our appetizers came.

Aaaand another one bites the dust.

I sipped my wine and looked around, already counting down the minutes until the night was over.

I knew I should’ve asked my friends to give me an out. I usually had Sloane or Ayana call after thirty minutes so I could leave for an “emergency” if necessary, but my mom had been relentless since Priya’s engagement. If she found out I’d cut the dinner short, she’d murder me.

To be fair, I wanted these dates to work. They just… never did. You couldn’t force chemistry and compatibility, no matter how much your family prayed, cajoled, and pressured you to.

“Good evening.” A smooth, deep voice interrupted a nightmarish daydream of my mom and aunties lined up in front of me like a tribunal.

Verdict: Guilty of depriving us of bragging rights, future grandchildren/nieces and nephews, and the opportunity to outshine our friends’ daughters’ weddings.

Sentence: An eternity of blind dates with interchangeable, self-absorbed men.

I shook off the image as the voice continued. “How are you enjoying your dinner so far?”

Wait one fucking minute.

My head snapped to the left, where amber eyes and a devilish smile greeted me.

You’ve got to be kidding me. “What—”

“It’s good so far, but we haven’t had our entrees yet.” Nikhil chuckled, oblivious to my sputtering shock. “I guess we’ll see if this place really lives up to the hype.”

“I certainly hope so,” Sebastian said without missing a beat. “I saw you ordered our mushroom bourguignon and gratin dauphinois. Both excellent choices.” He retrieved two business cards from his breast pocket and placed them in front of us. “My name is Sebastian. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask for me. Enjoy the rest of your meal.”

He smirked at me on his way past.

I flipped him off under the table, and his low laugh grated on me long after he was gone.

I drained the rest of my glass, so thrown by Sebastian’s appearance that I couldn’t appreciate the objectively exquisite wine. It was yet another thing he’d ruined for me in a long list of items dating back to our childhood.

How could I have forgotten this was one of his family’s restaurants? But even if I’d remembered, the last thing I would’ve expected was to run into him.

Sebastian was a C-suite executive. His job didn’t include working the dining room or handing out business cards to customers.

He was up to something. I just didn’t know what.

“Now that’s good service.” Nikhil examined his business card. It only stated Sebastian’s name and email, not his title or phone number. “Sebastian Laurent… Wait, you don’t think he’s one of those Laurents, do you? The ones who own the entire restaurant group?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” I muttered. I picked up my card and was about to toss it to the side when I spotted a scrawl of black ink on the back.

Best wishes on your date. Any man who can talk that much without taking a breath is clearly a keeper.

That sneaky little bastard. He must’ve been spying on me throughout dinner, which was so fucked up. But if that were the case, why did I feel like laughing?

It’s the wine talking. It had to be.

I tucked his business card into my purse and schooled my expression into something that hopefully resembled interest as Nikhil resumed his detailed accounting of his med-school years.

Now that I knew Sebastian was watching, I couldn’t look bored. I refused to let him see me suffer or, worse, smile at something he’d given me, even if it was the most interesting part of my evening so far.

Our server brought out our entrees, and I redoubled my efforts to pay attention as Nikhil abandoned his med-school stories in favor of waxing poetic about his upcoming camping trip with “the boys.”

What was up with men and camping? I had a strong aversion to bugs and peeing in the woods, so the appeal was lost on me.

Still, I scrounged up a laugh at his joke about bears. A pleased expression crossed his face, and he rambled on about how he could totally take on a black bear by himself.

Someone kill me.

At least the food was good. It was the only redeemable part of the night.

I took another bite of bourguignon and snuck a peek around the dining room. I hadn’t seen Sebastian since our appetizer course. He’d probably left, which made sense because why would he stay when…

My eyes snagged on a familiar figure near the hostess station.

He’s still here. My heart skipped a tiny little beat, which was obviously my sign to stop drinking. I’d had so much wine it was wreaking havoc on my internal organs.

Sebastian stood facing me. He was talking to the maître d’, but he glanced over right as I was about to look away.

Our gazes collided, and the intensity of his stare hit me like a shot of pure whiskey in my bloodstream. My ears buzzed as I fought not to turn away first.

God, I hated the way he looked at me, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. How I felt, what I wanted—everything he had no business knowing but did anyway.

Sebastian’s eyes glittered with mocking amusement as he held my gaze for one long, deliberate moment. A small smirk tugged at his mouth.

My fingers curled tightly around the edge of my seat, my pulse thudding with painful awareness. Just when I was about to cave and blink, he broke eye contact to resume speaking to the maître d’.

My muscles instantly loosened, and I inhaled a shaky breath before I returned to my conversation with Nikhil. He hadn’t noticed my lapse in attention at all. He carried on with his monologue until our server cleared away our dishes and brought out a decadent slice of chocolate cake. It was topped with glistening strawberries arranged in an elaborate flower shape.

“I think you have the wrong table. We didn’t order this,” I said, even though my mouth watered just looking at it. Strawberries were my favorite comfort food after chocolate.

“This is on the house.” The server set the dessert on the table with a wink. “Compliments of the owner.”

I didn’t pay attention to Nikhil’s questioning frown; I was too busy staring at the minuscule note tucked halfway beneath the cake.

Better luck next time. -xo, Seb

Sebastian

“Tell me. What’s bothering you?”

I leaned against the wall and popped a truffle fry in my mouth. I hadn’t eaten all night, and the first bite was like fucking nirvana. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Margaux took a deep drag of her cigarette. A perfect smoke ring curled into the cool night air. “You were distracted tonight,” she said. “You’re never distracted.”

“I wasn’t distracted.”

“Is that why you kept sneaking out to the dining room when you were supposed to be helping in the kitchen?” Her knowing gaze dug holes in my denial.

Margaux was one of the most lauded chefs in the world. She’d started her career scrubbing dishes and worked her way up to the top of the food chain (no pun intended). She’d seen a lot of bullshit in her life, and right now, she saw right through mine.

“I have a lot going on,” I answered vaguely.

“I’m sure you do.” Another smoke ring billowed between us. “Who did you send that free dessert to earlier?”

I sighed. Nothing happened in Margaux’s kitchen without her knowing about it.

The restaurant closed over an hour ago, but I wanted to catch up with her and take a quick food break before going home.

I already regretted my decision.

“No one important,” I said.

“If they weren’t important, you wouldn’t have sent them free dessert.”

I finished my fries and tossed the empty container into a nearby trash can. We were in the street behind the restaurant. It smelled like garbage and food grease, yet I felt more at home here than in my family’s boardroom.

“It was an old schoolmate,” I amended. Margaux had the tenacity of a pitbull, so I had to give her something, or she’d never let me off the hook.

“But not a friend,” she observed shrewdly.

“No.”

What Maya and I had was too complicated to classify as friendship.

Friends didn’t compete as often as we did. They didn’t live to get under each other’s skin, and they certainly didn’t cancel guys’ night to crash the other’s date instead.

Every morning, I received a list of VIP guests who were scheduled to dine at my restaurants that day. The reservation was under her date’s name, but he’d listed Maya as his companion. She was the VIP, not him.

I’d told Margaux I wanted to shadow her in the kitchen tonight when I’d really wanted to see what Maya was like on a date. What did she order? How did she act? What did she wear?

They were questions I should’ve already had the answer to, considering we’d grown up together. The fact that I hadn’t until tonight bothered me for reasons I couldn’t name.

“Is your father still being a little bitch about you becoming a chef full time?” Margaux asked.

I smirked. She was one of the few people who knew about my ambitions, and she was one of the very few who was brave enough to talk about my father that way.

“Évidemment.”

She made a disgusted noise. “So corporate. T’as un don naturel pour la cuisine. Tu ne devrais pas perdre ton temps à suivre les conseils de ton père alors qu’il n’y connait rien.” You have a natural talent for cooking. You shouldn’t waste your time listening to your dad when he doesn’t get it.

“I have a natural talent for marketing too.”

“That’s not the same, and you know it.” She pointed her cigarette at me. “Do you know what your problem is? You ask too much and don’t negotiate enough. You’re his only son, and he needs you more than he lets on. Use that to your advantage. Make him take you seriously.”

I was silent.

Margaux was right. I could force my father’s hand more, but doing so would require me to believe in myself one hundred percent. I had to wholeheartedly, unequivocally trust that becoming a chef was what I was meant to do, but I was only ninety-eight percent of the way there.

As much as I wanted it, there was still two percent of me that doubted myself. My previous failures hung over me like a cloud, and until I figured out a way to get past that, I was stuck in limbo.

I couldn’t tell Margaux that, though. She had too much conviction about what she did, and admitting I didn’t have enough would simply be another failure on my part.

“That’s a problem for another day.” I pushed off the wall and headed for the main road. “Thanks for letting me shadow you tonight. I’ll see you around.”

She stubbed out her cigarette and lit a fresh one. She was aware her smoking habit might kill her one day, but her attitude toward death was the same as her attitude toward everything except cooking: fuck it.

“Don’t get used to it,” she called after me. “Next time I see you in the kitchen, you better be the one running it.”

I laughed even as a pang hit my chest. I tossed my hand up in a casual wave goodbye and turned onto the main avenue.

It was a long walk home, but it was a gorgeous night, and the city was strangely calming when it was this quiet.

My footsteps echoed in the near-empty streets. Besides the occasional passing car and pedestrian, it was just me and my thoughts.

My father. Maya. The product launch. The past and future and everything in between. There were a dozen roads splitting off into a dozen more, and I wished I could commit to a path without second-guessing myself every step of the way.

I made it halfway downtown when my phone buzzed. I almost sent it to voicemail before I saw who was calling.

Interesting.

I picked up, my mood lightening. “Miss me already?”

“You wish,” Maya said.

“I can’t think of any other reason you’d call me after midnight. Unless…”

“Don’t finish that sentence unless you want me to throw up,” she warned. A beat passed, and then, “Why did you send me that dessert?”

That fucking dessert. It was my second most foolish decision of the day, after canceling guys’ night to work.

“You like strawberries and chocolate,” I said. “I was being nice.”

“You’re never nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

“Not to me.”

“Fair point,” I conceded. “What can I say? I was in a good mood.”

“You’re up to something, Laurent.” Her obvious suspicion made me smile. “If I find out you put laxatives or something in that cake, I’ll kill you.”

Cause of death: anaphylactic shock.

The memory of the coroner’s pronouncement floated through my mind. My smile wavered, but I kept my voice even. “One, I wouldn’t damage my restaurant’s reputation by doing something so stupid. Two, that’s rich coming from someone who was planning to do that exact thing to me at her family’s dinner party last month.”

A long silence greeted my response.

I pictured Maya sitting in her penthouse, her mouth open with shock, and my good mood returned.

“You thought I didn’t know?” I tsked. “I can predict your every move, Sal.”

Truthfully, I’d run into Diya on my way to the conservatory that night. She’d refused to tell me why she was holding a bottle of laxatives, but I’d put the pieces together myself.

I’d never tell Maya, though. Let her think I could read her mind.

“I had no such plans,” she said, her tone wholly unconvincing. “And if I did, you deserved it.”

“If you say so. But if you really want to know the truth, I sent you that cake because you looked miserable.”

“I wasn’t. I was having a good time.”

Another lie. One of these days, she’d figure out that she couldn’t hide the truth from me. Not when it came to stuff that mattered, and not when it came to her.

“I’ve seen people have a better time getting mauled by a lion,” I said.

She huffed. “Why do you care if I’m miserable? I thought you’d love seeing that.”

“Because.” I stopped at a red crossing light. “I’m the only one who gets to make you miserable.”

Another silence, this one weighted on both ends.

Maya was stress and frustration and escape all rolled into one. Our interactions never failed to raise my blood pressure, but in a world where my days blended together with mind-numbing ease, she was the only person who made me feel alive. Her anger, her drive, her rare moments of genuine vulnerability. I couldn’t get enough.

I wanted to stash her emotions in a bottle and carry them around with me because seeing her feel made me feel too. Without our constant battles, my life would resemble a flat desert landscape.

Empty. Predictable. Boring.

So, no. No one else was allowed to make her feel the way I did. That privilege was reserved solely for me.

“You are such a bastard,” Maya finally said.

There was a strange note in her voice, but she didn’t give me a chance to respond. When I checked my screen again, she’d already hung up.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was still thinking about me hours after that dessert. I’d say that was a win for me.

My mouth curled into a grin.

I continued my walk home, my steps lighter than before.

Sending Maya that cake hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

CHAPTER 8

Maya

SEBASTIAN AND I DIDN’T TALK ABOUT MY DATE WITH Nikhil again. We were too consumed with work and, in my case, birthday planning, maternal matchmaking, and general anxiety about my life, but that was neither here nor there.

The most important thing right now was the official announcement of the Derek Gardiner frozen foods line. It’d rolled out that morning, one week after my disastrous date at Brasserie M, and I’d been glued to my phone since.

The major trade outlets had instantly picked up the news, which was amplified by a splashy billboard campaign near key supermarkets, aggressive online marketing, and a special interview we’d set up for Derek with Gourmand magazine.

The fallout from last month’s listeria contamination had died down. No additional cases were reported, and we’d even received commendations for our effective crisis response. We were still dealing with reputational brand damage since “Singh Foods” and “listeria” were now intertwined in the general public’s minds, but it could’ve gone a lot worse.

Overall, the collab announcement went as well as I could’ve hoped… so why did I feel so uneasy?

“Social media reception is good.” Sebastian scrolled through his phone. “Most journalists and influencers are intrigued by the idea. They love Derek, so that’s a plus for us.”

“Most?” I frowned. “Who are the outliers?”

We were working out of a previously unused office at my family’s company headquarters in Midtown. This was our new meeting spot going forward, since people kept coming up to say hi to Sebastian at Valhalla and interrupting us.

We’d had a full-blown argument over the location, but in the end, I’d won. The Singh headquarters was the perfect midpoint between my Upper East Side apartment and his West Village townhouse, and it had more free space than the Laurents’ New York offices. It just made sense.

One point to Team Singh.

“The major one is Hollis Miller,” Sebastian said. “He made a whole video ranting about ‘chefs who sell out,’ but that’s how he is. I’d be shocked if he had something nice to say right off the bat.”

I groaned. Hollis Miller was an influencer who fashioned himself the “internet’s truth teller” for all food-related topics. He spewed some garbage takes, but he’d amassed millions of followers who took his word as gospel.

“We’ll have to prove him wrong,” I decided. “He can’t complain about Derek being a sellout if the product is so good it blows his fucking mind.”

Sebastian made a noncommittal noise. He’d been distracted all day, but I let it slide since I had my own issues to deal with.

I tapped my pen against the desk, strangely restless.

Putting Hollis’s video aside, why couldn’t I celebrate pulling off a flawless launch announcement? I should be sending a company-wide email highlighting the impressive stats, not stewing in uncertainty.

Maybe it was because something about the contamination cases still didn’t make sense. There was a missing detail that tickled my brain like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

Or maybe…

I glanced over at my least favorite Laurent. He was still scrolling on his phone, his brow furrowed.

Maybe it was my proximity to Sebastian. He was still irritating, infuriating, and every other negative adjective that ended in ing, but he was also comforting, in his own way. I knew what to expect when it came to him, but I felt the sands beneath our relationship slowly shifting.

First, there was my apology to him at the Vault, which I’d blurted out in a fit of drunken guilt. He’d accepted it without question, which was out of character for him. Then he’d suggested the Five Trials to take my mind off that shitty week (he could deny it, but I knew that was what he’d been doing). Last week’s dessert had been the cherry on top.

I’d fucked up when I’d called him about it, but I had to know. What was he playing at?

Between the chocolate bonbon and free cake, I was convinced Sebastian was waging some form of food-based warfare. To what end, I had no clue, but I didn’t trust his seemingly innocent actions one bit.

Sebastian put his phone away and stood. “It’s lunchtime. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

He stared at me like I was particularly slow. “To lunch.”

“I’m just going to order delivery. There’s too much to do here.” Now that the world knew about the collaboration, I had to make sure the actual launch was perfect. If I didn’t win an award for next year’s rollout, I was going to be pissed and, worse, embarrassed.

That was the part no one told you about succeeding. Once you achieved something, you had to keep achieving it and more. The baseline rose with every accomplishment, and if you didn’t meet it—especially if you were a woman in corporate—you were perceived as having “lost your touch.”

Perhaps there’d be a day when I stopped caring about others’ opinions, but today was not that day.

“Maya.” Sebastian leaned forward and planted his hands on the table. His eyes drilled into mine. “You are not eating some sad, wilted salad for lunch when there’s an incredible ramen place two blocks away. I know the owner. We’ll be in and out in forty minutes, tops.”

“Forty?” I was aghast. Did he know how many emails I could answer in forty minutes?

I liked a nice, leisurely meal as much as the next girl, but not during work hours. Not when my reputation and pride rested on my ability to pull off the biggest, best product launch the food industry had ever seen.

“They have the best vegetarian ramen in the city,” Sebastian coaxed. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried it. Trust me.”

“You eat the ramen,” I said firmly. “I’ll stay here.”

I sounded like a total killjoy, but I didn’t mix work with pleasure. Not that I considered lunch with Sebastian a pleasure—it was the principle of the matter.

His eyes narrowed. After a minute, he shook his head and left.

Finally.

I exhaled, my entire body deflating. When he was here, he took up so much oxygen that I had to remind myself to breathe.

The problem was, when he wasn’t here, I had nothing to distract me.

I stared at the notifications popping up in the top-right corner of my screen like clockwork. Emails, texts, and WhatsApp messages about everything from ad metrics to my birthday cake to bridesmaid duties for Priya’s wedding.

My pulse sped up. I grabbed my water bottle and took a healthy swig, trying to calm my nerves.

It’s fine. I can outdo myself. I always did.

But what if I didn’t? What if I performed worse than I had in the past? Would it be the start of a slippery slope downhill? When did I start second-guessing myself so much anyway?

I’d sailed through my teen years and twenties with the assurance of someone who was used to winning. Even when I lost—usually to fucking Sebastian—I brushed myself off and got right back up. I never considered the possibility that my setbacks would be permanent.

I was in my early thirties now, and the sudden negative mindset shift worried me almost as much as the prospect of failure.

I opened my to-do list and tried to figure out what to check off next. I’d just settled on reviewing some new ad creatives when the door swung open, and Sebastian walked in carrying a large brown paper bag.

“That was fast,” I said. He’d only been gone for twenty minutes.

“I didn’t dine in.” He placed the bag on the table and opened it. The savory scent of broth and noodles billowed across the table, and my stomach let out an embarrassing rumble.

Sebastian retrieved a black takeout bowl and pushed it toward me. “Eat it while it’s hot, or Harumi will personally hunt you down. The ramen shop owner,” he clarified when I raised my eyebrows. “He normally doesn’t do takeout since it affects the taste and texture of the noodles, but since you were being your annoyingly stubborn self, he made a one-time exception for me.”

His tone was dry, and his expression held a trace of exasperation. That didn’t stop a wave of warmth from cresting in my stomach.

I couldn’t stand it when Sebastian acted like a normal, decent human. I much preferred when he was being an ass.

It was easier to hate him that way.

“Don’t read too much into it.” It was as if he’d heard my thoughts. “No one has ever had a bad meal when they’re with me. I won’t let you ruin my perfect record.”

“Maybe they were just too polite to tell you your recommendations suck.”

Sebastian’s eyes sparked with a mix of humor and challenge. “Then try it and tell me what you think.”

I did, and dammit, it was good. Better than good. The rich broth, the perfectly chewy texture of the noodles, the balance of flavors—it was the best ramen I’d ever had.

I glared at Sebastian’s knowing smile. I was tempted to spite him by lying, but I also wanted to devour the rest of the bowl immediately.

“Don’t say a word.” I pointed my chopsticks at him. “This is sustenance. That’s all.”

“Your commitment to denial is adorable.”

“Keep it up, and you’ll be wearing this ramen soon. Let’s see what Harumi has to say about that.”

Sebastian laughed, but he took the hint and stopped provoking me.

We ate quietly. This was much better than eating a sad salad alone, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting he was right.

Our relationship had changed, but it hadn’t changed that much.

“Do you remember when our school hired that new chef our junior year?” Sebastian broke the silence a little while later. “I’m pretty sure he was the reason for Fasting Friday. No one wanted to eat his lasagna.”

“Which was why he was fired in record time.” I shuddered at the memory of his bland, runny pasta. “He was pretty horrible.”

“His replacement wasn’t that good either. You’d think they would’ve served us better food, considering how much they charged for tuition.”

“I guess the top chefs weren’t interested in catering to a bunch of teenagers in Switzerland.” I twirled a noodle around my chopsticks. “Honestly, the school should’ve hired you. Even as a teenager, you cooked better than most of the professionals.”

Sebastian’s brows arched. “Was that a compliment, Sal?” He sounded amused.

Heat scorched my cheeks. “It was the truth. I can give credit where credit’s due.”

Cooking was one of the few areas where I didn’t bother trying to compete. My talents in the kitchen were limited to a handful of dishes, and I liked eating food way more than I liked preparing it.

“I always thought you would become a chef,” I said. “I didn’t see you going into marketing.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, his expression shuttering. “You can’t do it all.”

I examined him, my senses tingling. I’d never given much thought to his career path. In our world, taking over our families’ companies was expected. But I had sisters who were buffers for our parents’ expectations; Sebastian didn’t. He was an only child. The golden boy. The pressure for him to follow a prescribed path must be immense.

My mind flashed back to our freshman year of college. There’d been a huge snowstorm. The dining halls were closed, and food delivery services were limited. Sebastian invited a bunch of people over to his apartment and kept us fed all weekend.

I remembered how happy he’d looked in the kitchen and how genuine his smile had been when I’d (reluctantly) complimented his cooking.

I couldn’t remember him ever looking that happy in an office.

A strange tightness squeezed my chest. I finished my ramen and pushed the bowl aside. “If anyone can do it all, it’s you,” I said. “That’s what makes you so annoying.”

Sebastian’s mouth tipped up at the corners, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

The tightness squeezed harder.

Maybe I was having a heart attack. That would track with how my year had been going so far.

“If our families weren’t friends, do you think we would’ve talked?” Sebastian abruptly switched subjects.

“Of course. We were in the same year, and our school wasn’t that big.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

My heart stuttered at the quiet, unexpected intensity behind his words.

Oh, God. I really was having a cardiac episode.

I opened my mouth, but my response drowned beneath the echoes of yet another memory. Senior year of boarding school, minutes before our commencement ceremony.

“Maya, wait.” His hand caught my wrist.

“What do you want, Sebastian?”

“I…”

A student volunteer from the administrative office had interrupted us, saying they needed Sebastian backstage ASAP to go over some things for his valedictorian’s speech.

Sebastian never followed up with what he was going to tell me, and I never asked. But there were times, when I was alone and obsessing over that split-second interaction, that I thought… That maybe he…

No. He’d probably wanted to rub his valedictorian status in my face. That was why he’d nicknamed me Sal, after all. It was short for salutatorian, and it was his way of reminding me of the one accomplishment I’d never achieve.

“I’m sure you would’ve weaseled your way into my life somehow,” I said, finding my words. I hoped he didn’t notice the hitch in my voice. “You’re relentless that way.”

A flash of what looked like disappointment crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “True. I’m nothing if not persistent.” He tossed another smile my way. It felt even emptier than the last one. “Well, this has been fun, but I have to head out. We have a new restaurant opening in Pittsburgh next month, and I need to finalize some details.”

“Fine. I also have to—” I stopped short, my pulse spiking again for an entirely different reason.

Pittsburgh.

That was it. That was the detail that had been nagging at me.

I shoved my chair back and stood so fast I banged my knee on the underside of the table. I barely registered the pain through the sudden adrenaline rush.

Sebastian frowned. “Are you okay? What—”

“I have to go. I just remembered I’m late for, um, a doctor’s appointment.” I grabbed my bag and practically ran to the exit. “See you next week!”

I didn’t wait for Sebastian’s response. The door slammed shut behind me, and my heart pounded as I rushed downstairs.

I could be overthinking, per usual. Pittsburgh might not be connected to that summer’s listeria outbreak at all, but my gut told me there was something there, and my gut was rarely wrong.

Driving was easier than booking a last-minute flight. Our family’s jet was under maintenance, and I didn’t want to deal with a crowded airport.

Thankfully, I’d driven to work that morning, so I didn’t need to go home to fetch my car. I texted Vivian to reschedule that night’s party-planning session and entered a new address into the GPS.

I was going to Pittsburgh.

CHAPTER 9

Sebastian

WHENEVER THINGS WERE GOING WELL, DISASTER inevitably struck.

Usually, bad news had the courtesy of waiting a month or two before it swooped in, but this time, it reared its ugly head a mere week after our collab announcement.

“I’m so sorry, Sebastian.” Derek sounded wretched, like he’d gone on a bender and hadn’t slept in days. Which was true, in a way. “I hate to leave you in the lurch like this, but I have to check into rehab tomorrow. I got my third DUI last night, and if I don’t go, I’ll end up in jail instead.”

A vein pulsed in my forehead. I gripped my phone, willing myself not to march over to his house in Jersey and shove it down his throat.

I wasn’t typically a violent person, but what. The. Fuck.

How could the clean-cut, perennially good-natured Derek have that many DUIs under his belt? Worse, how could I not have not known about them?

Being a chef was a high-stress job, and there was a significant rate of substance abuse in the industry. It wasn’t always obvious, but I should’ve dug deeper and investigated more before I tapped him to be the face of our new line.

We were already under the gun with the product launch, and now we were up shit creek without a paddle.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, sounding morose. “I really wish I could work on this new line, but I’ll have to be in rehab for at least a month.”

“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. “You have to do what’s best for you. I’ll figure this out.”

“Thanks. Listen, I had some ideas I was working on before, uh, you know. I can send them over in case they can help my replacement.”

His replacement. I had to convince a whole new chef to work on this project with an even tighter deadline than the first time around. Plus, Maya and I would have to brainstorm a second announcement that didn’t make us sound like we were in over our heads—which we were.

A throb of panic joined the pulsing vein in my forehead.

“Sure.” I forced a smile even though Derek couldn’t see me. Yelling at him wouldn’t change anything. I’d rather save my energy for convincing his successor, whoever that might be. “Email me.”

I hung up and immediately called Maya. We weren’t scheduled to meet until tomorrow, and she’d been ignoring my texts since she ran out like a bat from hell last week, but this was an emergency.

She picked up on the third ring.

“We need to move up our meeting,” I said without preamble. “We have a problem.”

“Are you joking? We lost our celebrity chef to rehab?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” I watched Maya pace the length of our temporary office with tired resignation.

She was taking the news about as calmly as I’d expected, which was to say, not at all. She’d blown through the denial stage and jumped straight to anger.

“Okay.” She stopped pacing long enough to take a deep breath. “It’s fine. The optics will be bad, but we’ll just find a big enough replacement to overshadow the Derek news. You know, like, every chef in the world.”

There’s the bargaining stage.

“Knowing them isn’t the same as convincing them,” I said. “I already called the other names on my original shortlist. They all said no.”

“Then add other names.”

“They’ll be second tier in terms of recognition.”

Maya’s eye twitched. She was allergic to the term “second tier,” and I briefly worried I’d have to call an ambulance to deal with her inevitable meltdown.

I didn’t blame her. Our situation was less than ideal, to put it mildly.

It was bad enough we had to walk back Derek’s involvement so soon after the announcement. People would be buzzing about his DUIs for weeks, and his rehab stint would come up in any substantive coverage about the collaboration.

What was worse was the strain it put on our production timeline. We needed at least three months for product development, followed by another three to six months for mass production, testing, and packaging. That was assuming there were no delays and nothing went wrong.

Basically, we were already behind, and if we didn’t get a chef to start working on the recipes in the next forty-eight hours, we might as well hang up our aprons and call it a day.

“No,” Maya said. “I refuse to believe we can’t find a big-name chef when your family owns half the gourmet restaurants in existence. I don’t care if you have to blackmail them or put a gun to their head. Hell, I’ll put a gun to their head. This launch is going to happen, and it. Is. Going. To. Be. Amazing. Do you understand?”

In a clear-cut case of highly inappropriate timing, I discovered that unhinged Maya both frightened me and turned me on a little.

But it wasn’t enough to change the facts.

I unlocked my phone and tossed it at her. “Go ahead. Give it a try. Their names and contact info are in my Notes app.”

Long story short: even Maya’s scarily creative attempts at intimidation and bribery weren’t enough to persuade the world’s most famous chefs to abandon their day-to-day duties in favor of creating a frozen foods line, which they saw as beneath them.

“This is it.” She covered her face with her hands. We’d breezed past bargaining and were currently deep in depression. “This is the end of my career.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

She spread her fingers to glare at me through the cracks. “You’re not being dramatic enough. This has your name tied to it too. Do you want to go down in history as a failure? Do you want your rivals to laugh at you behind your back?”

She was the only rival whose opinion I cared about, but I kept that to myself. “Look, we can ask one of the lesser-known names. They’re still great chefs, and at this point, we can’t be picky.”

“I guess not.” She sighed. “Do you think your old instructors from culinary school would do it? There are some big names there, and they’re not running restaurants. Maybe—” She stopped, her eyes widening.

Shit. That expression never boded well. “What?”

“Seb,” she breathed. “You can do it.”

Ice flooded my veins. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You!” Maya gestured at me, her voice pitching higher with excitement. “You’re not a professional chef, but you might as well be. You have formal training. You obviously know this launch inside and out. And think of the PR angle. The famous Laurent heir rolling up his sleeves to tackle the recipes himself? The media will eat it up. We can spin Derek’s withdrawal as a strategic shift. You’re not the backup; you’re the innovation. The new way we’re doing things.”

Her reasoning made sense, but every alarm bell clanged in my head anyway. “You don’t understand what it takes to create these recipes from scratch. I’m not qualified enough.”

“But you’re not creating them from scratch. Derek gave you his blueprints already.”

My jaw tightened. I wished I could rewind time and go back to the moment Past Me agreed to this stupid project. Clearly, I hadn’t been in my right mind. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t do it.”

Maya’s eyes flashed. “Why the hell not?”

Because I’m terrified I’ll fuck up, and people will die.

Because I’m not ready.

Because it was hard enough for me to cook again for one other person, let alone thousands.

“Because our exec boards will never go for it,” I said instead.

“Our exec boards will have no choice but to go for it. There’s no other option,” Maya argued.

“There are plenty of other options. The lesser-known chefs—”

“I know why you don’t want to do this, Sebastian, and it has nothing to do with board approval.”

I stiffened, but I kept my expression neutral even as my stomach lurched with dread.

She didn’t know. She couldn’t.

Maya planted her hands on the table and leaned forward, her eyes piercing mine.

“You’re scared,” she said. “This isn’t something you can breeze through without effort. For once in your life, you’ll have to actually try. You don’t know how things will turn out, and that scares the shit out of you. You’re so used to coasting that you’d rather stay in your comfort zone than face potential failure. Well, guess what? That’s what other people do every single day. They try their best and hope it’s enough. If it’s not, they pick themselves up and try again because they don’t have the luxury of making excuses. So if you’re too much of a coward to step up when it matters, that’s fine. But I don’t work with cowards, Sebastian. If you walk away without even trying, you’re not the man I thought you were, and that’ll be the end of this relationship.”

She didn’t raise her voice, but her words slashed through me with the brutal efficiency of a knife.

Shame oozed out of the wounds until I sat there gutted and hollowed out, every ugly truth she’d thrown at me rattling around inside.

I could barely look at her because she was right.

I was scared, not only of how my actions would impact others but also of how they would impact me and my reputation.

I’d grown up with the certainty that if I wanted to succeed at something, I would. School and sports came as easily to me as breathing, and I never understood what it was like to fall on my face. Even when Maya bested me at something, I didn’t feel like I’d failed because she was the only person I admired enough to take a backseat to—at least temporarily. She pushed me to be better, and our rivalry was a lesson, not a setback.

But what happened three years ago was my first taste of true failure. It was so bitter it left me spiraling, and I wondered if I didn’t have the stomach for this. If my skin was too thin, if my sensibilities were too brittle, and if my love for cooking was a liability rather than an asset.

It hurt more when you failed at something you actually cared about. It was easier to play small and count the little guaranteed victories than to swing big and miss.

But I also couldn’t stand the way Maya was looking at me like she didn’t know me. In some respects, she didn’t, but even when she hated me, she treated me like someone worthy of her energy—not a lowlife who bailed when things got hard.

I swallowed past the painful knot in my throat.

“What’ll it be?” she asked. “Are you taking one for the team, or are you asking someone else to pinch-hit for you?”

Her eyes bore into me as I glanced at my phone.

I had a dozen chefs whom I could call as backup. They were nowhere near Derek’s level of fame, and the substitution would spark a bunch of whispers in the industry, but they’d do a good job. Who knew? This collaboration could launch one of them to stardom.

Unlike me, they had guts and experience. They were the best bet, Maya’s recriminations be damned.

I pocketed my phone and met her gaze. The weight of my decision closed in on me, but my voice was steady when I replied.

“If I’m going to take Derek’s place, we’d better get started,” I said. “We have a lot of work to do.”

CHAPTER 10

Sebastian

MAYA WAS RIGHT. THE EXEC BOARDS OF OUR COMPANIES had no choice but to approve my new role in the project. They weren’t happy about it, but it was either that or push back the launch timeline. Both our fathers were too stubborn and afraid of competitors beating them to the punch to do that, so I was now officially the face of the Singh-Laurent collaboration.

Of course, there was a caveat. There always was.

“You’re not a big enough name to headline this,” my father said from behind his desk. We were in his home study overlooking Central Park, and I briefly contemplated jumping through the window and onto the pavement below. That would be preferable to the meeting we were having. “You’re not even a real chef, not in the strictest sense of the word, so this launch event needs to make a huge splash. None of that generic dinner-party bullshit. Give me something new.”

I bit back a sharp retort. “Meaning?”

“Meaning the event can’t blend in with the dozens of other events in the party pages. I want everyone to be talking about it, Sebastian. Full court press.”

“You want a frozen foods launch to be the event of the season?” At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he and Neal were deliberately setting us up to fail because there was no fucking way they expected me to run point on product development and event planning at the same time.

“Yes, and it’s up to you to make that happen,” my father said calmly. “Who knows? If you pull it off, we might even revisit what your future at this company looks like.”

My hands fisted. That seemed to be my default reaction to our conversations these days, but there was no chance in hell he’d change his mind about me becoming a professional chef. He just liked dangling the possibility to make me fall in line.

And yet, a tiny, foolish part of me grasped onto that sliver of possibility like it was a lifeline.

You ask too much and don’t negotiate enough.

If you walk away without even trying, you’re not the man I thought you were.

Margaux and Maya’s voices swam in my head.

Fuck that. I’d been playing softball with my father, but I was already in too deep. If I was going to go out in flames, I might as well make it the biggest damn explosion possible.

I owed that much to myself.

“I want it in writing,” I said.

My father frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You said we’ll revisit what my future looks like if I pull off this launch. I want that in writing with the following amendment: if I succeed, I’ll transition from CMO of the Laurent Restaurant Group to full-time chef at a restaurant of my choosing. I also want the contract to outline your terms, your criteria for success, and a transition timeline. Send it to me, and I’ll have my lawyers review it.”

He barked out a laugh. “That’s not happening. I said we might revisit it. We’re not involving our lawyers. That’s ridiculous.”

I shrugged. “Then there might be a chance you won’t get the launch you’re hoping for.”

My father’s smile vanished. The temperature in his office dropped a dozen degrees, but I held my ground.

Screw him for stringing me along all this time, and screw myself for letting him.

Maya’s reprimand earlier that month had been a wake-up call. I’d been drowning in fear and self-pity for so long that I’d forgotten how to fight back, but dammit, it felt good.

Seeing the angry astonishment on my father’s face felt even better.

“That’s your job, Sebastian,” he said through gritted teeth. “You wouldn’t tank your own project—your family’s project—to prove a point.”

“Sure, but there are different levels of effort at every job,” I said casually. “I’ll still do enough to save face. Maybe I’ll coordinate an online interview in a supermarket, showcasing the foods. Or maybe I’ll send some PR packages to influencers. I’m sure they’ll love it.”

My father glared at me. That wasn’t the type of “full-court press” he was talking about, and we both knew it.

“If you don’t like my ideas, fire me,” I added coolly. “I’m sure that’ll look good after the Derek situation.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Then call my bluff.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw before his expression relaxed. “You’re forgetting the other part of the equation. We still have Maya. If you don’t get it done, she will.”

“Maybe. She’s good, but she’s only one person. She’s already overworked with both of us on the project. Do you want to risk her burning out and dropping the ball before the launch?”

The ensuing silence was so heavy it felt like a physical weight.

My father wasn’t used to losing arguments, and his displeasure radiated so intensely that the hairs on my neck stood on end.

Still, I didn’t break eye contact, and after a long, fraught moment, he looked away at his computer.

“My lawyer will send the documents over next week,” he said curtly. “You’re dismissed.”

I walked out with a smile.

One point for Team Sebastian.

My father sent over the documents as promised. My lawyers reviewed them, and within a week, our deal was signed and sealed.

If I succeeded in making this launch a success, per the criteria listed in our contract, then I’d be a chef after my six-month post-launch transition period.

The prospect was exhilarating—and terrifying, now that the stakes had been upped. The launch was no longer just a matter of reputation; my entire future rode on it going off without a hitch, and that wasn’t even touching on what my being a full-time chef would actually mean.

But I’d cross that bridge when I got there. Right now, I had to figure out how to make a fucking frozen foods rollout the talk of the town.

“I can’t believe I’m working overtime on Halloween eve because of fucking Derek.” Maya stared at the ceiling. “I hate him. I hate you. I hate my life.”

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up.” I handed her an open bag of chips. She plucked one out and munched on it. Even her chewing sounded morose. “It’s not even midnight yet.”

We were lying side by side on the office floor. It was half past eleven, and the building was empty except for us. Even the custodians had gone home for the night.

We’d been cooped up in here since lunch, trying to figure out a fun, innovative way to launch the collaboration. Eventually, Maya got tired of sitting and dragged some yoga mats from the employee wellness center and into the office.

I’d hoped the literal change in perspective would jog a few ideas loose, but so far, no dice.

“Think, Maya, think.” She pressed the pads of her fingers against her closed eyes. “A dinner party is too basic, but a gala for frozen foods looks desperate. Maybe we can take the guests on a themed cruise? Hire celebrities to hand-deliver the products to their houses? Fly them to Paris for a celebration at Versailles?”

I didn’t bother shooting down her ridiculous suggestions. A blanket of static had engulfed my brain, stifling any thoughts beyond I need sleep.

Between today’s brainstorming session and the all-nighter I’d pulled yesterday to finish turning Derek’s notes into viable recipes, I was all tapped out.

Despite my exhaustion, I was invigorated by the process. Derek gave me the bare-bones ideas, but they were my recipes. My creations. I’d stitched them together, ingredient by ingredient, and fuck, it felt good. It made me feel like a real chef.

What didn’t feel so good was the subsequent burnout and our current creative rut.

“I think we’re done for the day,” I said, even though I was the one who’d pointed out how early it was a minute ago. “Maybe we’ll come up with something after we get a good night’s sleep.”

“No. It’s been two weeks since Michel told us to make this the event of the season. We can’t delay anymore, and we’re close. We just need a little inspiration.”

Exhaustion dragged my eyelids closed. “Call me when you find it.”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“I won’t.”

But I was fading. Before I knew it, my mind slipped into that nebulous territory between lucidity and unconsciousness.

It was paved with cobblestones and the brisk chill of Prague during winter. I couldn’t see anyone around me, but I felt the cold press of a gun against my head.

Then the scene blacked out, and I was no longer in Prague but in a kitchen, surrounded by the shouts of my staff as we prepped for a soft opening. I looked down, and my stomach lurched with horror at the sight of my bloodstained hands. The thick, viscous liquid dripped onto the floor and formed a rapidly spreading pool around my feet.

My breath shallowed. My heart broke into a gallop, and I was gripped with the all-consuming sense that I needed to leave right now. If I didn’t open my eyes and sit up, I would drown. The blood was already up to my ankles, but no matter how much I willed myself to move, I couldn’t.

My fault.

My fault.

My fault.

My breaths grew scarcer. The floor seemed to tilt beneath me, and—

“Seb? Sebastian!” Firm hands grabbed my shoulders and shook me loose from my nightmare.

My eyes cracked open. Bile coated my throat, and I was afraid I might throw up if she kept shaking me like that.

Maya’s face hovered over mine. “You’re sweating,” she said.

It took me a second to find my voice. “I dozed off.”

She examined me silently. She was so close I could count her every eyelash, which was exactly what I did as I waited for my heart rate to return to normal.

The activity was oddly calming. She was oddly calming, which was not something I thought I’d ever say about a girl who once snuck into my boarding school dorm room and threw every piece of clothing I had into a hot wash. I’d had to replace my entire wardrobe.

My heart finally slowed enough for me to sit up without getting dizzy.

I hadn’t had such a vivid nightmare in over a year, which was why I’d stopped seeing my therapist a few months ago. Lingering anxiety was expected, but the double pressure from the collab launch and my potential career change must’ve fanned that spark into a wildfire.

Maya sat back, her forehead still creased with concern. “You’re right. Maybe we should go home,” she said. “We’re not getting anywhere tonight.”

“No.” I cleared my throat. Cold sweat glued my shirt to my skin, and a small shiver rolled through me. “Let’s talk about something else for a bit. Reset our brains. It’ll help.” I searched for a safe topic. She wouldn’t tell me why she’d left our meeting so abruptly a few weeks ago. She kept insisting she had a doctor’s appointment, and while I knew she was lying, I couldn’t force her to tell me the truth. “What did you do over the weekend?”

Halloween fell on a Tuesday this year, so most of the events had already happened over the weekend.

“I went to a few parties with my friends,” Maya said. “Ayana hosted a girls’ night at her place, and we pre-gamed there before going to a pop-up experience in Brooklyn. It was like a party mixed with a haunted—” She sucked in a sharp breath. Her face lit up, and she grabbed my arm hard enough to hurt. “Oh my God. That’s it!”

The last time she was that excited, I’d gotten roped into creating over a dozen recipes for a whole fucking frozen foods line.

I eyed her with suspicion as she released me and jumped to her feet. “A pop-up. That’s it,” she repeated. She paced back and forth in her classic thinking stance. “We can launch the line with a pop-up restaurant. We’ll serve the guests the frozen foods—well, they’ll be heated, obviously—but we’ll present the dishes as if they were at a gourmet restaurant. White-glove service, fine china, designer decor. It’s not a dinner party; it’s an experience.”

Interesting. I didn’t hate it, but… “That’s like serving fast food at the Ritz.”

“Exactly. It’s weird and unexpected, which means it’ll get people talking.” Maya stopped, opened her laptop, and started typing furiously. “The media loves a good pop-up. We can have a soft launch with press and influencers, then open it to the public for a limited time.”

Her excitement was contagious. I still had my reservations, but my mind spun with a sudden influx of ideas. “What if we took it further?”

She raised a questioning brow.

“We serve them food from the new line and regular gourmet dishes,” I said. “Diners can guess which one’s which. It’ll add an element of mystery and make the experience interactive. Plus, it’ll speak to the quality of the line—frozen foods so good, you can’t tell they weren’t made fresh.”

“That’s…” Maya blinked. “That’s kind of genius.”

“I know.”

I laughed when she grabbed a crumpled-up napkin from the table and tossed it at me. My earlier nightmare was already a distant memory, and I chose to attribute that to our breakthrough rather than Maya herself.

“I have one question,” she said. “Can you make the frozen foods taste as good as regular gourmet food? That seems like a tall order.”

“It’ll be a challenge,” I admitted. “I can’t guarantee they’ll taste exactly the same, but we can make them good enough to put doubt in people’s minds.” I hope.

I was burying myself under more and more pressure every day, but fuck it. I was tired of playing it safe, and I refused to let my anxiety get the best of me.

I was Sebastian fucking Laurent. Either go big or go home.

A slow smile spread across Maya’s face. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

We didn’t go home that night. We stayed in the office, where we spent hours bouncing ideas off each other and creating a plan for the pop-up. The project finally felt like fun instead of a chore, and I could’ve kept going forever had my body not eventually rebelled.

One minute, we were back on the yoga mats to take a break—just a quick one to stretch our limbs.

The next, my eyes were drifting closed, and Maya’s arm was draped over my waist, and my leg was…

I yawned. I tried to finish my last thought about my leg. Or was it about our guest list? Maybe it was something about Maya’s perfume, which was even nicer up close. It was light and sweet, and the warmth of her body kept the aggressive air conditioning at bay.

Lying next to her was kind of like being wrapped in a cozy, floral-scented blanket, and this time, when I sank into the depths of sleep again, I didn’t have a nightmare.

Not even close.

CHAPTER 11

Maya

IT SMELLED LIKE SALT AND VINEGAR, A TRACE OF MEN’S cologne, and Guerlain Shalimar, my grandmother’s favorite perfume.

A weird combo, but I was too drowsy to question it.

I sighed, snuggling deeper into my pillow and—

Wait a minute. What happened to my fluffy, ultra-soft bedding? It felt like I was sleeping on a brick wall—a warm, muscled brick wall that wasn’t uncomfortable per se, but it definitely wasn’t silk and goose down.

I cracked my eyes open. A blast of sunlight scorched my retinas, and I slammed them shut again.

I always closed my blackout curtains at night. I also always lit my favorite candle before bed, and that smelled like jasmine, not Guerlain.

Something was very wrong.

I braved another peek. This time, there was no direct sunlight because there was a face shoved right in front of mine, blocking out the rest of the room.

“Aaaahhh!”

“Aaaahhh!”

I bolted up into a sitting position, my heart racing. “How—what—why are you screaming?” I had so many questions, but I opted for the simplest one first.

“You screamed first,” my grandmother said, her ruby earrings glittering in the morning light. She wore a bright blue coat, a curious expression, and enough jewelry to fill a Tiffany’s. “Why are you sleeping on a yoga mat with your childhood nemesis?”

“What are you…” I followed her gaze to the spot next to me, where Sebastian lay sprawled with his forearm covering his eyes. One of his legs tangled with mine, and I realized with horror that the “brick wall” I’d been snuggling was him. Our screams didn’t appear to have woken him.

“Aaaahhh!”

I yanked my leg away from him and scrambled to my feet. My grandmother chuckled as Sebastian finally stirred. He lowered his arm and squinted up at us. His gaze flicked over my sleep-rumpled frame, and his eyes flared with something dangerously close to heat before they cooled.

The entire moment came and went so quickly that I must’ve imagined it. There was no heat. Why would there be heat?

“I hope you don’t wake up screaming like that every day. It’s quite off-putting,” he said before giving my grandmother a charming smile. He seemed to be taking her unexpected appearance much better than I was. “Good morning, Mrs. Gupta.” Gupta was my mother’s maiden name.

My grandmother smiled back. “Good morning, dear.”

She’d always had a soft spot for Sebastian, which proved that her exquisite taste in jewelry didn’t translate to equally exquisite taste in people.

I ground my teeth as Sebastian rose leisurely to his feet. He stretched his arms over his head and yawned, the lazy movement resembling that of a big cat after a nap. Despite his sleep-mussed hair and rumpled clothing, he still looked gorgeous. There were people who spent hours mastering that effortlessly casual look, and he’d nailed it by rolling out of bed or, in this case, a yoga mat.

It was so annoying.

He reached down to roll up our mats. My eyes dipped involuntarily to his forearms, and a hint of something velvety brushed my heart. A flutter? No. That was ridiculous.

Our brainstorming session for the pop-up had been fun, but that didn’t mean anything. The only thing Sebastian Laurent had ever induced in me were ulcers.

But there was something so… intimate about seeing him right after he woke up, even if he was fully dressed and we were in an office. I was convinced he’d had a nightmare when he’d dozed off the first time last night, and that tiny glimpse of vulnerability shook me more than I cared to admit.

I preferred when Sebastian was some untouchable god. It irritated me, sure, but it didn’t create cracks in what was supposed to be my rock-solid opinion of him. I’d formed my opinion of him after decades of forced acquaintanceship, and I didn’t like being proven wrong.

Which I wasn’t. Sebastian was Sebastian, no matter how endearing he was when he got excited about the pop-up menu or how nice his body warmth—

A delicate cough interrupted my musings.

I jumped, my face heating when I met my grandmother’s shrewd gaze. She plucked Sebastian’s jacket off the back of a chair and held it out to him. “Perhaps you should put this back on lest people get the wrong idea,” she said without taking her attention off me.

“Ah.” Sebastian cleared his throat. “Thank you.” He took the jacket, a wash of dull red darkening his cheekbones.

Our eyes met for a millisecond before we both quickly looked away.

The flush spread from my face to my neck and chest. I had nothing to be embarrassed about. It wasn’t like we’d done anything wrong. We were working, and we fell asleep. End of story.

I faced my grandmother again. “What are you doing here, Nani?” I asked, attempting to take my mind off Sebastian’s proximity. “You never come into the office.”

“I’m meeting a friend for breakfast, and I was in the area. I thought I’d come by to see whether your father’s terrible taste in decor has improved. It hasn’t.” My grandmother’s eyebrows rose. “It’s a good thing he wasn’t the one who found you two here. It’s frowned upon to fornicate at work.”

“What? No!”

“We weren’t—”

“We didn’t—”

Sebastian and I stumbled all over each other trying to deny her accusation.

“We weren’t fornicating,” I said. “We’re fully dressed. Does it look like we were doing anything inappropriate?” I gestured at our clothes.

My grandmother’s gaze traveled between us. “It looks like something,” she said. “Perhaps if you fornicated more, you’d have given me great-grandchildren by now.”

“Nani!”

Beside me, Sebastian’s face turned the color of ripe strawberries. I would’ve enjoyed his discomfort more had flames of mortification not engulfed my own cheeks.

For an eighty-year-old, my grandmother was extremely open about sex. I wished she wasn’t.

“It’s the truth.” She harrumphed. “If you—”

“Please don’t say the word ‘fornicate’ again.” Normally, I’d never interrupt an elder, but I was this close to dying from humiliation, and I had so much left to accomplish before I accepted death’s embrace.

Though to be honest, getting struck by lightning sounded really good right now.

“I wasn’t going to.” My grandmother’s gold bangles jangled as she smoothed the front of her coat. “What I was going to say was, I’m not getting any younger. I don’t want to die before my favorite granddaughter walks down the aisle.”

Ha! I knew I was her favorite. Take that, Neha.

“You’re not going to die,” I said. “I mean, not anytime soon. You’re one of the healthiest people I know.”

“Yes, well, that doesn’t mean anything. I could fall off a cliff or get hit by a car.” She sounded unbothered by the thought. “Anyway, I’ve taken up enough of your time. The sooner you finish this project, the sooner you can work on my great-grandchildren.” She waggled her fingers at us and sailed toward the exit. “More working, less sleeping together,” she added over her shoulder. “Save that for a hotel!”

The door slammed shut behind her.

Silence rang in her wake. Sebastian and I stood stock still until voices outside the hall snapped us out of our trance. It was almost eight, which meant people were trickling into work.

“I should—”

“I need to—”

We bumped into each other as we rushed to grab our belongings. We mumbled our apologies before swiftly exiting the room.

I took the elevator; he took the stairs. For once, neither of us had anything snarky to say.

I didn’t know where I was going, but I had to get away from him ASAP.

It’s just Sebastian. The elevator doors pinged open. You’ve known him your whole life. Nothing’s changed.

By the time I crossed the lobby and stepped outside, I’d almost convinced myself that was true.

“Hello? Earth to Maya.” Vivian waved her hand in front of my face.

I blinked, my attention snapping back to the present. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I wanted to see if you had any changes to the run of show,” she said. “I swapped Riley K.’s time slot with the acrobats. She’s flying straight in from her tour in Asia, so I wanted to give her a buffer in case there are any delays.”

“That’s fine,” I said.

We were in her living room, going over the final details for my birthday party, which was coming up in two and a half weeks. I usually loved this part—Cake! Performances! Gifts!—but I couldn’t get my head in the game.

Honestly, I’d been distracted all week. Ever since… Well, ever since I woke up next to Sebastian Laurent and found myself not hating it.

It was so wrong.

We tolerated each other at best, so I shouldn’t be softening toward him. I was pretty sure that was a sign of the apocalypse.

“Good.” Vivian marked something in her notebook. “That’s all I have. I’ll reconfirm with the vendors tomorrow, but other than that, we should be set for the party.”

“Thanks, Viv.”

She smiled. “Any time.”

We’d worked together many times in the past, but thanks to Sloane, our relationship had gradually transitioned from friendly acquaintances to actual friends over the past year.

I’d always liked Vivian. The luxury event planner was competent and patient, and despite coming from—and marrying into—major money, she remained down to earth. Her husband Dante Russo ran the world’s largest luxury goods conglomerate, which gave her access to some niche, high-powered connections that were invaluable in her line of work.

My phone pinged as Vivian walked me to the door.

SEBASTIAN

See you soon

I’m going to win, you know

I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t seen him in person since our unplanned sleepover. We’d communicated exclusively via emails and texts over the past week, but that hadn’t stopped us from jumping into another competition.

Our first major task for the pop-up was finding the perfect location. We’d agreed we needed something more special than any ol’ New York haunt, but we’d butted heads over what the alternative should be.

After days of research and heated arguments, we’d narrowed down our top choices. I picked a gorgeous rustic venue in Vermont; he was dead set on a lakeside château in North Carolina. I didn’t even know there were châteaux in North Carolina, but it didn’t matter. My option was going to beat his, hands down.

“Have fun in Vermont.” Vivian hugged me. “Try not to kill him, okay? I can speak for Sloane and myself when I say a murder charge right before your birthday would not be ideal.”

During one of our more… spirited text threads, Sebastian and I somehow committed to visiting both our top venues together. It was the only way we trusted the other to be honest about their thoughts, and we’d have to do a walkthrough of the final location anyway.

We were visiting Vermont this weekend and North Carolina later in the month, after my birthday.

I was dreading both trips. They meant even closer proximity to Sebastian, but I had no choice. They were a necessary evil.

“I’ll try my best, but no guarantees,” I said. “I might need you to bail me out.”

Vivian laughed as the front door opened. “You got it.”

“Who’s bailing who out?” a deep, lightly accented voice asked. Dante walked in a second later. He was carrying their adorable two-year-old daughter Josephine, affectionately known as Josie, with one arm and holding a picnic basket with his other.

Josie’s face lit up. “Mommy!” She reached for Vivian with chubby little arms, squirming frantically until Vivian took her from her husband.

“Hi, darling.” She planted a giant kiss on the girl’s cheek. “Did you have fun at the park with Daddy?”

Josie giggled. “Yes! We saw doggies!”

“Ooh, we love doggies.” Vivian turned and gave Dante a softer kiss. “She’s going to make us get her a P-U-P-P-Y when she grows up, isn’t she?” she whispered.

He grimaced, but his eyes were tender as he looked at his wife and daughter. “Please, don’t speak it into existence.” He inclined his head toward me. “Maya. Good to see you.”

“You too.” I smiled even as something tightened in my chest.

I didn’t have baby fever, and I wasn’t someone who grew up dreaming of a dozen kids and a white picket fence. However, seeing how happy and domestic the Russos were made me ache for something similar.

I had a lot of career ambitions, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want family outings and picnics in the park too. The trick was finding someone I loved and respected enough to start a family with. So far, the options were dismal.

My mom kept saying my expectations were too high, and maybe she was right. But if I didn’t have high expectations for the person I spent my life with, then I might as well have no expectations for anything at all.

“Are you the one who needs bailing out?” Dante asked, sounding as amused as an intimidating, six-foot-four Italian CEO could sound.

“No.” I blushed. “It was, um, an inside joke. I have to go, but I’ll see you at my party in a few weeks?”

He nodded.

I said my final goodbyes and slipped out, leaving them to their family time.

The Russos lived only a few blocks from me. I had time to go home, change, and pick up my luggage before I was supposed to meet Sebastian, but my plans vanished into a puff of smoke when I exited the building to find a familiar black SUV idling by the curb.

The window rolled down.

“Get in,” Sebastian said, sounding bored. A pair of sunglasses hid his eyes. “Your luggage is in the trunk.”

“What the hell?” I spluttered. “How did you know I was here?” If he was stalking me, we weren’t going to make it to Vermont before I required bail.

He shrugged. “Your assistant loves me. Also, Vivian posted a photo of your party-planning session to her business page.”

“She would never post our location.”

“No, but I recognized the carpet. Dante and I are friends, you know.” Sebastian gestured at the passenger seat. “Are you getting in or not? Because if you want to walk all the way to Vermont, I’m happy to oblige.”

“Nice to see our trip is off to a good start,” I grumbled. I climbed into the car and barely had time to shut the door before he peeled off, nearly mowing over two women in designer activewear in the process. “I can’t believe you ambushed me.”

“It’s a four-hour drive, Sal, not a kidnapping,” he said dryly. “Do you need to use the restroom?”

“No.”

“Do you need to eat?”

“No.”

“Then sit back and pick a playlist. You’re the DJ.”

“Fine.” I opened my Spotify and scrolled to my pop playlist. A Riley K. song blasted through the speakers, and I allowed myself a satisfied grin when Sebastian grimaced.

This was his least favorite song in her discography. Actually, it was mine too, and I said that as someone who loved Riley K. But seeing Sebastian look like he wanted to crawl out of his skin and bash in his eardrums was worth three minutes and fifty-four seconds of torture.

“How did you get my luggage?” I asked. “Don’t tell me my assistant gave you that too.”

“No, your housekeeper did. I told her I was doing you a favor.” He gave me a smug smile. “She also loves me.”

“That’s it.” I put on my sunglasses to hide my annoyance. “I’m firing everyone and hiring nuns.”

“I’ve met a few nuns. They—”

“If you say they love you too, I swear to God, I’ll throw you out and run you over. Twice.”

Sebastian’s laugh filled the car.

Eventually, we settled into a semi-comfortable silence. The awkwardness of our last in-person interaction crowded in between us, but the music and outside scenery made it easier to pretend everything was normal.

It was a relatively short drive from New York to the venue in Vermont. It was located in a teeny-tiny little town called Ellington, which didn’t have an airport or a train station, so driving was the most convenient option.

“Are you ever going to tell me the truth about why you ran out of that meeting in October?” Sebastian suddenly asked.

The one I’d left to go straight to Pittsburgh. I couldn’t believe he remembered.

“I told you. I had a doctor’s appointment,” I lied.

“We’re stuck in this car for at least another hour, and your taste in music is questionable. The least you can do is tell me something interesting—and true.”

“My taste in music is not questionable. Not everyone likes to listen to pretentious French jazz.”

“Don’t change the subject.” He glanced over at me. “Is it really that bad?”

I chewed on my bottom lip. I hadn’t told anyone about my Pittsburgh theory. I was worried it would make me sound unhinged, but the secret had been gnawing at me for weeks.

Oddly enough, Sebastian would be the perfect person for me to share it with. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t dismissive. He’d always taken me seriously, even when I tried to rage-bait him once by arguing that Henry VIII was the greatest monarch in history (he wasn’t, which Sebastian had made clear via a sixty-minute dissection of every point I’d made).

“It’s not bad,” I hedged. “But if I tell you, you might think I’ve lost it.”

“Try me.”

I took a deep breath. “I think the listeria outbreak over the summer was planned. Someone broke into our packaging facility in Pittsburgh and purposely sabotaged our products.”

It sounded even crazier when I said it out loud.

I winced and braced myself for ridicule, but it never came.

“Why do you think that?” Sebastian asked curiously.

“The cases never sat right with me from the beginning,” I said. “My dad is anal about safety regulations. The quality and reputation of our products are important to him, and staff are required to undergo training every year. Anyone who violates the rules is suspended or let go. We’ve been in this business for decades, and we’ve never, ever had an issue with contamination.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Sebastian reasoned. “It only takes one accidental fuckup.”

“That’s what I thought too, but my gut told me otherwise. Our Pittsburgh factory is where a majority of our Italian line is packaged. When you mentioned Pittsburgh during our meeting, that triggered a memory. Earlier this year, one of our employees there was fired because they weren’t following our food safety guidelines. You’d think that would be the end of it, but they showed up a few weeks later with a gun. Threatened to shoot everyone there and then shoot themself. Thankfully, security was able to disarm them before anyone got hurt.”

“Holy shit.” Sebastian’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “I didn’t hear anything about this.”

“We buried it,” I said. “I convinced my father not to press charges, which would’ve opened a whole other can of worms, but the ex-employee was ordered to seek treatment. They’re also not allowed to step foot within three thousand feet of any Singh Foods properties.”

“So you think they violated their restraining order to get back at the company,” Sebastian mused.

“It sounds far-fetched,” I admitted. “I went straight to Pittsburgh that night to talk to some of the employees. See if they’d noticed anything strange in the weeks leading up to the first case. None of them did, but I swear, my gut is usually right. I just can’t prove it.”

I desperately wished I could. Yes, I’d handled the contamination crisis effectively, but the company had still lost a share of customers who heard “Singh Foods” and thought “listeria.” If I could prove that the contamination was a result of sabotage, not inadequate food safety controls, that would go a long way toward repairing our brand’s reputation.

“Have you told anyone else about this?” Sebastian asked.

“No. I don’t want to say anything until I have more than a hunch.”

“So I’m the chosen confidante.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I’m honored.”

My skin warmed. “Don’t let it get to your head. I only told you because you’re annoyingly persistent.”

“Nine times out of ten, annoying persistence is the key to getting what you want.” Sebastian glanced at me again. His face softened a smidge. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think your theory is farfetched. You have good instincts, Sal. Trust them.”

Something inside me melted a little.

It freaked me out so much, I immediately turned my head to stare out the window. No talking, no looking at him, and definitely no more confessions until my body got on board with the fact that Sebastian Laurent was still our biggest rival. Bits and pieces of bonding didn’t change that.

He didn’t speak again for a while, either, though that might’ve been because he was too focused on driving.

The weather had taken a drastic turn over the past few miles. Sunny skies gave way to angry thunderclouds, and traffic slowed to a crawl as the rainstorm destroyed our visibility.

Forty minutes later, we’d advanced maybe five feet.

“This is insane.” There was a rare note of frustration in Sebastian’s voice. “If we stay on the highway, we won’t make it to Vermont until midnight.”

“What else are we supposed to do?” I checked my phone like it would magically give me an answer. Service was spotty, and it took Google forever to load.

“We’re only an hour or so from the venue. We can take the local streets,” Sebastian said.

“I don’t know.” I glanced uneasily at the rain. The droplets were hitting our car so hard, they sounded like bullets. “This doesn’t seem like the ideal weather for taking backroads.”

“This car is sturdy. We’ll be fine. Would you rather deal with backroads or this?” He gestured at the sea of red taillights before us. It was what I imagined the entrance to hell would look like.

Plus, I hadn’t eaten since lunch at Vivian’s house, and the first pangs of hunger were starting to claw at my stomach.

“Fine,” I said. “But I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Somehow, Sebastian managed to maneuver us across lanes and to the nearest exit ramp. Our GPS rerouted, and I breathed a sigh of relief once we’d escaped that hellish snarl of traffic. I hadn’t realized how claustrophobic it’d made me until I was out.

However, my relief was short-lived. We drove for half an hour before the first inklings of unease prickled along my spine.

“Is it just me, or did we pass by that same gas station ten minutes ago?” The rain had eased a little, and I saw the same blue Toyota parked in the exact same spot as earlier.

Sebastian frowned. “I’m following the GPS. It must be taking us in circles. That’s never happened before.”

He tried to reset it, but it didn’t work. We were still going in circles.

“Screw it. We don’t have time to play tech support,” I said. “I’ll navigate using Google Maps. It should be more updated.”

The app was slower than usual, but eventually, it brought us out of our loop and toward our destination.

This was why I hated road trips. There was too much potential for things to go wrong.

But we were almost there, and the prospect of a hot shower and room service was all that kept me going.

“Turn left,” I said.

“Are you sure?” Sebastian slowed the car and eyed the narrow dirt path leading into the woods. “That doesn’t look right.”

“That’s what the app says.” I refreshed it again just in case, but it gave me the same directions.

He still looked skeptical, but he didn’t argue any further.

We drove down the path. We’d turned off the music ages ago, and it was silent except for the rain and the hum of the car engine. The woods towered around us, the trees so tall and thick they nearly blotted out the night sky.

I was used to bright lights and noise, and the oppressive darkness sent goose bumps rippling across my skin.

“Try rerouting again. This can’t be it,” Sebastian said. “It’s taking us deeper into the woods, not to the main road.”

“I’m trying. There’s hardly any service out here.”

If it weren’t for the app’s offline mode, we’d be fucked.

“Putain.” Sebastian uttered another French curse that was unfit for print. “Forget it. I’m turning around. We’ll go back to that gas station and ask for directions if we have to.”

I was so tired I didn’t crack a joke about him deigning to ask for directions. At this point, I’d happily sleep in the gas station. Anything that would get me out of this damn car.

He made a tight U-turn, but we drove only a few feet before he stopped.

“What’s wrong? Why did you stop?” I asked.

Sebastian pressed the gas pedal. A whirring noise vibrated beneath my seat, but we didn’t move an inch.

“I didn’t.” His face was pale. “I think the tires are stuck.”

My stomach plummeted. “You think?”

“Stay here.” He shrugged out of his jacket and used it as a makeshift umbrella after he exited the car.

I drummed my fingers against my thigh, my nerves too frayed for me to sit still.

After what seemed like an eternity, Sebastian returned. I didn’t have to ask how fucked we were; it was written all over his face.

“It’s the mud,” he said. “The tires are bogged down, but it’s impossible to get them unstuck in this weather.”

“But the storm’s supposed to last all night.”

“I know.”

I swallowed, unsure whether my sudden nausea was due to hunger, fear, or a mix of both. “So what does that mean?”

Sebastian’s expression was grim. “It means we’re stuck in this car until morning.”

CHAPTER 12

Maya

“NO,” I SAID. “WE ARE NOT SLEEPING IN THE CAR overnight. There has to be a way out of here.”

“You think I want to sleep here in this?” Sebastian gestured at his drenched clothing. Dark sludge coated the bottoms of his jeans, and his shirt and jacket were soaked through. “If you have a brilliant solution, I’m all ears.”

“We’ll call the police. You can still dial 911 with no cell service.” But when I tried, I kept getting a busy signal. “Come on!” I jabbed furiously at the redial button.

What was the point of an emergency line if you couldn’t get through to them during an actual emergency?

“The lines are probably jammed,” Sebastian said, cutting the engine. We couldn’t keep the car running all night if we wanted it to have enough gas in the morning. “I bet there are a ton of accidents due to the storm. Even if you get through to them, we’ll be low on their priority list.”

My parents hadn’t raised a quitter, but even I knew when to admit defeat.

I slumped against my seat, my goose bumps multiplying as the rain intensified again. It was so thick I couldn’t see two feet in front of me.

Were there wild animals in these woods? Or, worse, humans? It seemed like the type of place and night where serial killers flourished. Maybe there was one standing right behind our car, waiting for us to lower our guard so they could hack us to pieces.

I shuddered. That’s it. No more true crime podcasts.

“We should’ve stuck to the highway,” I said. “This would’ve never happened if you hadn’t insisted on taking the scenic route.”

“The scenic route?” he sputtered. “You agreed to do this! Don’t act like I forced you. Also, you were in charge of navigating and decided we should turn into the fucking woods. So if there’s anyone to blame here, it’s you.”

“I didn’t decide anything. That’s what the app told me to do!”

“Apps aren’t always right!”

“Easy for you to say in hindsight! You’re the driver. You didn’t have to turn in here. So don’t go trying to pin this on me.”

We glared at each other, our chests heaving. A dim splash of light cast shadows over the stubborn set of his mouth, and I was tempted to… to…ugh.

I tore my eyes away from his and tried to calm the furious beats of my heart. I was getting bombarded with a thousand emotions at once, and while it would feel so good to unleash them all on Sebastian, I knew deep down this wasn’t his fault.

It was neither of our faults. We got hit with bad luck, and we just had to ride it out.

Sebastian must’ve reached the same conclusion because he didn’t say anything else.

We fell silent, our burst of hostility softening into disgruntled acceptance.

The fact of the matter was, we were stuck together for the night. I didn’t want to spend it fighting with the only company I had.

When I glanced at Sebastian again, he was staring straight ahead, his jaw tight. His clothes had dried a bit, but still, he must’ve been freezing.

His posture was unnaturally rigid, like he was forcing himself not to move, but one tiny shiver slipped through.

I pressed my lips together. Don’t. Mind your own business.

If he wanted to stay in damp clothes all night, who was I to stop him?

Another shiver betrayed him, and I released a frustrated breath. Sometimes, I really hated myself. “You should change, or you’ll get sick,” I said.

“I’m fine. My clothes have mostly dried.”

“Damp is not the same as dry. If you sleep overnight in that”—I gestured at his outfit—“you’ll catch pneumonia.”

He flicked a sideways glance at me. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Your concern is touching.”

I blushed. “I only care because I don’t want to be stuck with a frozen corpse in the morning,” I said loftily. “Body disposal is not on my bucket list of experiences.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Sal.” But after a moment’s hesitation, Sebastian opened the door and ducked out into the rain. He came back a minute later with his duffel bag in hand and water dripping from his hair.

I reached over and started the engine. Heat blasted through the vents. “We can turn it off once we’ve warmed up.”

Sebastian looked at me again. This time, his expression was inscrutable, but he retrieved a pair of sweats and tossed his duffel in the back seat without responding.

A beat passed before he said, “Are you going to turn away, or do you want to watch me strip?”

My blush erupted into a full-blown wildfire. “Hardly. This night is awful enough without having to see your… your…” I floundered, trying to come up with something negative to say about his physique. Unfortunately, it was sculpted like a fucking Greek statue.

His smile turned devilish. “My…?”

“Oh, just shut up and change,” I grumbled. I stared out the window, ignoring his low chuckle.

But the car was only so big, and I caught bits and pieces of his reflection in the rain-splattered glass.

The broad span of his shoulders. The flex of his arms as he pulled his shirt over his head. The careless confidence with which he moved.

Awareness curled low inside me. Every rustle of clothing sounded abnormally loud in the contained space, and the more I tried to ignore it, the more my muscles tensed.

I stared fixedly at a water droplet sliding down the glass. I was so determined not to pay attention to what was happening behind me that I nearly jumped out of my skin when Sebastian spoke again.

“You can turn around.”

I swallowed. I smoothed my features into what was hopefully a neutral expression and peeked at the driver’s seat.

Sebastian was fully dressed in a black hoodie and sweatpants. His hair was still damp, but his skin had regained its healthy color.

He shoved a sweatshirt toward me. “Put this on.”

“I don’t need it.”

My fitted turtleneck and jeans weren’t the most comfortable sleepwear, but the silk pajamas I’d packed for the trip weren’t exactly made for extreme weather.

“That flimsy little sweater won’t be warm enough once we turn the heat off,” Sebastian said.

“I have a coat.”

“You’re going to sleep in Max Mara cashmere.” He sounded skeptical.

“No. I’ll use it as a blanket.” I draped the coat over my torso. “See?”

Sebastian released a sharp exhale. “Maya,” he said. “Put the damn sweatshirt on.”

I looked down at my wool turtleneck. Then I looked at the thick, oversized-on-me hoodie in his hands.

Dammit.

I took his offering without another word and slipped it over my head. Warmth cocooned me, and I almost sighed in bliss. I hadn’t realized how cold I was until I’d added that extra layer.

The sweater smelled like him, crisp and clean with just enough spice to tease my senses. I resisted the urge to bury my face in the fabric.

“Did you bring any snacks?” I asked. Now that we were out of imminent danger, my stomach took center stage again. As if on cue, it released another angry growl. “I only have two protein bars and a bottle of water.”

I usually packed a bunch of snacks when traveling, but since Sebastian picked me up straight from Vivian’s building, I only had what was in my purse.

“I have some Gatorade and pretzels, but that’s it,” he said.

I forced myself not to think of the pizza and fries I’d planned to order from room service as we split the bag of pretzels and a protein bar. We saved the second bar for breakfast, and I was about to wash my food down with a sip of water when an eerie howl pierced the air.

I froze, my pulse skittering. “Did you hear that? What was that?”

“Probably just the wind.” But Sebastian double-checked to make sure the doors were locked before he cut off the engine again.

Ominous silence fell. There was another howl in the distance, followed by a loud clatter that I had no interest in investigating.

I sank deeper into my seat and pulled the hood up over my head.

This was going to be a long night.

Despite the temptation to stay awake until morning so I wouldn’t get murdered in my sleep, exhaustion won out.

I didn’t remember falling asleep, but when I woke up the next morning, I was lying across the back seat of the car. How did I get here from the passenger seat?

My coat was draped over me like a blanket, and a folded men’s sweater served as my pillow. Sebastian’s duffel sat on the floor, partially zipped.

I propped myself up on one elbow and blinked the grogginess out of my eyes. It took me a second to orient myself and remember what happened last night.

Thunderstorm. Faulty GPS. Stuck in the woods.

I groaned, wishing I’d had the foresight to hire a professional car service instead of road tripping with Sebastian.

At least it’d stopped raining. The sky was bright and sunny, and I could even hear a few birds chirping outside.

I sat up all the way and leaned forward. “Seb, did you…” My sentence trailed off when I noticed both front seats were empty.

Sebastian was gone.

My stomach clenched as I frantically scanned the area around the car. Nothing.

Where was he? Had he left me to fend for myself, or had an axe murderer dragged him away and butchered him while I was sleeping?

I threw my coat on and scrambled outside. My feet sank into the squishy mud surrounding the SUV as I searched for a familiar head of dark hair.

“Sebastian?” My voice echoed amongst the trees. “Where are you?”

No response.

Okay. That was fine. This was fine. Everything was just fine.

Think, Maya, think. I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes in an effort not to freak the fuck out.

Sebastian had the keys, so I couldn’t drive anywhere even if I managed to get the car unstuck. A quick check revealed my phone was dead, and I couldn’t charge it because, once again, I didn’t have the keys to turn the engine on. That ruled out calling for help, even though cell service was probably still nonexistent.

“Seb!” I called out again. An image of his mangled body flashed through my mind, and my throat tightened. “This isn’t funny!”

Still nothing.

Tears prickled my vision. I blinked them away, furious at myself for getting emotional when I should have been brainstorming a solution.

If Sebastian was gone, he was gone. Me yelling for him wouldn’t change things, yet I couldn’t bring myself to give up.

“Sebastian! I swear to God, if you’re fucking with me, I’ll kill you!” I spun around. “Where—”

“You have a habit of screaming first thing in the morning, don’t you?” a familiar voice drawled.

Sebastian came into view a second later. He was wearing the same sweats as last night and appeared perfectly whole, healthy, and alive.

I’d never been so happy to see his stupid smirk.

“Where the hell were you?” I demanded. My voice sounded thicker than usual.

“Nature called. You were sleeping, and I didn’t want to disturb you.” His smirk melted as he looked down at me. “Are you crying?”

“No.” I thought you were dead, you idiot. A tear escaped down my cheek, and I wiped it off with more force than necessary. “I mean, yes, but it’s because I’m so hungry. I get, um, emotional when I don’t eat a proper breakfast.”

He gave me a strange look, but he didn’t question my lame excuse.

“I checked out our situation earlier,” he said. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Bad.”

“I can’t get the car unstuck.” He nodded at the tires. He’d placed floor mats beneath them for better traction, but that obviously wasn’t enough. “The mud is too deep, and the SUV is too heavy.”

“Fuck. Okay.” I breathed in deep. “What’s the good news?”

“We can follow the path back to the main road. It shouldn’t be that far. Once we get there, we can look for help.”

It made sense, but the thought of leaving the relative safety of the car to go traipsing through the woods made me antsy. “Are we leaving our stuff here?”

“We can bring the essentials, but anything more will slow us down.”

I didn’t like it, but we had no choice. Our car was stuck, our phones were useless, and our food supply had dwindled to half a bottle of Gatorade and a protein bar. Plus, it was almost noon; we’d way overslept. If we didn’t find help soon, we’d starve to death or worse.

I didn’t mention the chocolate bonbon he’d tossed at me last summer, which was still sitting at the bottom of my purse.

Sebastian and I packed our must-have items in his duffel bag and set off. It started out fine. The path was a straight shot back to the main road—until it wasn’t.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I stared in dismay at the expanse of churned mud and broken undergrowth before us. The remainder of the path had been completely washed away by the rain, and it was impossible to gauge where it used to be.

The universe surely had it out for us, but this was an unprecedented string of bad luck. It was almost comical, except I didn’t feel like laughing.

“Look on the bright side,” Sebastian said. “We can only go left, right, or straight, so we have a decent chance of getting it right.”

“That is not a bright side.”

“I know.” He sounded tired. “But it’s all I got.”

After a short debate, we opted to go straight.

My stomach rumbled, unsatisfied with the half a protein bar I’d fed it for breakfast, but its grouchiness took a back seat to my feet.

I hadn’t packed sneakers, so I was forced to hike through the woods in leather flats. They weren’t made for long distances, but it was either that, my black stiletto pumps, or my fluffy bedroom slippers, the latter two of which I’d left in the car.

“How are you holding up?” Sebastian asked.

“Fine,” I lied.

The discomfort of the flats rubbing against my heels had morphed into outright pain, but unless he had an extra pair of women’s sneakers stashed in his bag, he couldn’t help me.

He slowed down and waited for me to catch up. “You’re limping.”

“I’m okay,” I insisted. “Let’s keep going. I want to get to the main road before it gets dark.”

Based on the sun’s position, it was already past noon. It was also early November, which meant darkness fell much earlier.

I’d been nervous enough sleeping in the car; sleeping in the woods without shelter would be worse. Way worse.

A shudder rippled through me.

The fear helped me push through the next half mile, but after that, a fresh spike of pain sliced through me.

I gritted my teeth. Keep going. We were almost there. We had to be.

My breaths came out in short pants. Something wet smeared against my heels, causing me to nearly slip out of my flats. I stumbled and would’ve fallen flat on my face had a strong hand not grasped my elbow.

Sebastian stared down at me, his face etched with horror. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s a small cut. It’s not a big deal,” I panted.

“Maya.” His grip tightened. “You’re bleeding.”

I followed his gaze to my feet and almost whimpered when I saw the bloody mess awaiting me. No wonder I was in agony; the skin on my heels had been rubbed completely raw.

“Fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t notice earlier. I was so focused on—” Sebastian stopped. His jaw worked as though he were debating what to say next. “Take off your shoes.”

“I can’t walk through the woods barefoot,” I protested.

“You’re not. I’m going to carry you.”

Something unsettling flickered in my chest before I shut it down. “You can’t. You have no idea how far we are from the main road. It could be miles.”

“I’m well aware,” he said, his expression neutral.

The flicker burst to life again. This time, I couldn’t squash it.

I didn’t want to waste more time arguing, so I did as he said and took off my flats. He wrapped them in one of his shirts and tossed them in his bag.

I hesitated for a split second before I climbed onto his back and hooked my arms and legs around him. Between me and his duffel bag, he was carrying a good amount of weight, but he simply adjusted his grip beneath my thighs and started walking again like I weighed no more than a rag doll.

His breaths were steady and even, and his back was reassuringly solid against my chest. It was… nice. We were still screwed ten ways to Sunday, but there was something about Sebastian’s presence that made the situation a teensy bit better, though I’d never admit it.

We hit a patch of rough ground, and I almost instinctively buried my face in his shoulder before I caught myself.

Stop it. He is not your emotional support companion. You’re here together by default, not choice.

I repeated the mantra until my pulse stopped pounding.

I needed to get back to civilization ASAP. The wilderness was clearly messing with my brain.

The forest was huge, and we continued on for what felt like hours before we took a break. He set me down, and cool air rushed to fill the void left by the warmth of his body.

I looked around at the clearing. It was identical to every other clearing we’d passed that day. “We’re lost again.” It wasn’t a question.

Sebastian blew out a sigh. “Yeah.”

The sun hung low in the sky, and I tasted the first bite of evening chill. It was going to be dark soon, and our chances of finding the main road before then were slim.

I waited for fear to set in, but I didn’t feel anything except numb exhaustion. Was this what giving up felt like? Had I already resigned myself to the fact that we might die in these woods?

I thought I was more resilient than that, but I hadn’t eaten all day, and I didn’t have enough energy to freak out.

“We should set up camp here,” Sebastian said. “We won’t get far before the sun sets, and I want to get a fire going before it does. I’ll handle the fire; you set up something for us to sleep on.”

Normally, I wouldn’t take orders from him, but he was right. Our clothes weren’t warm enough for sleeping outdoors, and if we didn’t get a fire started soon, we really were going to freeze.

Thankfully, we’d had the foresight to bring a change of outfits. I cleared away some branches and twigs and formed a makeshift bed with our sweaters and pants. We could use our coats as blankets again. Hopefully, that and the fire would be enough.

I was a little worried the wood would be too damp from last night’s storm, but Sebastian found enough dry tinder to make it work. He even brought back a bunch of wild berries from his wood-hunting expedition.

“Dinner.” He dropped a handful in my palms. “Don’t worry. They’re safe to eat.”

I eyed them suspiciously even as my stomach leapt with anticipation. “Are you sure?”

“I’m eighty percent sure.” Sebastian popped one in his mouth. “If I fall to the ground and start convulsing, then I guess I was wrong.”

“That’s not funny,” I grumbled. Nevertheless, I cautiously ate one. A sweet burst of flavor exploded on my tongue, and after I confirmed they weren’t poisonous, I scarfed down the rest in quick succession.

“If you were to die tomorrow, what would you want your last meal to be?” I asked through a mouthful of berry juice. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

If my mother saw me eating like this, she’d have my head, but screw it. This wasn’t a Michelin-starred restaurant, and dining etiquette was the least of my worries right now.

Sebastian side-eyed me. “A bit of a morbid topic given the circumstances, don’t you think?” But his brow knitted in concentration before he said, “A5 Wagyu steak, medium rare, and freshly caught lobster tail with rosemary garlic mashed potatoes on the side and a perfectly executed crème brûlée for dessert. Plus a glass of 1926 Macallan Adami to wash it all down. What about you?”

“Hmm.” I chewed thoughtfully on my last berry. “Chocolate, definitely. A nice, big slice of chocolate cake paired with a chocolate milkshake—the good kind that’s so thick it’s almost like ice cream, not the watery kind. For the main course, I want truffle tagliatelle and burrata pizza with a side of sweet potato fries. Oh, and lots and lots of strawberries. They’re my favorite fruit.”

“I know.” Sebastian’s mouth quirked. “I remember when you cleared out that farmer’s stand in the Hamptons. I’ve never seen someone eat so many strawberries so fast.”

“I was twelve!” I said defensively. “I was at the beach all day, and I was hungry. Plus, those strawberries were really good.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing. It was kind of endearing.” His grin widened. “Almost as endearing as when you threw up later from eating so fast.”

“If you’re going to bring up embarrassing moments from my past, I can do the same, Mr. Fell-Into-A-Pool-In-His-Brioni-Suit.”

“I still looked good,” he said, unfazed. “I got half a dozen numbers after that.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course he had.

Our shadows lengthened. The sun had set while we were talking, but the fire crackled with reassuring steadiness as we sat side by side, letting its warmth seep into our chilled bones.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” I asked, staring at the flames. Their orange glow was almost hypnotic. “Everything you’ve experienced and accomplished so far. If this was really our last day on earth, would you be happy with the life you’ve lived?”

Sebastian added another piece of wood to the fire. The flames leapt higher, illuminating the sculpted lines of his profile. “Parts of it.”

“Which ones?”

“The ones where I felt fulfilled,” he said after a long pause. “The places I’ve visited and the things I’ve learned. The moments where I was so consumed by what was happening that I didn’t have to worry about anything else.”

“And the parts you’re not happy with?”

Sebastian glanced at me. A trace of melancholy passed through his eyes before it quickly vanished.

“Maybe I’ll tell you in another life.” He nudged my knee with his, the familiar gesture sending an unexpected jolt up my leg. “Just because we might die here together doesn’t mean you get access to all my deep, dark secrets.”

“What makes you so sure we’d know each other in another life?”

“Because I can’t imagine any life without you there to drive me completely insane.”

He meant that in a negative way. He had to have.

It didn’t make sense, then, why those words sank so deeply beneath my skin, they branded themselves onto my heart.

Our gazes found each other, and for a moment, the air between us turned electric.

Then Sebastian blinked, and all was normal again.

He glanced away at the fire before returning his attention to me. “Your turn,” he said. “Would you be happy with the life you’ve lived?”

“No,” I admitted. “I would feel…” Like I’ve wasted the years chasing something that didn’t exist. Like I’ve failed and placed importance on all the wrong priorities. I know that, but I can’t stop doing it because I am the way that I am, and sometimes, I hate myself for it.

But I couldn’t say any of that. If I voiced my fears, it would make them real, and I didn’t do real. Not when it came to stuff like this.

“I would feel incomplete,” I finished. “There are some things I haven’t checked off my bucket list yet.”

“Like?”

“Like winning a Nobel Prize. Or running a marathon. Or falling in love.” The last part slipped out unconsciously, but it was too late to take it back.

Sebastian’s eyebrows rose. “You’re telling me you’ve never been in love before?”

“I’ve loved some of my exes,” I said slowly. “I think it’s hard for me to stay with someone unless I truly care about them. But I’ve never experienced it, you know. That big, all-consuming love that makes me willing to do anything to be with them.” I shrugged, self-conscious. “I don’t know. Maybe that type of love is a myth, and I’m waiting for something that doesn’t exist. But it’s nice to think that it does.”

“It exists,” Sebastian said with surprising conviction. “Look at Queen Bridget and Prince Rhys of Eldorra. They overturned a centuries-old law to be together. Hell, look at some of our friends. If Vuk willingly attending parties for Ayana isn’t a sign of true love, I don’t know what is.”

I let out a soft laugh. “True.”

“Maya Singh, a romantic.” Sebastian’s mouth curved in the faintest smile. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Don’t tell anyone, or you’ll find yourself in that next life sooner than expected,” I warned. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you’ve ever been in love. The answer is obviously no.”

Sebastian had cycled through dozens of casual girlfriends. He never dated anyone for more than a few months, and sometimes, I got the sense he tolerated their company more than he enjoyed it. I’d certainly never seen him light up in any of their presences.

I expected him to agree right off the bat, but he hesitated for a beat first.

“Obviously,” he said. He nodded at our makeshift bed. “We should get some rest. The earlier we go to bed, the earlier we can wake up and get a head start on the day. I really don’t want to spend a second night here.”

“You and me both.” I made a concerted effort not to look into the trees. As long as I stayed within the glow of the fire, I was safe. Hopefully. Anything that existed beyond that was none of my business. “Should we take turns standing guard?”

Sebastian snorted. “I think you’ve watched too many survival dramas.”

“Excuse me for trying to keep us alive,” I huffed. But I was secretly grateful I wouldn’t have to stay awake by myself as I lay down and snuggled beneath my coat.

Sebastian settled beside me, tucking me between the fire and the curve of his body. My back pressed against his chest, and I sucked in a surprised breath when his arms wrapped around my waist.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said gruffly. “This is for body warmth.”

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Awareness ran the length of my spine, and though a spark of self-preservation told me I should disentangle myself ASAP, I didn’t.

I was warmer with him around me, and I liked how his body acted as a shield against the night. He felt safe, and that was something I desperately needed right now.

The combination of heat, hunger, and exhaustion pulled me under, and I gradually drifted into a hazy half-sleep. I thought I heard him speak, but I was so far gone it might’ve been a dream.

“For what it’s worth…” Sebastian’s voice was barely audible beneath the crackle of the fire. “If I could choose someone to spend my last hours with, I’d choose you.”

CHAPTER 13

Sebastian

A SCREAM TORE THROUGH THE AIR.

I jolted awake, my heart thundering as I shook off the dregs of sleep and searched for the source of the scream.

It didn’t take me long to find it.

Maya clung to my side, her eyes huge as she stared at something on her leg. She was trembling, and when I followed her terrified gaze…

Fuck. Me.

My stomach lurched.

A snake slithered around her ankle, its black scales gleaming in the early-morning light. It was at least five feet long, and its forked tongue darted out in quick flicks, tasting the air.

“Maya,” I said, barely moving my mouth. Every instinct screamed at me to act, but sudden movements would only make this worse. “Stay still.”

She didn’t answer, but her nails dug into my arm. Her breaths came out in quick, shallow pants.

The snake’s body tightened just a fraction, its muscles coiling with lazy, dangerous strength. Its beady eyes watched me as I shifted an inch closer, taking great care to keep my movements deliberate and calm.

I kept my eyes on the snake while I slowly grabbed a short stick from the forest floor.

Easy…

I kept a tight grip and reached forward.

Easy…

The snake flicked its tongue again, its head lifting slightly.

I wasn’t an expert on reptiles, so I could only hope this particular one wasn’t venomous.

Easy…

I slid the stick between the snake’s body and Maya’s leg. She made a strangled noise, but she stayed remarkably still when the snake hissed.

If I forcibly pulled it off her, it might trigger a defensive bite. Instead, I used the stick to lift and redirect its coils.

It was forty degrees out, but sweat beaded on my forehead and dampened my shirt.

Come on. Get the fuck off her.

The snake paused, its body quivering as though it were irritated by my intrusion. Just when I thought I’d have to fight it with my bare hands, it loosened its grip. One coil slid free. Then another.

With a sharp hiss, it dropped to the ground and slithered away. Within seconds, it disappeared into the underbrush as though it’d never been there at all.

I checked on Maya, who was still frozen in wide-eyed terror.

“It’s gone.” I placed my hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Maya, it’s okay. The snake’s gone.”

That seemed to break through her trance. She let out a shuddering gasp and sagged against me. “Oh my God.” Her voice shook. “I thought—I hate—”

“I know,” I said softly, rubbing circles on her back. The gesture was more intimate than I normally allowed myself, but nothing about the past day had been normal.

I also knew how much Maya hated snakes. One time during boarding school, I’d pranked her by placing a rubber snake in her bed. She’d fainted, hit her head, and had to be rushed to the nurse’s office. I’d been riddled with guilt for weeks.

Her trembling finally subsided, and she lifted her head to look at me. “How did you know the snake wasn’t venomous?”

“I didn’t.”

Her eyes widened again, this time with shock. “You mean you literally poked a potentially venomous reptile with a stick?”

“Technically, I didn’t poke it, but for all intents and purposes, yes. It was either that, wait for the snake to leave on its own—if it left on its own—or watch it kill you.”

“It could’ve killed you.”

I shrugged. “It didn’t.”

“You’re…” Maya paused as though she were struggling to find the right words. “Thank you,” she whispered.

My chest twinged.

I could deal with snakes and getting stranded in the woods; I couldn’t deal with her rawness. Not like this.

She rarely let her guard down around me, and without that shield to protect me, I feared I would lose myself in something I’d sworn I’d never revisit.

Maya’s fingers clutched at the front of my sweater. Her breathing was unsteady, but her face softened as the air shifted around us.

I swallowed, my throat dry. The forest fell away, and suddenly, all I could focus on was her.

Her eyes. Her skin. Her lips. How her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat and how badly I wanted to press my mouth to that exact spot so I could feel whether she craved my touch as much as I did hers.

And even though our relationship was fraught most of the time, and I had no business thinking about any of those things, especially in our current circumstances, I couldn’t stop if I tried.

I lowered my head. Her breath hitched, and she tilted her chin up a fraction of an inch, just enough for me to—

A loud rustling noise shattered the moment.

We whipped our heads around in time for me to feel a stab of horror as something large emerged from the bush.

Maya

I’m going to die.

It wasn’t the first time I’d thought that in the past forty-eight hours, and honestly, it should be illegal for the universe to dole out that many near-death experiences to one person in such a short time frame.

Only this time, I might have had to take out the “near” part.

My heart slammed against my ribcage as a bear of a man entered the clearing. He appeared to be in his late fifties with thick gray hair and a beard. He wore a flannel shirt and a grizzled scowl as he surveyed us.

Oh God. This was it. This was the axe murderer who lived in the woods. I had a vision of our mutilated bodies being broadcast on the nine o’clock news or, worse, being buried where no one would ever find us—until the man spoke. His voice was surprisingly gentle for someone so big.

“You folks all right?” he asked. “We heard a scream earlier and came to check if y’all need help.”

It was only then that I noticed the two teenagers behind him. A boy and a girl, both clad in hiking gear. The boy was busy playing on his phone while the girl eyed us curiously. Neither looked like they’d been kidnapped or hurt. They looked… Well, they looked like a family on a camping trip, which turned out to be exactly what they were.

Apparently, they lived nearby but liked to camp out in these woods every fall. They knew the place like the backs of their hands, and after Sebastian explained our situation, the man, Burt, cheerfully guided us back to the main road. It took us less than an hour with his help.

“Don’t beat yourself up too much,” he said when Sebastian and I exchanged embarrassed glances. “It’s easy to get lost unless you’re familiar with the area, especially after such a nasty storm. I can stay here with you until help comes.”

“Thanks so much,” I said, feeling a little foolish about my earlier fears. Burt was the exact opposite of an axe murderer. “We really appreciate it.”

His eyes crinkled. “I’m just glad y’all are all right. They found a few bodies here recently, so I’m glad we didn’t have to call in any more.”

I gulped. “Oh.”

That was it. No more nature for me. I was done.

Thankfully, our cell service had been restored once we reached the main road. Burt’s children had lent us their portable chargers, and Sebastian’s phone got enough juice for him to call a friend of a friend who was big in the auto industry. Help arrived in twenty minutes. After they freed the SUV from the mud, and we compensated Burt and his family handsomely for their troubles, we headed for our hotel, this time with clear directions.

During the drive, I contacted the venue coordinator and explained what happened. She managed to squeeze in a walk-through for us that afternoon, so after we checked in, showered, and ate, we headed straight to the venue. My feet still hurt after getting torn up by my shoes, but I’d plastered on enough Band-Aids to dull the pain.

I had a few missed calls and messages from friends and co-workers, but no one seemed too worried. I hadn’t been gone that long, and they knew I was in Vermont. They probably thought I was too busy to message them back. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d gone radio silent because of work. I should probably remedy that in case I went missing again in the future, and they dawdled in searching for me.

I finished replying to the missed messages and put my phone away. The autumn foliage blurred outside the car windows. The scent of apples and crisp leaves crept into the car, mixing with the vaguely spicy scent of Sebastian’s aftershave. He’d changed into a fresh shirt and jeans, and his five o’clock shadow was gone, replaced by the clean, sharp line of his jaw.

He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting casually on the gearshift. Confident but relaxed, his posture radiating lazy assurance.

It was hard to reconcile this version of him with the grim-faced man who’d confronted a potentially venomous snake that morning.

He did that for you, an insidious voice whispered inside my head before I shut it down. I stared out the window, my insides strangely warm, until we reached the venue.

The spectacular wooden lodge was located on the edge of town, and I fell in love the instant I saw it. The floor-to-ceiling glass walls, the double-height ceilings, and the elevated rustic charm were perfection. It also had a huge chef’s kitchen that rivaled any gourmet restaurant’s and a huge dining area that overlooked the surrounding woods. It was the ideal mix of intimate yet luxurious.

“We can arrange this area however you’d like,” the coordinator said. “We’ve done one long table, two dozen smaller tables, and everything in between.” She checked her phone. “I have to take this, but have a look around and get a feel for the space. I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you.” I waited until she left before I addressed Sebastian. “Well? What do you think?”

He ran a hand over the kitchen’s marble. “It’s… nice,” he said begrudgingly.

“I told you so.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s nicer than the North Carolina château.”

“We’ll see about that.”

His mouth quirked into a crooked smile, and a silver streak of heat sang through me.

So far, we’d avoided talking about what happened before Burt showed up. My adrenaline had been running so high that the past few hours passed in a blur, but now that my nerves had calmed and we were alone again…

My blood thrummed. He’d been about to kiss me. I was sure of it.

I was also sure that I’d wanted him to, and out of everything that’d happened on this trip, that freaked me out the most.

Sebastian’s smile faded. The air vibrated with sudden awareness, so thick and potent I could almost taste it.

“I’m sorry about that.” Our coordinator returned, snapping us out of the moment. “Do you have any more questions for me?”

Sebastian pivoted back to examining the kitchen while I pasted on a smile, my heart skittering. “No, I think we’re good. Thanks for squeezing us in so last-minute. We should have a final answer for you in two weeks.”

“I’m happy to help, but I have to warn you, there are several other parties looking to book this venue for the same weekend,” the coordinator said. “It might not be available in two weeks.”

“How much is the deposit to hold it?”

“Fifty percent of the total fee. Non-refundable.”

I winced. I couldn’t approve that expense without talking to the finance department first, but I doubted they’d say yes anyway. Not until I could guarantee this was the actual event venue.

“That’s fine.” Sebastian came up beside me. “We already made up our minds. We want to go ahead with this booking.”

My eyes flew to his face. What?

“Wonderful.” The coordinator beamed. “I’ll gather the paperwork and email you the details later today.”

We gave her the necessary information for the paperwork and walked out to our car. I didn’t speak until we were safely ensconced inside.

“What the hell was that? We still need to tour your place in North Carolina,” I said. “If we put a deposit down and don’t go through with it, finance is going to have our heads.”

“They won’t because we are going through with it,” Sebastian said calmly. “We’re not touring the château. You were right. The lodge is perfect, and there’s no point wasting more time when we’re already behind schedule.”

I stared at him. “Who are you, and what have you done to Sebastian Laurent? Tell me now, and no one gets hurt.”

The real Sebastian would never admit I was right about anything, and he’d certainly never surrender like this. The whole thing reeked of fishiness.

“Not everything is a conspiracy, Sal,” he said dryly. “I meant what I said. You picked a great location. That’s it.”

I should just accept the win, but it felt empty. What was victory without a good fight first?

We lapsed into silence again, and I made it ten minutes before I couldn’t take it anymore. We had too many unaddressed issues, and if we didn’t clear the air soon, I might suffocate beneath their weight.

“Um.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “About what happened in the woods… I don’t want it to make things weird between us. Since we still have to work together for the next few months.”

Sebastian’s expression didn’t flicker. “What, exactly, do you think happened in the woods?”

I blinked, startled by his cool tone. Was I going out of my mind? Had I imagined our near kiss, or was I being gaslit? Uncertainty crawled beneath my skin.

“Nothing,” I said. “That’s the point. I wanted to make sure you didn’t think we’d trauma bonded or anything.”

“We didn’t.”

“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“Me too.”

We didn’t talk again after that.

But later that night, when I tried to fall asleep, I couldn’t shake the sense that he’d canceled our North Carolina trip because he didn’t want to travel with me again.

It was for the best. Given our recent luck, we’d end up in a plane crash or something.

Nevertheless, a twinge of disappointment crept through me before I fell into a fitful sleep.

CHAPTER 14

Maya

“LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT. YOU WERE STRANDED IN the woods with your hot nemesis, forced to cuddle for body warmth, and he saved you from a potentially venomous snake?” Priya said. “Ugh. You get to experience all the good stuff.”

I gaped at her. “Are you joking? It wasn’t good at all. I thought we were going to die.”

“But you didn’t. Now you have a great story to tell for the rest of your life.” She sighed. “You’re so lucky.”

Of course, Priya would be jealous of my near-death experience. She collected weird life experiences the way other people collected coins. I was convinced she’d wither and die if she ran out of new shock-factor stories to tell people.

“This is why you should’ve joined the Girl Scouts like me,” Neha told me. “You would’ve survived better if you had. Their wilderness survival training is very helpful.”

“You either survive, or you don’t,” I said. “There’s no surviving better. And I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been with Sebastian.” She returned to her magazine and flipped through it idly. “And there are definitely degrees of survival. Being fully conscious is better than being in a coma, isn’t it?”

I didn’t bother arguing. Neha had classic Younger Sister Syndrome, which was a fancy way of saying she lived to annoy the shit out of me.

It was Sunday, four days after Sebastian and I returned from Vermont, and my sisters and I were spending the afternoon at the Valhalla Club spa. Priya and Ben had flown back to New York at my mother’s insistence, and we were supposed to have a sisterly pre-wedding planning session today.

So far, all we’d done was get facials, drink champagne, and gossip by the pool, the latter of which we were still doing.

“Is Ben still with Dad?” I asked. My father had insisted on a “friendly lunch” with Priya’s fiancé, which was about the most ominous phrasing he could’ve used.

“Yes. Poor thing is getting grilled right now, but that’s what happens when you marry into the Singh family. I warned him. He can handle it.” Priya didn’t sound too concerned. “That’s one of the things I love so much about him. He’s so easygoing, not like all those other uptight guys I’ve dated in the past. Do you remember Troy? God, he was such an asshole. Ben would never…”

I forced a smile as my sister rambled on about how perfect Ben was. They’d met at a pottery-making workshop six months ago, and the two had been inseparable since.

I liked Ben. He was the calm to my sister’s chaos, and though it’d taken my parents months to warm up to him, they’d come around—for the most part. My mother was peeved that he was a middling artist rather than a powerful businessman, but she was also relieved that Priya had given up her previous vow never to marry. Given how worried she’d been, Priya could marry a professional clown, and she’d accept it.

It helped that Neha had already married their dream son-in-law. Arjun was a successful hedge fund manager, deeply attuned to our culture, and flattered my parents with gifts and compliments every time he saw them.

Then there was me, thirty-one and single. It didn’t matter how many professional accomplishments I racked up; I was the one who kept my mother up at night.

“I don’t want a big wedding, but you know how Mom is.” Priya nudged me with her elbow. “I wish you were getting married too. That way, we could swap. You get the wedding; I get the elopement.”

She didn’t mean it in a condescending way, but her words still stung. They were yet another reminder that I’d “fallen behind” somehow.

If I lived in a vacuum, I wouldn’t care about my singlehood. I’d rather be single than in a relationship for relationship’s sake, but I got anxiety from the way everyone else in my life harped on it.

Societal pressure was real, and unfortunately, I wasn’t immune to it.

“Please,” I said, covering up my discomfort with another forced smile. “You know Mom would freak if any of her children eloped. You’d see a meltdown the likes of which the world has never experienced before.”

She laughed. “True.”

But as we left the pool for our respective massages, I couldn’t tamp down the little competitive flare inside me.

Priya wouldn’t get married for at least another year, but our cousin Radhika’s wedding was in a few months.

Did I want to show up to either of those events alone and be subjected to my extended family’s pity again? No. Was there a strong possibility that I would be the only one out of all my sisters and cousins to attend solo? Yes.

I disrobed and climbed onto the massage table, my mind racing. Perhaps I’d been too hard on my past setups. I had another arranged date this week, and he could be The One. At the very least, he could be a tolerable plus-one to my cousin’s wedding.

No matter what happened, he already had one important thing going for him: he wasn’t Sebastian Laurent.

I wished the hypothetical axe murderer had killed me.

Death would be preferable to the torture I was currently experiencing, and unlike a quick stab to the chest, there was no easy way out of this.

I should’ve known the date would be a disaster when Brady took me to Brasserie M because it was “the most romantic restaurant in the city.” Once I recovered from a horrible bout of déjà vu, we started talking, and that was when things really took a dive.

Frat boy name aside, Brady looked good on paper. He was tall, well spoken, and owned a boutique investment banking firm that catered to media and entertainment executives. I thought he’d make a perfectly acceptable wedding date… until we reached the topic of family.

“How many children do you want to have?” he asked.

“No more than two,” I said. “What about you?”

“The more, the merrier. I have six siblings, and we had so much fun growing up. I’d love to give my kids the same experience one day.”

I nearly choked on my water. “Six.” I coughed, my eyes watering. “Wow. That’s… a lot.”

“It is, but it’s great,” Brady said earnestly. “My mom made sure all of us felt valued individually. We had personalized lunches, hand-knitted sweaters, big birthday parties. The whole nine yards.”

It sounded like his mom should’ve been paid a full-time salary times seven.

“What did your dad do?” I asked.

“He was a lawyer. Still is. He’s a partner at Pierce, Waltham, and Greene.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said. “What did he do around the house?”

Brady gave me a puzzled smile. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

A headache set in behind my temples. “Your mom personalized the lunches and knitted the sweaters. What did your dad do?”

“I told you, he’s a lawyer,” he said patiently. “His job is to be the breadwinner. My mom’s job was to take care of us and the house. Actually, she used to be a lawyer too—they met in law school. But she quit when she had us, which made sense.”

Alarm rang in the distant recesses of my mind. My eye twitched. “Oh, really? Why is that?”

“Because family comes before career.”

“I assume that applies to your dad too.”

Brady laughed. “You’re hilarious. They didn’t tell me you were this funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. Considering your mom is the one who carried her kids for nine months and gave birth to them, I think it should’ve been the other way around. Your dad should’ve quit his job and pitched in. The same goes for other men in general.”

I had no issue with women quitting their jobs to raise their families if that was what they wanted. I did have an issue with Brady’s blatant misogyny and condescension.

He was lucky I was a vegetarian because if I had a steak knife nearby, he might not make it out of the restaurant alive.

His laughter died. “You can’t expect them to do that. They have important work to do.”

Jesus. Was he even a real human? He was acting like a caricature, but I’d been around enough toxic dude-bros to know some of them really did think like that.

“That’s funny,” I said. “Because a lot of them are shit at their allegedly important jobs. For example, owners of a boutique investment firm should have an adequate grasp of risk management. If they did, they wouldn’t have cost one of their clients hundreds of thousands of dollars because they made a bad bet.”

Brady’s smile vanished beneath a flush of red. “What—how—”

“I know a lot of people, and some of those people like to talk.” I’d done my research before this date. Too bad no one had mentioned what a douchebag Brady was, or I would’ve canceled, my mother’s recriminations be damned. “That’s why I find it hilarious that you talk such a big game about being a ‘breadwinner’ when you can’t even bring your clients a decent slice without dropping it. Also, in case it wasn’t clear…” I leaned forward, my eyes pinned on his. “This date is over.”

Brady was smart enough not to make a huge scene in the restaurant. However, he wasn’t above delivering a parting shot.

“No wonder you’re single,” he hissed on his way out. “I feel sorry for whatever poor sap you end up with. You want to be so high and mighty? You pay for the dinner.”

He stormed out, leaving a cloud of overpowering cologne in his wake.

I wrinkled my nose. Men could be so dramatic.

The server popped up and discreetly whisked away Brady’s half-eaten food. She was the same one from last time. “Would you like more wine?” she asked, her expression sympathetic.

“Please.” I gestured at my empty glass. “Keep them coming.”

She winked at me. “Understood.”

I sighed, oddly deflated now that I didn’t have anger propping me up. Most romantic restaurant, my ass. This place was cursed.

I took a morose sip of pinot grigio.

The kitchen door swung open, and I straightened before an unfamiliar server walked out with a plate.

I deflated again.

Of course, Sebastian wasn’t here (not that I was hoping he would be). His appearance during my date with Nikhil had been a fluke. Besides, he was too busy working on the frozen foods recipes now to do much else.

I finished my food and motioned for the check.

“Your dinner has already been comped, Ms. Singh,” the server said. “In addition, the kitchen sent you some special treats as a thank-you for being a return customer.” She nodded at someone behind me, and another server swooped in to place the items on the table.

One chocolate milkshake. One slice of chocolate cake with strawberries.

My heart leapt into my throat.

“Enjoy.” The server smiled and winked at me again before she left to take care of another table.

“We’re return customers, and we never get special treats,” I heard a nearby diner complain.

I was too busy searching the room to hear their companion’s reply. A rush of anticipation zinged beneath my skin, but I scoured the whole restaurant and didn’t catch a single glimpse of Sebastian.

Still, I couldn’t hold back a small smile as I took a sip of the milkshake. It was thick enough to be ice cream—just the way I liked it.

There was no note accompanying the dessert this time, and yet I felt Sebastian’s presence as strongly as if he were standing right next to me.

Sebastian

I should’ve stayed away.

After Vermont—after I almost kissed her in the woods—I should’ve known better than to interfere with another one of her dates.

Maya was dangerous, and the more time we spent together, the more I lost control. It was why I’d canceled our North Carolina trip and handed her that win.

I was already unraveling at the seams. If I had to survive another overnight trip with her, I’d disintegrate completely.

I’d had every intention of taking a step back and keeping our relationship professional after we returned to New York. But when she popped up on my VIP diners list again—this time next to some finance hack whose name I vaguely recognized—I’d caved like a fucking sucker.

I’d managed to stop myself from showing up at the restaurant, but I’d instructed the staff to keep an eye on her date and to intervene if necessary.

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter whether I was physically with her or not. She could be hundreds of miles away, and she’d still haunt every corner of my mind, like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

She’d invade every thought, occupy every waking moment.

I was well aware how close I was to falling irrevocably under her thrall…

But there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.

CHAPTER 15

Maya

TWO DAYS AFTER MY DATE FROM HELL, MY PARENTS summoned me to their house for lunch.

I say “summoned” and not “invited” because my mother’s tone left little doubt that if I were to skip the meal, I might as well move to another country and change my last name.

“Be honest,” I whispered as I followed Diya to the dining room. “How much trouble am I in?”

She pursed her lips and didn’t respond. She did, however, press a miniature chocolate bar into my hand before she left me to fend for myself.

I knew what that meant.

I was so fucked.

My parents were already seated when I entered. It was Saturday, and they were dressed in their “casual” weekend wear—a cashmere sweater and tailored pants for my father; a silk dress, matching wrap, and diamond jewelry for my mother.

I greeted them and slid into one of the empty chairs. “Where’s everyone else?” I asked.

“Your sisters and grandmother are busy,” my father said after a quick glance at my mother, who sat stony-faced at the other end of the table. “It’ll be just the three of us today.”

I gulped. Correction: I was double fucked.

My mother waited until the first course was served before she laid into me. “Maya Singh.” Her voice shook with fury. “Can you explain why I received a call from Brady’s mother yesterday, accusing you of being ‘rude, antagonistic, and ill-bred’ by humiliating her son during dinner? I did not teach you to make a scene in public, especially not in a three-star restaurant, and especially not when I worked so hard to set up that date. Do you know what you’ve done? Now the Sinclairs will be telling everyone that I don’t know how to raise my daughter properly!”

Indignant flames licked at the walls of my stomach. “I didn’t yell at him,” I said. “I told him the truth—which is that he’s a terrible investment banker—and he got mad. He’s the one who made a scene by storming out.”

My mother’s nostrils flared. “Why would you do that? Are baap re, it’s like you’re trying to sabotage your dates!”

“I was trying to give him a chance,” I protested. “But he was a misogynistic asshole, and I’m not sorry.”

“Maya!” My father gave me a warning stare. “Language.”

“Sorry. I meant to say he was a misogynistic donkey, and I’m not sorry.”

His mouth twitched, but that only made my mother angrier. “Do you think this is funny? You are well beyond the age for marriage. You are my oldest daughter, yet you’re the only one without prospects. If you keep this up, you’ll be an old maid like your Meera Aunty. Is that what you want?”

Meera Aunty was my mother’s older sister, and her unmarried status was a source of great contention within our family.

“No, but trust me, you don’t want Brady Sinclair as your son-in-law.” I quickly summarized my conversation with him before my mother flew off the handle again.

Her lips thinned after I finished. “Even so, antagonizing him in Brasserie M was not the solution.”

My father wisely stayed silent. After decades of marriage, he knew better than to interrupt his wife when she was on the warpath.

“This isn’t about just Brady,” she said. “We tried to let you find someone in your own time. You know your father and I are very open when it comes to love matches. We’re letting Priya marry a sculptor, for God’s sake. But you haven’t had a serious boyfriend since your mid-twenties, and I’ve arranged dozens of dates for you over the past two years. Maybe Brady was a bad fit, but there were plenty of perfectly nice, eligible men that you rejected for the vaguest of reasons.”

“They weren’t that vague,” I said weakly.

“You dismissed one of them because you didn’t like his cologne.”

“He said it was his signature scent, but it kept making me sneeze. I can’t marry someone I’m allergic to.”

My father snorted out a laugh, but he quickly covered it up with a cough and returned to his meal when my mother glared at him.

“Maya.” I could tell she was trying her hardest to keep her voice even. “Like I said, we’ve given you all the chances in the world to find a match on your own. However, it’s clear that’s not working, and you need a stronger guiding hand.”

Ice filled my lungs. I dropped my fork with a clatter and hoped, prayed, that she wasn’t saying what I thought she was saying. “What does that mean?”

My mother smoothed the front of her dress and fixed me with an unyielding stare. “It means if you’re not engaged by this time next year, we will pick your husband for you. End of story.”

CHAPTER 16

Sebastian

ONCE I WAS BACK IN NEW YORK, I THREW MYSELF INTO finalizing the recipes for the frozen foods launch. These were in addition to the ones I’d created based on Derek’s notes, and they were a welcome distraction from the mayhem eating at my thoughts.

I was still struggling with perfecting my scallops, but these came easily to me. The pressure of creating a mass production line didn’t weigh as heavily on me as that of a handcrafted dish. I wanted the frozen foods to be perfect too—our reputation and millions of dollars were at stake. But I didn’t feel the same personal investment. It was like the difference between delivering a heartfelt speech in person and sending it to someone via text.

With Margaux’s guidance, I finished all ten recipes the morning of Maya’s birthday party. I’d considered skipping the party for the same reason I’d canceled our North Carolina trip—going would be too dangerous.

Our relationship had shifted in Vermont. It was a small but seismic change, and until I found my footing, I didn’t trust myself around her.

I’d already done too much by sending her the cake and milkshake at Brasserie M, but at least I’d had a go-between there. If I attended tonight, I’d have to see her myself. But if I didn’t attend, it would be a huge fuck-you. We never skipped each other’s birthdays, and I didn’t want to torch that bridge.

Plus, I needed to keep an eye on Killian.

The billionaire bachelor took in our surroundings with a low whistle. “Impressive. I’ve been missing out.”

We were standing in the ballroom of the Singhs’ Westchester estate, which had been transformed into a giant big top for tonight’s party. Aerialists swung from silks attached to the ceiling; staff manned a gourmet popcorn bar and multiple carnival food stands. Fire dancers performed alongside contortionists, fortune tellers, and a world-famous magician who made people “vanish” in front of a delighted crowd.

“You haven’t been missing that much,” I said. Maybe if he thought this kind of extravagance was the exception rather than the rule, he’d stay away from Maya’s parties in the future.

I didn’t know why he’d RSVP’d yes in the first place. He’d never shown an interest in these types of parties before, so his sudden appearance was suspicious. What was he up to?

Killian gave me an odd look, but he didn’t call me out on my somewhat rude response. “You and Maya are old friends, right?” he asked as I ordered two Lion Tamers at the bar. “You should introduce us. We’re acquainted, but I’ve never had a proper conversation with her.”

My irritation sharpened. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends. We’re working on a collaboration together, but that’s it.” I took the drinks from the bartender and handed one to Killian. “If you’re already acquainted, you can talk to her yourself. You don’t need my endorsement. I doubt it’ll help anyway.”

“I don’t need your endorsement, Laurent,” he said dryly. “I just figured it’d be less awkward if a mutual acquaintance reintroduced us.”

“Seb! Good to see you.” Thankfully, Xavier showed up at that moment and saved me from having to respond. He clapped me on the shoulder and arched an eyebrow at Killian. “Katrakis. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Like I told Laurent, I needed a change.” Killian’s gaze coasted over to Dante, Vuk, Kai Young, and Dominic Davenport, who came up behind Xavier with varying expressions of curiosity, enjoyment, and apathy. “Where are your better halves?”

“Vivian’s the event planner, so she’s busy all night.” Dante didn’t sound happy about having to share his wife with work, but his eyes glittered with pride as he glanced around the room.

“She did a great job,” I said.

“Of course she did,” he said, his tone matter of fact. “She’s the best.”

It was a surprisingly heartfelt sentiment for a man who’d once hated his arranged marriage so much he’d sought to destroy his father-in-law, but time and love did strange things to people—even ones as surly as Dante Russo.

“Alé and her friends are getting their palms read.” Dominic gestured to where Alessandra was sitting at the fortune teller’s table with Sloane, Ayana, and Kai’s wife Isabella. “It’s pseudoscience, but she thought it would be fun.”

“Do you think the fortune teller will advise her to leave you again if you keep referring to her hobbies as pseudoscience?” Xavier asked innocently.

Laughter rang throughout our group. Even Vuk’s mouth lifted for a second as Dominic scowled at us. His divorce and subsequent remarriage to Alessandra was a perennial sore spot.

“That is not one of her hobbies, and I’ve never referred to anything else she’s liked as pseudoscience,” he said coolly. “At least I’m not forced to watch shitty rom-coms every other night so my girlfriend can eviscerate them in her reviews.”

“Those rom-coms aren’t shitty.” Xavier paused. “Well, some of them are shitty, but they’re still fun, which is something you need more of in your life. Don’t let Bea grow up in a joyless household.”

Bea was Dominic and Alessandra’s daughter.

“We have plenty of joy in our household,” Dominic grumbled. “We took her to a Christmas market last weekend.”

“She’s one and a half years old,” Kai said. His aristocratic British accent made his words sound more pointed than he’d perhaps intended. “I don’t think she cares about Christmas markets.”

“You spent last weekend building new bookshelves for your wife’s dinosaur erotica, so please forgive me if I don’t listen to your opinion on, oh, anything,” Dominic countered.

Dinosaur erotica? I wasn’t going to ask. There were some things I didn’t need to know.

“You did not build those shelves,” I said, skeptical.

Kai was a born-and-bred scholar. The man translated books into Latin for fun, for Christ’s sake. He wouldn’t dabble in carpentry in his free time.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” he said. “I wanted to learn something new, and it was a good bonding activity for us.”

“Uh-huh.” Xavier didn’t look convinced. “What percentage did you build and what percentage did Isabella build?”

“Ninety-ten,” Kai said after a begrudging pause. “If you saw her with a nail gun, you’d understand why.”

Killian had been quiet this whole time, but he shook his head now with visible disgust. “This is why I’ll never marry,” he said. “It sounds like a nightmare.”

“You’ll never marry because you’re emotionally constipated and have unresolved trauma that prevents you from forming meaningful relationships with the opposite sex,” Xavier said, drawing stares from everyone except Vuk, who appeared to have completely disassociated from the conversation. “Sloane’s new client is a famous relationship expert,” Xavier clarified. “He has a new book coming out. I’ll send you a copy.”

“No, thanks.” Killian grimaced. “I’d rather be emotionally constipated.”

The topic shifted to the Legacy Ball, an ultra-exclusive gala that was returning to New York after years of being held in other cities. It wouldn’t be back until the year after next, but the city was already buzzing about its return.

“Gentlemen, good evening.” Maya’s grandmother approached us, decked out per usual in enough jewels to make the Louvre weep. After everyone said hello, she turned to me. “Sebastian, darling. Can we speak privately?”

“Of course.” I set my drink down and followed her into the hall, ignoring my friends’ curious stares and whispers. For a group of grown men, they were nosier than a pack of raccoons digging through an unlocked cooler.

“I need your help,” Maya’s grandmother said once we were alone. “I was in the conservatory earlier and lost one of my diamond earrings. I had to swap them out for a new pair.” She touched the teardrop-shaped sapphires dangling from her lobes. “Could you be a dear and find it for me? I’d go myself, but my eyes aren’t what they used to be, and everyone else is obviously busy.” She gestured at the ballroom.

I paused, waiting to see if she was joking. Her expression was dead serious. “You want me to… find a missing piece of jewelry for you in the middle of your granddaughter’s birthday party?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” She patted my hand. “You’ve always been such a dear, and I trust you not to steal the earring if you do find it. My late husband gifted the pair to me for our ten-year wedding anniversary. They hold a special place in my heart.”

I softened. “Of course, Mrs. Gupta. I’m happy to help.”

It was a little strange that she’d singled me out, but she’d always been eccentric, so I didn’t think much about her request as I headed toward the conservatory.

A velvet rope and a PRIVATE AREA ONLY sign guarded the entrance, but no one stopped me when I slipped under the barricade and into the glass-enclosed space.

I guess the invitees were vetted enough that the Singhs didn’t have to worry about them trespassing.

I made it only a few feet when I realized I wasn’t the only person here. A woman with long dark hair stood by the windows, her head bowed and her back facing me.

Maya.

I walked over, my heartbeat syncing with the echo of my footsteps against the pale oak floors.

The noise drew her out of her trance. She pivoted to face me, her eyes widening with surprise. “Seb? What are you doing here?”

I stopped less than two feet away. “You invited me, remember?”

That earned me an exasperated sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” I allowed myself a small smile. “Your grandmother lost an earring in here. She asked me to help her find it.”

“Of course she did.” Maya muttered something inaudible under her breath.

I silently took her in. We’d skipped our last two meetings since I needed to focus on the recipes, so we hadn’t seen each other in person since the Vermont trip.

I’d hoped the time apart would dull my reaction to her, but I feared it’d only made things worse.

Everything about her hit me all at once—the softness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, the sweetness of her perfume and the way her gold sequined dress clung to her curves. Every feature was sharper, more vivid, and they delivered a thousand small cuts that were infinitely more agonizing than one large one.

Seeing Maya on a regular basis was tolerable, but after a short break, the experience of her—her face, her voice, her scent—was so potent it was painful.

I breathed through the ache gripping my chest and let my shoulders fall into their usual, casual stance. “The question is, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out there celebrating?” I nodded at the exit.

“I am. I will. I just… needed a moment alone.” She smoothed over her verbal stumble with impressive quickness.

“Stressed?”

“No.”

Despite her denial, a telltale bit of chocolate smudged the corner of her mouth. My hand seemed to act of its own accord as I reached out and rubbed a gentle thumb over the spot.

“You’re lying again,” I said softly.

My touch lingered a second longer than it should’ve. Maya’s lips parted, and the air between us pulsed before I dropped my arm and slid my hand in my pocket. My palm tingled with the ghost of her warmth, but I crushed it before it spread.

“I’ve had a lot going on.” She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. There was a slight tremor in her hand. After a beat, she added, “Were you spying on me again the other day at Brasserie M?”

“No.” It was the truth—sort of.

Maya let out a low laugh, filled with disbelief. “Who’s the liar now?”

“I’m not lying. I wasn’t there in person, but I asked the staff to keep an eye on you. If you were on a date and looked miserable again, they had instructions to cheer you up.”

“Why?” she asked. “What is your fascination with how my dates are going?”

“I’m a connoisseur of schadenfreude.”

She rolled her eyes. “In that case, you’ll love what I have to say next.” Her expression sobered as she hesitated, as though debating whether to continue. “After that date went so poorly, my parents decided they’ve had enough. Long story short, if I don’t get engaged by next November, they’ll arrange a marriage for me.”

It took a second for the impact of her words to hit. When it did, it knocked the air clean out of my lungs.

My muscles coiled tight as I struggled to maintain a neutral expression.

Maya, in an arranged marriage? Impossible.

Such arrangements were still common in many parts of the world. Hell, Dante and Vivian’s marriage was an arranged one; they hadn’t fallen in love until months after their engagement.

But the Singhs had always allowed their daughters to date whomever they wanted, within reason, and out of all their children, Maya was the least suited for an arranged marriage.

She was too fiery. Too untamable.

Too mine.

I squashed the last thought before it had time to take root. Danger skirted the edges of my awareness, and my hand fisted in my pocket until I forced it to relax.

“I see.” I barely heard myself over the thrashing of my heart. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“I don’t know. I have a year before they pull that trigger, and I hope I’ll never have to find out.” A deep sigh seeped between her lips. “I guess that’ll be my birthday present if I don’t find the love of my life in the next twelve months. One husband hand-delivered to my door, whether I like it or not.”

I knew better than to ask if she’d go against her parents’ wishes. She was as independent as they came, but the consequences of defying them would be too severe. In her family, it simply wasn’t done.

“Then I guess you’ll have to find the love of your life in a year or less,” I said. “No pressure.”

“None whatsoever.” Her tone was dry.

In a past life, I would’ve offered another solution, but that wasn’t possible now.

I wasn’t someone who made the same mistake twice.

“Anyway, enough depressing topics for now,” Maya said. “What did you get me for my birthday? Can’t wait to see how you’ll top last year’s present.”

Our tradition of trying to one-up each other’s parties extended to our gifts. Last year, she’d gotten me a custom set of hand-engraved Japanese artisan knives while I’d gifted her a rare, autographed first edition of Jane Eyre, her favorite Brontë novel.

This year…

The small gift box burned a hole in my pocket.

Instead of reaching for it, I tossed out a careless smile. “I got you a Delamonte gift card. Twenty thousand dollars. Spend it wisely.”

Maya scoffed. “You did not get me a gift card.”

“I did.” I lifted my shoulder in a shrug. “I figured it was time for you to choose what you want instead of me trying to guess what you want. It’s easier that way.”

She laughed. When I didn’t join in, her smile wobbled, then faded. “Oh. I—thank you.” Confusion mixed with a bit of hurt flashed across her face before she quickly covered it up.

My throat constricted. “You’re welcome. Happy Birthday, Sal.”

We lingered in the quiet, neither of us speaking. Tension rippled down my spine like electricity before a storm.

We’d reached a threshold in our relationship, and every muscle in my body hummed from the effort it took to keep me from crossing it.

“There you are.” Vivian’s voice floated from across the room, disturbing the silence. She came into view and gave us an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Maya, it’s almost time for your entrance. Riley K.’s here, and the crew is on standby.”

“Thanks, Viv. I’ll be right there.” Maya’s eyes stayed on mine for another second before she sidestepped me and left.

Her arm brushed mine on her way past. A spark flared on my skin, and I clenched my jaw to keep from reacting.

Then she was gone, and I could breathe again.

Instead of looking for her grandmother’s earring, I stared out at the dark grounds surrounding the estate and waited for the remaining warmth from Maya’s presence to dissipate. Her gift—her real gift—weighed heavily in my pocket.

I should’ve gotten her something else. It was too intimate for what we were; I didn’t know what I was thinking when I’d picked it.

After a short while, I roused myself from my daze and did a thorough sweep of the conservatory. There was no diamond earring in sight.

I called my assistant on my way back to the party and asked her to deliver a Delamonte gift card ASAP.

She did, and I left it in the room with other guests’ presents.

I didn’t speak to Maya again for the rest of the night.

CHAPTER 17

Maya

“I’D SAY THE PARTY WAS A HUGE SUCCESS.” SLOANE stretched her arms over her head. “Everyone was talking about that aerial entrance stunt—as they should, because it was inspired. Viv, you nailed it.”

“Thanks, but it was Maya’s idea, not mine,” Vivian said with a smile. “She told me what she wanted, and I took care of the logistics. That’s all.”

“I could never.” Alessandra shuddered. “Trying stunts like that when I’m not professionally trained would give me hives.”

“It was nerve-wracking,” I admitted. “But I’m always down for a little danger as long as it’s in a safe, controlled environment.”

“So no more sleeping in the woods with Sebastian?” Isabella teased.

“Absolutely not. Once was enough.” I busied myself with opening the next gift so my friends didn’t see the conflicting emotions on my face.

Part of me had thought Sebastian wouldn’t show tonight. Things had been so weird between us lately, which was why I’d been shocked to see him in the conservatory. I’d never admit to the way my pulse skipped a beat when I saw him, or the way I’d felt a twinge of disappointment when he’d reacted to my arranged marriage predicament with as much interest as someone reading Apple’s terms and conditions.

But secretly, deep within the chambers of my heart, I couldn’t deny the feelings I’d had.

My birthday party ended over an hour ago, and it was an annual tradition for me to host a gift-unwrapping after-party with my family. This year, however, my family was busy chatting with the remaining guests and overseeing the cleanup downstairs, so I’d invited my friends to stay behind instead.

Vivian, Ayana, and Sloane were a given, and I’d been happy to include Isabella and Alessandra at Sloane’s request as well. I didn’t know them as well as the others, but I liked Isabella’s humor and Alessandra’s down-to-earth personality.

Their significant others were hanging out downstairs, waiting for them to finish, but Ayana had assured me I didn’t need to worry about the time. The guys could entertain themselves for a few hours, she’d declared.

“This is gorgeous.” Alessandra unfurled a hand-embroidered shawl. “I want to bury myself in this.”

“This is why you have to invite people with good taste to your birthday,” I said. “Or you’ll end up with a dozen ugly trinkets and an itchy sweater that’s two sizes too big.”

She laughed, adding the shawl to the pile of silk scarves, cashmere sweaters, and other apparel on the couch.

I’d divided the upstairs parlor-turned-gift-room into sections by gift category: clothing, accessories, shoes and handbags, beauty, food and wine, home goods, electronics, and miscellaneous. There was already a decent pile in every section, and we were only halfway through my presents.

To be honest, I usually donated most of it to charity. I kept my favorite items and those that were given to me by actual friends and family, but generic trinkets from acquaintances went straight to local nonprofits. I had enough belongings without hoarding stuff I’d never use.

Ultra-luxury noise-canceling headphones. A priceless Ming vase. A diamond tennis bracelet.

I placed them where they belonged and reached for the next present. It was a metallic gold envelope with my name written across the front.

My pulse jumped. That was Sebastian’s handwriting.

I tore open the envelope with impatient hands. There was a sleek black card sleeve inside, and I opened it to reveal…

A twenty-thousand-dollar gift card to Delamonte, just like he’d said.

My shoulders slumped. Fresh disappointment settled like a rock in my chest as I slid the card back into the envelope.

Why should I have expected anything else? He’d told me exactly what he’d gotten me, and he had no reason to lie. Besides, twenty grand was nothing to sneeze at.

But as I placed the envelope in the miscellaneous pile, I couldn’t shake off my misgiving. Our gift-giving tradition was rooted in rivalry, but our presents had always meant something. A gift card was soulless and generic. It was something you bought a co-worker or a friend of a friend, not someone you’d known your entire life.

By the time we finished unwrapping everything, I’d managed to push Sebastian’s strange behavior to the recesses of my mind. Unfortunately, that void was filled with a topic I had even less interest in discussing.

“Can we talk about your parents’ ultimatum?” Ayana asked. She sat cross-legged on the floor next to the beauty pile, her skin so luminous she was positively glowing. “What are you going to do? A year is not that much time.”

She didn’t ask what they were all probably thinking—why was I adhering to my parents’ arbitrary timeline when I was a full-grown, fully capable adult? Why couldn’t I date (or not date) whomever I wanted, whenever I wanted?

I could, but that would mean more than an argument; it would mean a full break from tradition and possibly my family.

“Go on more dates, I guess,” I said, my stomach winding into knots. “What else can I do?”

“Did you like Killian?” Sloane asked. “He’s such a player, but you never know. You could be the one to tame him.”

Xavier had introduced me to Killian earlier that night. Technically, it was a reintroduction since Killian and I were already acquainted, but we hadn’t interacted in so long that Xavier’s obvious setup was necessary.

“I liked him fine,” I said. “He’s hot, but I don’t know. The chemistry wasn’t there. Besides, I don’t have the time or energy to ‘tame’ anyone. I’ll leave that to someone else.”

Killian and I had chatted for fifteen minutes about art, travel, and the upcoming holidays. It’d been a perfectly pleasant conversation, but I had more romantic tension with my hair dryer.

“Too bad,” Isabella mused. “I would’ve loved to see someone bring that man to his knees.”

“Arranged marriages can be good. Dante and I—” Vivian stopped, obviously remembering the rocky start to her engagement. Her marriage hadn’t been arranged so much as forced, courtesy of the blackmail her father had on Dante at the time. “Um, never mind.”

I kept quiet while the girls brainstormed other options.

Frustration gnawed at me. If this were a work issue, I’d have solved it in minutes because I had a crisis management plan for everything. When problem A occurs, implement solution B (adjust parameters as needed), to get outcome C. Nice, neat, logical.

Personal problems were the opposite of that. Emotions were messy and complicated, and when two people’s emotions were involved, the complication factor quadrupled.

It was partly why I’d avoided certain relationships. I hated messy.

But I’d also reached a point where I couldn’t hide anymore. I had to dive straight into the mess and hope I made it out intact. If not, I could kiss the prospect of love goodbye.

I sat back on my heels and stared at the sea of presents before me. I would trade them all for a solution to my problem if I could. Sadly, I couldn’t.

I sighed. Happy birthday to me.

I woke up early the next morning. I usually slept in the day after my birthday, but I was too restless to stay in bed, so I threw a cardigan over my pajamas and padded downstairs.

My friends and sisters had gone back to the city last night, and my parents were still sleeping. The house was eerily quiet. All traces of last night’s party were gone; I didn’t spot a single feather or piece of glitter on my way to the kitchen.

My grandmother and Diya were already seated at the tiled island when I entered. They were chatting over a plate of crispy dosas and steaming mugs of chai, but they stopped when I entered the room.

“Good morning, Diya. Good morning, Nani,” I said. I took the stool next to my grandmother and yawned.

“Good morning.” Diya sprang into action. “What would you like for breakfast? We have more dosas, plus yogurt, cereal, and fruit. I can also make you eggs, pancakes, or anything else you want.”

The usually stern housekeeper doted on me exactly once a year, during my birthday week. I took as much advantage as I could because she’d never let me slide on anything during the other fifty-one weeks.

“I’d like the dosas with some eggs and strawberries, please. And maybe a bit of cake?” I gave her my biggest smile.

She frowned and tutted under her breath, but she didn’t say no.

While she prepared breakfast, my grandmother calmly sipped her tea and observed me. She wore a loose linen shirt, matching pants, and her “gardening jewels,” aka a pair of rose-shaped ruby earrings and her favorite gold necklace. Her floral gardening hat sat on the island next to her plate.

“Here you go.” Diya placed the dosas and strawberries in front of me, along with a slice of leftover chocolate cake from last night. “I’ll make your eggs next. Don’t start with—”

I dug my fork into the chocolate goodness and shoveled a chunk into my mouth.

“The cake,” she finished with a sigh. She moved away, grumbling about cavities under her breath.

“How are you feeling?” my grandmother asked.

“Fine.”

“Just fine?” Her tone was knowing.

I chewed silently, staring at my half-eaten cake. I wanted to shrink beneath my grandmother’s scrutiny and hide from her inevitable questions.

I could fool everyone else in my family, but I couldn’t fool her.

“By this time next year, you’ll be engaged,” she said. “Hopefully, you can communicate with your fiancé better than you can with me.”

“Please don’t remind me, Nani.” I abandoned the cake for a dosa. I tore off a piece and dipped it in the mint chutney with unnecessary force. “How could Mom do that to me? She’s never brought up arranged marriages before, not even when Priya went sailing around the world and declared herself a lifelong bachelorette.”

“Don’t blame your mother too much. She’s making decisions based on what she knows.”

My parents had the world’s most straightforward love story: they met in college, got married after graduation, and popped out three daughters in quick succession. My mother had me at twenty-two, Neha at twenty-four, and Priya at twenty-seven. Most of her friends and family (minus Meera Aunty) had followed a similar timeline, and she couldn’t wrap her head around why anyone wouldn’t.

But that was decades ago, and I wasn’t my mother or Meera Aunty. I was my own person with my own timeline—one that, ideally, did not involve finding a husband within the year.

“She’s also worried about you,” my grandmother added.

“Why? I’m succeeding in every other area of life,” I said, frustrated. “The idea that a woman has to be married by a certain age is archaic. No one bats an eye when men are lifelong bachelors. Look at Killian Katrakis.”

“From what I hear, Killian Katrakis has his own issues,” my grandmother said dryly. “I wouldn’t look to him as a role model. But that’s not why your mother’s worried.”

“Then why?

I hated that I could do everything right except for one thing, and that the one thing invalidated the rest of my accomplishments. I could’ve been a Nobel Prize winner, chief surgeon, and astronaut rolled into one, and people would still cluck their tongue and say, “Poor Maya. How come she’s still unmarried? What’s wrong with her?”

Most of all, I hated that I’d asked myself the same questions. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I find the same type of connection that everyone else around me could?

I lived in one of the biggest, most diverse cities on earth. It shouldn’t be this hard.

My grandmother sighed and set down her chai. “She’s worried you’ve closed yourself off for so long that you’ve gotten comfortable with it,” she said. “When someone is… stuck in a certain way of living, they subconsciously resist change even if they say they want something new. They’re afraid, and sometimes, they need other people to give them a push.”

I understood what she was saying, but an arranged marriage wasn’t a push; it was a shove off a high cliff and into the churning waves below.

“Is the solution really to marry me off to someone I don’t love? I don’t see how that’s helpful,” I said.

“You could grow to love them. Your parents had an arranged marriage, and they’ve been happy for many, many years.”

“They’re the exception, not the rule.” I placed my dosa back on the plate without eating it. I’d lost my appetite, and when I spoke again, my voice came out as a small whisper. “I’m scared, Nani.”

I felt like a kid again, waiting for my grandmother to bandage my wounds and make the world right once more.

“What if—” I broke off, my stomach bubbling with acid. “What if I can’t find The One? What if I have to spend the rest of my life with someone I merely tolerate? What if I find The One after I get married to someone else?”

My head swam with a thousand questions. I normally thrived under pressure, but my parents’ imposed deadline threatened to break me out in hives.

For some reason, an image of Sebastian surfaced in my mind. My pulse thundered, and I flicked the image away before it fully formed. We were talking about my future marriage; he had nothing to do with this.

Absolutely nothing.

My grandmother’s face softened. “I have faith in you, beti. If it were Neha or Priya in this situation, I’d worry a little more. Neha is too rigid, and Priya is too impulsive. But you…” She placed her hand over mine, her touch reassuringly soft and warm. “You’re ruled by your head and your heart. It’s a rare skill. It’ll guide you to the right place.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“It will.”

I wished I had an ounce of my grandmother’s faith in myself.

Anyone else would’ve been comforted by her confidence, but anxiety clawed its way to the surface again, stoking whispers of expectations I couldn’t meet. The more people expected me to succeed, the more pressure I heaped on myself.

“That being said, I would advise you to meet people on your own instead of relying on your mother’s matchmaking,” my grandmother said. “Go out, have fun. Date for dating’s sake. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself or your dates to be The One. Oftentimes, the perfect match finds us when we’re least expecting it.”

“I guess,” I said doubtfully. “Maybe I should take a page from the holiday rom-coms and walk around building corners with hot coffee until I accidentally spill it on some handsome, single CEO with a tragic backstory and a secret heart of gold.”

She blinked. “Uh, sure. Or you could go to a bar like a normal person. If you’re lucky, you’ll find yourself a rock musician. Then we can watch your mother melt down together.”

Despite my earlier melancholy, I burst into laughter. “Nani!”

“What?” Her expression was filled with innocence. “I’m old, and I’m stuck in this house most of the time. I have to find fun somewhere.”

That sparked a memory. “Speaking of finding stuff, did you ever find your diamond earring?” I asked. “The one you lost in the conservatory.”

She blinked again, her expression turning cagey. “Ah, no. I’m sure Diya will find it eventually.”

Diya returned with my eggs. She set them on the island and gave my grandmother a disapproving stare, which my grandmother ignored.

Weird.

But my mind soon circled back to the issue at hand. “I still need a date for Radhika’s wedding.” I doubted I’d find my perfect match at a bar, but I knew someone who’d met their spouse at a funeral. Anything was possible. “Maybe I need to expand my radius. Search outside New York.”

A sexy vacation fling that turned into long-term commitment. That could be fun.

“Maybe,” my grandmother said slowly. “Or maybe your match is closer than you think. It’s not always about new people and places. Sometimes, it’s about new perspectives.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You’re a smart girl.” She picked up her chai again, her eyes glittering over the rim of her mug. “You’ll figure it out.”

CHAPTER 18

Sebastian

THWACK!

The knife hit the cutting board with a resounding thud. The potato split cleanly beneath the blade, and each subsequent chop sent a satisfying jolt up my arm.

“Jesus. Did that potato kill your childhood pet or something?” Xavier asked.

“This is not aggressive.” I finished cutting the potatoes and placed them in a pot of cold water before I turned on the stove. “Hand me the seasoning mix over there.”

He grumbled but complied. “I like how you’re using my kitchen for free while also treating me like I’m your unpaid sous chef.”

“Be serious,” I said. “I would never let you be my sous chef. You don’t even know what macerating means.”

“No one knows what it means except you.”

I snorted. The water started simmering. I added kosher salt and baking soda, my mind drifting as muscle memory kicked in.

It was early February, nearly three months since Maya’s birthday party. Between work and the holidays, time had passed in a heartbeat, but my mind was stuck in last year—in the woods, in the conservatory, in a thousand moments where I could’ve made a different choice but didn’t.

Maya and I had skipped our in-person meetings since her party. One or both of us kept running into “scheduling conflicts,” but we did have one on the calendar for the end of the week.

Whether it’d actually happen remained to be seen.

I reduced the heat to a simmer and started making the garlic rosemary seasoning while I let the potatoes cook. My chest was tight, and I was only half paying attention to Xavier’s Valentine’s Day plans for Sloane this year.

I couldn’t hide from Maya forever, but I hadn’t figured out what to say the next time I saw her. Should I try to act normal, or should I throw caution to the wind and clear the air between us once and for all? If I chose option two, what would that mean for our relationship going forward?

Dammit. I wished I could time travel back to last summer, when it’d been so much easier to keep my mask intact.

I was right to have been worried about working so closely with Maya. It was fucking me up, and she wasn’t even here.

“You were pretty MIA during the holiday circuit,” Xavier said while I finished cooking the potatoes. I was taking a break from the scallops to experiment with other dishes. Hopefully, that would give me space to figure out what was missing from the scallops recipe. “Everything okay?”

“I wanted to keep things low-key,” I said. “I didn’t feel like dealing with the party scene this year.”

The Maya avoidance issue aside, it’d been my family’s first Christmas since my aunt died. My mother had been a mess, and I hadn’t wanted to party while she was crying her eyes out every night. My father had tried to help, but he wasn’t a naturally comforting person, so it’d been up to me to calm her down.

“Understandable.” Xavier’s mouth quirked. “Too bad you missed one of Vivian’s clients almost dropping Josie at Ayana’s holiday fundraiser. She’s fine, but Dante was this close to committing actual murder.”

I chuckled at the mental image. Dante was the world’s most overprotective father. I bet he’d gone full nuclear on the poor client.

“Let me guess,” I said. “They’re no longer a client.”

“Yep, and we can say goodbye to anyone else being allowed to hold Josie ever. I’m pretty sure he ordered some custom bubble wrap to cocoon her in until she turns eighteen.”

Poor girl. Having Dante Russo as her dad was both a blessing and a curse.

With Xavier’s help, I finished my dishes in a reasonable amount of time. Crispy rosemary garlic roast potatoes and pineapple-glazed ham—both perfect. It kind of pissed me off how easily I’d nailed them without trying when I did try with the scallops and had gotten nowhere.

“Can I bring some back for Sloane?” Xavier asked around a mouthful of ham. “She’ll kill me if I don’t.”

“Go ahead. It’s all yours.”

“Sweet.”

I was cleaning up when I received a phone call. It was from Mount Sinai.

I answered immediately, my heart pinging with alarm. Xavier gave me a concerned stare as the woman on the other end identified herself as a nurse.

“We’re calling about your mother,” she said. “There’s been an incident.”

Half an hour later, I rushed into my mother’s hospital room, my skin clammy with dread. I couldn’t get a hold of my father, who was in London for business this week, and I’d declined Xavier’s offer to come with me. They had their own business to take care of, and I didn’t want them to see behind my family’s shiny veneer. I hated pity.

My mother was sitting up in her bed when I arrived. “Oh, Sebastian.” She sighed. “I told them not to call you.”

“What happened?” I demanded. “Are you okay?”

Other than a few cuts and bruises, she looked intact. Still, I scanned her frantically, searching for any injuries I might’ve missed.

“I’m fine,” she assured me. “I was at a charity planning lunch with Buffy Darlington. We’re on the board of the Wildlife Preservation Fund together. Anyway, I may have had a few too many drinks, and I crossed the street without looking. A car turned the corner and…” She shrugged. “Here I am.”

A headache pulsed behind my temple. “You got hit by a car, and you say you’re fine?”

“I am! And I didn’t get hit. He was going so slow that it was more like a light tap.” My mother switched to her native French, which she always did when she was annoyed. “Everyone’s making such a big deal out of nothing. I hope you didn’t call your father. This isn’t worth him flying back.”

Bruises aside, she did seem like herself, but my brain latched on to what she’d said earlier.

“I thought you were going to stop drinking during the day,” I said in English.

“I did. I mean, I am, but this was a social necessity. You try getting through a planning session with Buffy sans alcohol.” Her smile faded when I didn’t laugh. “Sebastian, I’m fine. I know how to control myself.”

Her reassurances refused to sink into my brain. There were too many memories lodged there, sounds and images of her sobbing and drinking the day away. She and my aunt had been incredibly close, and after my aunt passed due to brain cancer, she’d turned to alcohol to cope with the loss.

It hadn’t gotten bad enough for us to push for an intervention, but it’d set me on edge. I was always watching, keeping my eyes peeled for the moment she tipped over that invisible line.

It was a hard thing to gauge. What was a normal coping mechanism, and what wasn’t? But I knew firsthand how easy it was to get lost in the bottle. How beautifully it numbed the pain and how it quieted the voices in my head, if only for a few hours. I would’ve tumbled down a long, dark hole if That Night hadn’t dragged me back from the brink.

My mother’s expression softened as she examined me. “Are you thinking about Prague?”

I swallowed and gave a curt nod.

“Should we call Dr. Pratchett again? He was so helpful—”

“No.” It was my turn to shut down. “I don’t need to talk to him. I just need you to be careful, Maman. Okay?”

“I am.” Her joking exasperation vanished, replaced with a deep crease between her brows. “I know I went through a rough patch when your aunt died. I had a hard time over Christmas too, and I’ll probably continue having a hard time for a while. She was my sister and my best friend. Her death is not…” Her voice caught. “It’s not something I’ll ever truly get over, but I am doing better. Dr. Pratchett helped me work through a lot of what I was feeling, and even though I might drink more than usual sometimes, that doesn’t mean I’ll spiral. I know my limits. I promise.”

A lump formed in my throat. She sounded convincing, and perhaps she really was telling the truth. I’d been so paranoid after Prague that I kept reading too much into everything. Dr. Pratchett had flagged my overcorrection in that calm, non-judgmental way of his, and I’d listened—for the most part.

But this was different. This was my mother, and I’d rather be safe than sorry.

She took my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “If there’s one thing losing Colette taught me, it’s to never take anyone for granted,” she said. “It sounds cliché, but you never know when someone will be gone forever.” She gave me a small smile. “I’ll be here for a while, though. I wouldn’t do anything that would shorten my time with you and your father. I have so much left that I want to do—like crying at your wedding and holding my grandchildren.”

She was as subtle as a sledgehammer to the head.

A rusty laugh broke free. “Of course, you’d use this as another excuse to bug me about grandchildren.”

“Can you blame me? You’re my only child, Sebastian. I’d like to run around with my grandbabies and spoil them while I still have the energy.”

Yeah, she was perfectly fine and back to form.

I stayed for a while longer before the nurse came to tell us visiting hours were over. I talked to the doctor before I left, and she reassured me that my mother didn’t have any internal bleeding. She had to stay overnight for observation and see a physical therapist just in case, but otherwise, there were no red flags.

I walked out lighter than when I’d walked in, but something my mother said kept replaying in my head.

Never take anyone for granted… You never know when someone will be gone forever.

It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before, but for some reason, her words struck a new chord inside me.

I walked down the street, my feet taking me through the Upper East Side and down to Midtown. I wasn’t conscious of where I was going; I was simply following my instincts until I suddenly stopped and looked up at the building towering above me.

I was at the Singh Foods headquarters.

After a heartbeat of hesitation, I went in. My meeting with Maya wasn’t for another two days, but I had a temporary employee pass that was valid for the duration of our project.

I passed through security and took the elevators up to the executive floor. Everyone was used to seeing me around, and they were too busy with work to pay me much attention anyway.

The only person who stopped me was Ezra, her director of communications.

“Sebastian!” Surprise laced his voice. “I thought your meeting wasn’t until Friday.”

“It’s not, but I was in the neighborhood, and I needed a quiet place to work. Don’t tell anyone,” I added. “I know I’m only supposed to work on the collab when I’m here.”

His face cleared. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

He didn’t ask any more questions, and I slipped into the office without further interruption.

Now that I was here, I knew why I’d instinctively come to Singh Foods’ headquarters, but I had to wait until everyone was gone.

I lingered, my attention snagging on the whiteboard in the corner. It was covered with notes from our last brainstorming session.

Most of it didn’t make sense. We’d hit a roadblock, and Maya had doodled a bunch of cats along the bottom in the hopes that it would boost her creativity. I couldn’t make the connection between the cats and creativity, but my lips curved at the memory.

It was the end of the workday, so I didn’t have to wait long before everyone cleared out. Once they did, I stepped into the hall and walked to Maya’s office. Like the rest of the floor, it was empty.

You never know when someone will be gone.

I blamed the heightened emotions of the day for what I did next.

I slipped in, retrieved the small box I’d kept in my pocket for months—for no reason other than I couldn’t let go of it—and placed it in her desk drawer. I closed it with a firm click and walked away before I changed my mind.

It might be three months too late… but I wanted her to have it anyway.

CHAPTER 19

Maya

THE HOLIDAYS WERE OVER IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE. Christmas was a big deal in my family, so the weeks between Thanksgiving and New Year’s were jam-packed with endless parties, dinners, and festivals.

By the time I emerged from the champagne-soaked revelry with a hangover and one missing heel (thank you, New Year’s Eve blowout bash at the Vault), I’d made up my mind: no more parent-arranged dates. I’d find my own.

My grandmother had been right. I’d gotten too comfortable with being alone, and it was time I pushed myself out of my comfort zone.

So, I went on dates. Lots of them, with men I met at the café and the bar and out jogging in Central Park. By the time February rolled around, I had a contact list filled with suitors, many of whom were duds, but there were a few I wouldn’t mind going on a second date with.

Honestly, it was already better than last year’s batting average.

However, that didn’t stop my stomach from coiling into knots as I walked into work on Friday. Sebastian and I had an in-person meeting scheduled for—I checked my watch—right now. It would be our first face-to-face since my birthday, and though I’d tried to put him out of my mind since then, all my anxieties came rushing back to the surface as I approached our shared office.

Breathe. There’s nothing to be nervous about.

We weren’t on bad terms. Our emails were perfectly cordial, and we’d even exchanged virtual greeting cards on Christmas. But I couldn’t forget the echoes of what happened—

Stop it.

Last year was last year. It was time to put the past behind me—including whatever vibes I thought I’d felt with Sebastian.

I reached our office. I braced myself and twisted the knob, expecting to see Sebastian’s rumpled hair and lazy smirk waiting for me inside.

“Sorry I’m late. I—” I stopped. The room was empty.

My brow furrowed. I scanned the office and spotted an orange Post-it note stuck to the table, right in front of my usual seat.

Can’t stay for today’s meeting. There’s a production emergency. I tried calling, but your phone was off. Email me, and we’ll reschedule. -Seb

I checked my phone. I’d forgotten to charge it last night, and it had, in fact, died during my commute.

A long, unsteady breath seeped through my lips. Relief and disappointment tugged at opposite ends of my emotions. Part of me was glad I wouldn’t have to face Sebastian and the unwanted emotions he inspired, but another part had foolishly looked forward to our reunion.

I wasn’t used to going this long without seeing Sebastian. He hadn’t attended any holiday parties, and though we usually spent New Year’s Eve with the Laurents, they’d decamped to St. Bart’s between Christmas and the start of the year.

I reread his note. Was there really a production emergency, or was he avoiding me? I couldn’t imagine him showing up only to bail at the last minute. If he came all the way here, he had to have a good reason for leaving.

At least, that was what I told myself.

Since our meeting was canceled, I left and went to my regular office across the floor instead. I hadn’t been here all week since I’d been busy with vendors offsite, and I barely had time to settle in before Ezra knocked on my door.

“Sorry to disturb you first thing in the morning,” he said when he walked in. “But I have the documents you asked for, and I wanted to make sure you got them before I’m pulled into back-to-back meetings all day.” He placed the manila folders on my desk.

My heart rattled. Adrenaline pulsed in my veins, but I kept my voice even. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.”

I waited until he was gone before I opened the folders with eager hands. I hadn’t forgotten about my Pittsburgh theory. The end of last year had been too busy for me to continue my investigation, but now that the frozen foods line was in production and we were making good progress on the launch event, I had a little more time to indulge my instincts.

I’d asked Ezra to compile all the internal communications regarding the Pittsburgh employee’s termination and subsequent arrest. I’d told him I was using them to create new standard operating procedures for similar cases in the future, and he’d bought it without question.

I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I was certain I was overlooking something. Although our contamination crisis was in the rearview mirror, it would always be a stain on the company’s otherwise spotless reputation—unless I cleaned it up.

For the rest of the morning, I alternated between actual work and poring over the documents.

I didn’t call Sebastian back, but I emailed him to reschedule our meeting.

By lunchtime, I’d gotten nowhere with my investigation. I blinked away the screen-induced fatigue in my eyes and stretched my arms over my head.

I was starving. I could grab a salad from my usual takeout spot, or… I could go to the ramen place Sebastian recommended last year. I didn’t know the name, but how many ramen spots could there be in the area?

I opened my desk drawer to grab some emergency bills just in case the restaurant was cash only. Most places took credit cards these days, but there were a number of holes-in-the-wall that clung to their old ways.

I reached for the cash bag in the back of the drawer, but I stilled when I noticed a small white box sitting atop some old marketing materials. It was tied with a blue ribbon, and it had definitely not been there last week.

Curiosity edged out my wariness.

I untied the ribbon and opened the box.

My breath caught. I retrieved the item inside and stared at it, my blood a dull roar in my ears.

There was no note, but I didn’t need one.

I knew exactly who’d put this here.

I didn’t speak to anyone about the gift, not even the person who’d given it to me. It was a conversation I wanted to have in person, but I’d have to wait since our next meet-up wasn’t for another week.

Until then, I needed to focus on something else—like the very cute, very present guy I was currently on a date with.

“I hope it’s not weird that I asked you out on Valentine’s Day,” Zack said. “It’s only our second date, so…”

“It’s not weird at all. It’s nice to have Valentine’s Day plans for once.” I winced. “Wow. I hope that didn’t make me sound like a total loser.”

Zack’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t think you could be a loser if you tried.”

I fought a rising blush and glanced around, hoping he didn’t pick up on my embarrassment. I liked him, but I hadn’t been on a second date in so long that I didn’t know how to handle second-date compliments.

It was the Wednesday after my canceled meeting with Sebastian, and Zack and I were having drinks at a beautiful Victorian-themed bar downtown. With its crystal chandeliers and ornate woodwork, the space was romantic enough to eschew the typical cheesy V-Day decor. However, it was running a holiday special, and the room was packed with couples taking advantage of both the ambiance and the two-for-one drinks.

“Let’s toast.” Zack held up his glass. “Here’s to discounted drinks and arriving early enough to snag a seat so we don’t have to stand.”

I laughed and clinked my glass against his. “Cheers to that.”

Zack and I met at Ayana’s holiday party in December. He was a photographer, which was usually a red flag because I’d dated photographers in the past and they all turned out to be fuckboys, but he’d been so funny and genuine that I ended up talking to him for most of the night. When he asked for my number, I gave it to him.

Our first date was last month. He took me ice skating at Bryant Park, which had been the perfect mix of cute and casual. He’d left for a photoshoot in the Caribbean afterward, but we’d kept in touch via text, and when he told me he was back in town, I’d readily agreed to a second date.

It was going well so far. I just wished I could focus on him instead of the million distractions tugging at my mind.

I brushed aside an errant thought about whether Sebastian had a date this Valentine’s Day and smiled at Zack. “You said you’re a big skier, right? What’s your favorite ski destination?”

“Good question.” He appeared to give it serious thought. “Probably Chamonix in France. St. Anton in Austria is a close second. If we’re talking about the U.S., Jackson Hole and Alta are always a good choice. What about you?”

“I know how to ski, but I’m not a big winter sports person,” I admitted. “Give me a beach and a Jet Ski any day.”

He grinned. “I can see you riding the hell out of a Jet Ski.”

I waited for him to pivot back to skiing or his recent assignment in Aruba, but he changed the topic completely.

“We’ve been talking a lot about me,” he said. “Tell me about you. What have you been up to since the last time we saw each other?”

I masked my surprise with a sip of my drink.

A guy who didn’t talk about himself all night. Now that was rare.

Once I recovered, I told him about my month so far. I tried to highlight only interesting stuff, but the truth was, I hadn’t done much except work, hang out with my friends, and mentally prepare myself for Radhika’s wedding, which started next weekend.

“The wedding is in India?” Zack asked.

I nodded. “I’ll be there for a week. It’s a long time to take off work, especially with everything I have going on, but weddings are a big deal in my family.”

“I can only imagine.” He cleared his throat, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “So, do you have a date for the big event?”

My pulse skipped. “What would you say if I didn’t?”

“I’d say… you could. If you wanted one.”

I swallowed the remainder of my drink, my mind spinning. I’d resigned myself to showing up without a date because spending a week in India together was a lot to ask of someone I wasn’t in an actual relationship with. But Zack seemed up for it, and he traveled so much for work that I wasn’t too worried about how he’d handle the trip.

“I definitely want one.” I paused. “Um, that was me asking if you’d like to be my date to the wedding. Just in case it wasn’t clear.”

A broad grin spread across his face. “It was, and I’m more than happy to be your plus-one. As long as you don’t snore during the flight, we’re golden.”

I laughed again, some of my anxiety loosening.

This was good. This was how flirting and dating should be—light and fun, with none of the breathlessness and tension I felt whenever I was around Sebastian.

STOP thinking about Sebastian. Think about Zack. Z-A-C-K. Zack.

Our conversation flowed easily for a while before I excused myself to use the restroom.

I pushed through the crowd, my cheeks flushed and my head light after three cocktails. I was the perfect amount of buzzed, but I did sober up a bit when I took in the long line snaking out of the upstairs bathroom.

“Excuse me.” I flagged a passing server. “Do you have another restroom I can use? Normally, I wouldn’t ask, but I really need to go. Please.”

The woman hesitated. I must’ve looked desperate because her eyes darted around before she admitted in a low voice, “There’s an employee bathroom downstairs. The stairs are behind that door. It’s unlocked. Don’t tell anyone I told you, or I’ll get in trouble.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “And I’m going to give you the biggest tip ever later. I swear!”

With that, I snuck through the door and rushed downstairs. None of the other patrons paid me any mind, and the staff was too busy to notice me trespassing.

Luckily, no one was downstairs. I used the facilities, washed my hands, and fixed my hair before I stepped out of the bathroom.

I made it halfway down the hall when someone cut me off.

It happened so quickly, I didn’t have time for more than a small gasp. One second, I was walking toward the stairs; the next, my back was pressed against the wall.

I stared up at the man in front of me, my heart in my throat.

“Sebastian.”

CHAPTER 20

Maya

WE DIDN’T TOUCH.

His body hovered inches from mine, his muscles visibly taut, but his heat sank beneath my skin like a living, breathing thing.

I should’ve pushed him away. My fingers curled at my side, but the impulse fizzled before I could act.

“What are you doing here?” My pulse drummed in my ears. “Don’t tell me you’re stalking me again.”

Sebastian tipped his chin so our gazes aligned. The dim lighting cast his face in warm ochre, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheekbones and the amused curve of his mouth. “I was never stalking you, Sal. My family owns this bar.”

Right. The Laurents’ portfolio included several high-end cocktail bars in addition to their restaurants. But that didn’t answer my question.

“Your family owns a lot of places,” I said. “Yet you keep showing up to the ones I’m at. Seems like an odd coincidence.”

“It’s a small island.”

“It’s a big city.”

His smile kicked up a notch. “You’re the one who keeps going to places that my family owns. I should ask if you’re stalking me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m on a date.”

“I can tell.”

His gaze flicked down the length of my body and back up again. The perusal lasted less than a second, but tingles erupted in its wake.

This wasn’t how I’d imagined our reunion. We were supposed to meet in a bright office, safe behind the veil of work—not alone in the dark hall of an intimate bar basement, our bodies so close I could almost count the beats of his heart.

On the surface, Sebastian looked the same. Same thick, wavy hair, same amber eyes, same full lips and devastating features. But after so much time apart, the intensity of his presence hit me like the first shot of espresso after months without caffeine—rich, heady, and utterly consuming.

“Who’s the unlucky guy?” he drawled, his tone bored. “Eventually, your mother will run out of men to set you up with.”

“This isn’t one of her set-ups. I met Zack at a holiday party, and we hit it off.” I forced a casual shrug, refusing to let him see how his sudden appearance affected me. “This is actually our second date.”

Something dangerous sparked in his eyes. “Is it?”

“Yes.” Despite my best efforts, a trace of breathlessness spilled out.

A brief silence hummed in its wake.

The front of his shirt grazed my chest, and I had to consciously slow my breathing so I didn’t press into him.

“I’m glad it’s working out,” Sebastian said.

“Me too.”

Our low voices hung in the space between us. I’d already been buzzed, but the longer I stayed, the drunker I got on the charged currents swirling through the air.

I attempted to wrangle my scattered thoughts into some semblance of coherence. My tongue darted between my lips, wetting them, but I regretted it when his eyes dropped to my mouth.

My heart renewed its insistent pounding.

“I found something interesting in my office last week.” I finally grasped on to a concrete thread of conversation.

“Yeah?” Sebastian drawled.

“Yeah. It was a necklace.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It is.” I held his gaze. “Any idea who might’ve left it there?”

“None.”

His breath brushed my lips, and a shiver coursed down my spine.

“Who’s the bad liar now?” I whispered.

Another curve of his mouth, this one nearly imperceptible.

He kept his eyes locked on mine as he reached up and slid a thumb across the delicate gold chain around my neck. His touch was warm against my flushed skin, and the air thickened as he gently freed the locket from beneath my bodice.

He opened it with a soft click.

I didn’t look down; the image was already etched into my brain.

It was a picture of me standing onstage after beating Sebastian in our university’s annual student debate. It was one of the greatest moments of my life, but I never got an official winner’s photo.

Less than a minute after receiving my trophy, I’d succumbed to a nasty case of food poisoning (courtesy of that night’s dinner) and thrown up all over myself. I’d been both humiliated and devastated, and the fact that I never took my winner’s photo had haunted me all these years. Sebastian had beaten me every year prior, and that was the only chance I’d had to commemorate my victory.

The picture in the locket was a candid of me taken literally seconds before the Great Vomit Debacle. I was smiling at the dean, my trophy in one arm and a bouquet of congratulatory flowers in the other. My face glowed so brightly, it made my heart ache.

All these years, I never knew such an image existed.

But it did, and he’d held on to it this entire time.

Until now.

Sebastian held the locket in his palm and traced the edge of it with his thumb. “You were so happy when you won,” he said quietly. “I’ve never seen you smile that big before.”

“It was a great night until…”

“Disaster struck,” he finished, a gleam of laughter in his eyes. “Were you that happy because you won? Or because you won over me?”

“Both.”

“Hmm.”

My breath suspended in my throat when he closed the locket and slowly, carefully tucked it back under my dress’s neckline. His touch lingered, and little bolts of electricity filled my blood like static.

“How did you get that picture?” Keep talking. Talking is safe.

“I took it.”

“Sebastian.”

His mouth quirked. “What can I say? I had a camera and great timing.”

“But you held on to it for years without telling me. Why…” My mouth went dry when he released the necklace and rested his hand lightly on my waist. “Why did you give it to me now?”

The heat from his palm seared through my dress. I was burning all over, like my bones had liquified and I was seconds away from collapsing.

“I wanted you to have it.” Sebastian spoke so softly I almost didn’t hear him. His smile was gone. “It was supposed to be your birthday gift.”

My heart pulsed at his admission. I knew he wouldn’t have gotten me something as generic as a gift card. “Why did you change your mind?”

“I had three months to think.”

“And?” The drumbeat in my ears pounded harder.

Sebastian’s silence spoke louder than words.

Another shiver rippled through me when he slid his palm up the curve of my waist with tender, agonizing slowness. The thin layer of cashmere separating his skin from mine might as well not exist.

The faint thump of music and laughter seeped through the door and down the stairs, but it was nothing more than background noise.

I was dizzy with want, my body flushed and aching as Sebastian’s hand skimmed over my shoulder.

My lids grew heavy with desire, my breaths shallowing.

He pressed his forehead against mine, and I could feel the tension vibrating off him. It was in his slow, controlled exhales, in the restraint of his touch and the banked heat simmering between us.

With each breath, our lips brushed each other—barely. It wasn’t so much a kiss as it was the suggestion of one, but it made my head spin.

A soft moan slipped out when he curled his hand around my nape.

Hand against neck.

Skin against skin.

It wasn’t overtly sexual, but every muscle in my body tightened in response. My nipples hardened, and a flame pulsed to life between my legs. I was so lost in the sensation that I barely heard Sebastian’s low groan.

I instinctively arched my hips against his, seeking more friction. His arousal pressed against my core, and my moan turned into a whimper.

He cursed, his grip tightening around my neck.

“What changed?” His harsh tone pierced through my daze.

The abrupt shift jarred my eyes open. He stared at me, his own eyes tortured and dark with frustration.

“What do you mean?” My voice was husky, my body still thrumming even as my brain scrambled to catch up with what was happening.

“This.” He gestured between us. “What changed?”

Confusion doused the remaining embers of heat. I went cold all over. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. He opened his mouth right as the door banged open, and footsteps clattered down the stairs.

“Oh, shit.” A guy in a black bartender’s uniform flinched when he noticed Sebastian. “I’m so sorry, boss. Just, uh, pretend I’m not here.”

He ran into the bathroom. The sounds of him using it effectively ruined the moment, though there wasn’t much of it left to ruin.

I wanted to hear what Sebastian was about to say before we were interrupted, but when I turned my head again, he was already gone.

CHAPTER 21

Sebastian

SHE CONSUMED ME.

I’d spent months avoiding her, but one errant glimpse, and I unraveled at the fucking seams.

My appearance at the bar was supposed to have been a simple drop-in. Valentine’s Day was a big day for business, and I usually spent it checking in on key places in our portfolio to get a feel for the crowd. I’d already visited four spots before I swung by the Velvet Apothecary.

Then I walked in, and there she was.

Maya was clearly on a date, and she’d been so engrossed in her conversation that she hadn’t noticed my appearance.

I should’ve left immediately, but nothing prepared me for the hot, irrational spike of jealousy that lodged in my chest. I’d seen her on dates before, but this time was different. This time, she looked… happy, and the sight of her genuinely smiling at someone else hit me like a punch to the gut.

I wanted her to be happy, but I wanted her to be happy with me. No one else. I didn’t care if that was selfish or fucked up.

And even though I knew she had a deadline for finding a husband, and I had no right to stop her, I’d sought her out. I’d talked to her when I should’ve stayed away. Baited her when I should’ve kept things neutral.

Touched her when I’d known it would ruin me.

My jaw tensed. I stared at the clock, watching the minutes tick toward three.

A week had passed since the bar incident. I’d left before I did something I’d really regret, but she still haunted my every waking moment. My every sleeping one too.

And now, I had to see her and pretend everything was normal.

I drummed my fingers against the table. Restlessness wound tight inside me.

I’d arrived early to get my bearings before our meeting. Maya wasn’t here yet, but I saw her vividly in my mind’s eye—the heavy-lidded sensuality of her gaze and the way she’d pressed into me, her body language all but begging me to give her what we both desperately wanted.

It was almost enough to make me forget why I’d stayed away all these years.

Almost.

Two minutes to three.

I should’ve canceled today’s meet-up, but I’d already missed our last one because of a production emergency. There’d been a spinach shortage for the quiche recipe, and one of the managers had substituted it with fucking kale before someone else caught it and alerted me. We’d had to scrap that entire batch.

One minute to three.

Maya should be here by now. She was the one who always said being on time was the equivalent of being late, and—

The door opened.

My drumming stopped. I leaned back and schooled my face into a neutral expression as Maya walked in, bundled up in a long coat and scarf. She’d styled her hair into a braid again, and I curled my fingers against the sudden urge to tug it loose so I could run my hand through the silken strands.

“You’re late,” I said.

“You’re early.”

I almost smiled at the reversed roles of our first meeting at the Valhalla Club, but the flare of amusement vanished when she shrugged off her coat and scarf and took the seat across from mine.

Awkward silence descended, punctuated by a fleeting memory of her soft moan.

I removed my hand from the table and fisted it against my thigh.

“Did you fix the production issue?” Maya broke the silence first, her expression unreadable.

I gave a short nod. “I’ve also finalized the menu for the launch party. The starred courses are the frozen foods; the non-starred ones are the regular meals.” I slid the paper across the table.

While she studied it, my gaze dipped unconsciously to her neck. No locket.

A pang hit my chest before I brushed it off. It wasn’t like I’d expected her to wear it after I’d abandoned her at the bar.

Perhaps I could’ve handled my departure more tactfully, but I’d been a heartbeat away from falling apart. If the bartender hadn’t interrupted us, I would’ve tossed away years of careful restraint for one taste of her. My pride, the delicate balance of our relationship—all gone out the window.

Maybe it would’ve been worth it if she hadn’t been drunk, but if I was going to take that risk, I wanted her to know exactly what she was doing and who she was doing it with. I needed to know what, if anything, had changed. Otherwise, I was simply setting myself up for hurt again.

She couldn’t give me an answer, so here we were.

My shoulders tensed again when she glanced up from the menu. “Looks good.”

We discussed a few outstanding items regarding the launch party before we lapsed into silence again. The clicking of our keyboards filled the room, but the underlying quiet was so oppressive, it was hard to breathe.

I stared at the screen, trying to focus on the guest list instead of the subtle whiff of Maya’s perfume. I was acutely aware of her presence even without looking at her—the slight tilt of her head, the periodic pause in her movements. She would stop typing, and I’d have to clamp down on my desire to speak.

“That’s it.” Maya slammed her laptop shut halfway through the session, her face etched with frustration. “We have to talk.”

I raised a questioning brow even as my chest loosened with relief.

Thank God. If I had to sit through one more minute of this torture, I’d combust.

“Last week at the bar.” A hint of color darkened her cheekbones before she gathered her composure again. “What were you talking about when you asked me what changed?”

The question took me aback. I’d assumed she hadn’t remembered at the time because she’d been intoxicated, but when I searched her face, true confusion shone through.

My teeth ground together. I wasn’t sure what pissed me off more—the fact that she was lying, because I had concrete proof she knew what I was talking about, or the prospect that she really had forgotten, and that it’d meant so little to her when it’d meant so much to me.

“If you have to ask, then it doesn’t matter.” I shrugged even as something inside me cracked. I covered it up with a cool smile, my mask firmly in place.

I didn’t enjoy making a fool out of myself, and I certainly wouldn’t do it twice, especially not in front of Maya.

I still remembered how I’d felt the first and only time I’d allowed myself to be that vulnerable with her—raw and exposed, like someone had peeled back my skin to reveal that I was made of flesh and bone like everyone else. I wasn’t special, and I wasn’t immortal. When someone rubbed salt in my wounds, the sting was equally sharp—perhaps even more so, because I had to pretend it wasn’t.

Maya’s face tightened. “We’re too grown to be playing these games, Sebastian. You and I both know—” She stopped, her cheeks flushing again. “You know what? Never mind. If you want to continue this hot-and-cold act like a child, then fine. But don’t expect me to indulge you anymore.”

I barked out a laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you keep going on these dates with these insipid men, pretending you give a shit about any of them, when you know deep down that you don’t. You accuse me of blowing hot and cold? Fine. But at least I’m not the one stringing people along because I’m afraid I’m falling behind in some invisible race that I never signed up for in the first place. You can use your parents’ ultimatum as an excuse, but you’ve been fooling yourself long before that.”

Maya’s nostrils flared. “They’re not insipid, and I’m not stringing people along. I’m trying to find someone who’s a good match. It’s called stepping out of my comfort zone. You should try it sometime.”

I have, and it didn’t work out too fucking well, did it?

“That’s not hard when your comfort zone is two feet wide,” I said. “Are you honestly trying to tell me that Zeke is your idea of a ‘good match’?”

I couldn’t hear their conversation at the bar, but I could tell just by looking at him that he had the spine of a jellyfish. Maya would eat him alive.

“His name is Zack, and that’s exactly what I’m saying. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have agreed to a second date with him.” Her chin jutted out with defiance. “In fact, I’m bringing him to Radhika’s wedding.”

This time, the spike of jealousy was so sharp, it pierced clean through my armor. My smile flickered for a second before I recovered. “I guess I’ll see him there. I can’t wait to meet him.”

Maya clutched her pen, her knuckles white. “You’re going.”

“Of course.”

Maya’s cousin’s wedding was a big deal. Everyone I knew was flying to India for the festivities, and my family was no exception.

“Who are you going with?” Her tone was even, but I spotted a hint of unidentifiable emotion in her eyes before she smothered it.

“No one you know.” I hadn’t planned on bringing a date, but I might have to change my tune. The thought of watching her waltz around with Zeke all night while I flew solo made my blood simmer with something green and ugly.

“Yet I feel sorry for her already.”

“Not as sorry as I feel for Zeke—or you. A week is a long time to waste on something that’ll never get past the starting gate.”

She didn’t bother correcting me on his name again. “I’m not wasting my time. Like I said, I wouldn’t have asked him to be my plus-one if I didn’t like him. He’s cute, nice, agreeable—”

“So are puppies, but you probably don’t want to marry one.”

Cute? Nice? Agreeable? She might as well slip NyQuil in her drink and call it a day.

“There’s that Laurent arrogance,” Maya said. “You still think you know me so well.”

“I do.”

Her eyes glittered with challenge. “Then please. Enlighten me.”

“Fine.” I ticked off my points on my fingers. “You hate yes men, so you want someone who’ll support you, but who’ll also call you out on your bullshit when it inevitably arises. You need someone who’s not afraid of your ambition and who won’t be intimidated by your success. Their intellectual curiosity should match yours, and they need to hold their own in a conversation because you fucking love to argue, but you can’t respect anyone who doesn’t give as good as they get. You’re not just looking for a partner, you’re looking for an equal, but the reason your search has failed so far is because you have no equals. The best you can hope for is someone who can keep up with you, but I regret to inform you that Zack the Bleached Blond is not it—no matter how much you try to convince yourself he is.”

Maya stared at me, her breaths heavy in the ensuing silence.

“There you have it,” I said, my tone deceptively casual. “I could go into more detail, but then I’d have to charge you. I don’t work for free.”

Her grip on her pen tightened further.

“Sometimes,” she said, her voice quiet. “I really hate you.”

I turned back to my computer, my chest cold. “I know.”

After our meeting, I went straight to the Valhalla Club. I steered clear of the bar and chose to brood in the club’s members-only restaurant instead.

However, I only got a few minutes to myself before someone slid into the chair opposite mine.

“You look like shit,” Dante said.

I snorted, my hand toying absently with my glass. I wished it were filled with wine instead of water, but I’d learned the hard way that drinking alcohol when I was this keyed up hurt more than it helped. “Is there a reason you’re choosing to sit with me when there are half a dozen empty tables around us, or is my company that scintillating?” I asked.

“‘Scintillating’ isn’t the word I’d use,” he said, his tone dry. “I came to grab a quick bite when I saw you here—looking like shit. Figured you could use a distraction.” He paused when the server came by to take his order. After the man left, he asked, “What has you moping around the club on a Tuesday afternoon?”

“Nothing important.”

“If it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t be moping.”

“I’m not moping.”

“Yes, you are.”

This time, I was the one shooting him an irritated glare. “It’s rude to invite yourself to someone’s table and then badger them about their troubles.”

“So you do have troubles.”

I could’ve sworn he’d been less insufferable before he got married. Pre-Vivian Dante would not have given a shit about other people’s “troubles” unless they intersected with his in some way.

However, since he was here and clearly didn’t have plans to leave anytime soon, I might as well take advantage. “You didn’t like Vivian when you first got engaged, right?”

Wariness spread across his face. “It was a complicated situation. But no, I didn’t.”

“And she didn’t like you.”

“No,” he said, more grumpily.

“So how did you go from hating each other to falling in love and having a kid?”

Dante frowned, his expression pensive. He appeared to give my question actual thought before he answered. “It didn’t happen overnight. It wasn’t like a switch flipped one day, and we were suddenly in love. It took months before I admitted to myself that I might not hate her, and it took even more time for me to tell her that.”

“Did you know how she was going to react before you told her?”

“No one ever knows when it comes to this stuff, and if they say they do, they’re lying.”

“What would you have done if she didn’t feel the same?”

I was turning our meal into an interrogation, but I couldn’t ask anyone else these questions. Xavier would see right through me, and my other friends had different dynamics with their partners. Dante’s situation wasn’t the same as mine, but his came the closest.

“Why would you ask me that?” His scowl returned. “That’s fucked up.”

“It’s a hypothetical. Indulge me.”

He looked like he was seriously regretting his decision to sit with me, but after a long pause, he said, “If I sensed that she had even a bit of affection toward me—which she did—I would’ve tried to change her mind. That was basically what I had to do after we ran into some, ah, obstacles during our engagement.”

“You mean when she found out you used her as a pawn to take down her father?”

Dante glared at me. “For someone who’s grilling me like this is a fucking job interview, you’re being a real pain in my ass.” He released a long, controlled breath and said, more calmly, “The point is, I put aside my pride and did what I needed to do to win her back. Because I loved her that much.”

I drank silently and turned his words over in my head. They made sense, but they weren’t applicable to me.

All that time, only for me to hit another dead end.

Dante eyed me. “Why do you ask? Did you fall in love, Laurent?”

“No.” My laugh rang a little hollow for my liking. “I was curious, that’s all. Love isn’t for me.”

“Hmm.” He picked up his wine, his expression knowing. “That’s what I told myself at first too.”

CHAPTER 22

Sebastian

RADHIKA SINGH’S WEDDING TO HER EQUALLY WEALTHY fiancé took place in Jaipur, a city located in the northwestern state of Rajasthan. Also known as the “Pink City” for its trademark pink and red sandstone buildings, it was the perfect host for one of the year’s most anticipated social events.

The weeklong festivities started with a welcome dinner on Thursday, two days after my meeting with Maya. That segued into a whirlwind of themed parties, musical performances, and formal ceremonies held at various venues throughout the city. However, the highlight of the week was undoubtedly the grand reception. It took place on the lavish grounds of the equally lavish palace hotel where half the guests were staying, and the wedding planning team had managed to turn the outdoor venue into a temporary indoor one large enough to fit two thousand guests.

Between the structured roof and walls, multiple performance stages, and wall-to-wall flooring, I almost forgot we were technically inside a tent instead of an actual ballroom.

“Sebastian!” Maya’s father found me on the east side of the tent, watching a live artist paint scenes from the revelries in real time. Their details were so exquisite, they could pass for photographs. “How are you enjoying the party?”

“It’s great. There’s no wedding like a Singh wedding,” I said smoothly.

He smiled, his mustache bristling with pride. “That’s true.” He lowered his voice. “Priya’s wedding will be even better than this. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

Maya obviously got her competitive spirit from her dad.

The thought of her tugged hard at my chest. I’d caught glimpses of her throughout the week, but there were so many people and so much going on that I hadn’t gotten the chance to… what, apologize? Make amends? Set aside my pride like Dante had with Vivian and tell her the truth?

Another wave of restlessness rolled through me, but I regrouped and continued to make small talk with Neel.

“I’m happy to see the collaboration is going well,” he said. “Your father is also quite happy with the progress.”

“Is he.” It wasn’t a question.

My father and I hadn’t discussed work since I walked into his office and forced him to give in to my demands. In fact, we hadn’t discussed much at all. My mother acted as our buffer, her chatter about physical therapy and the latest society gossip covering up the underlying tension between us.

Neel believed my father was happy with the progress we were making, but I knew he was just waiting for me to fail with the launch event.

“Of course.” Maya’s father gave me a speculative look. “Everyone is excited for the launch event. It looks like it’s shaping up to be quite a night.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. “I’m excited for it as well.”

He had to know about my deal with my father. They were best friends. But I couldn’t tell by his tone whether he was rooting for me to fail or succeed, or if he cared at all.

He glanced over my shoulder and flinched. “Uh-oh. Incoming,” he said. “Nice talking to you, Seb. Good luck.”

With that, the Fortune 500 CEO—one of the most powerful businessmen in the world—bolted off like the hounds of hell themselves were after him.

I understood why a second later, when Maya’s grandmother glided over. She was decked out in a richly embroidered saree and glittering heaps of jewelry.

“Sebastian,” she said. “Just the person I was looking for.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Gupta. You look wonderful. Green is your color,” I said with a smile. “How can I help?”

“Hmm. You were always a smooth talker.” She clucked her tongue, but she blushed with pleasure, nonetheless. “I hope you’re enjoying the festivities?”

“Of course. Like I was telling Mr. Singh, there’s—”

“No wedding like a Singh wedding. Yes, yes.” She waved a hand in the air. “I have to admit, this is quite the spectacle. However, you’ll never believe what happened earlier.”

A thread of amusement wound through me. “What?”

“I lost one of my rings.” Maya’s grandmother held out her hand. It was positively weighed down by gold. “It was a beautiful ruby that my late husband bought for my birthday. I’m absolutely devastated.”

“I see. I assume it has as much sentimental value as the diamond earring you lost at Maya’s birthday?”

“Why, yes! It does!” She beamed, her smile suspiciously bright for someone who was absolutely devastated. “Could you be a dear and help me find it? I last saw it somewhere near the dance floor.” She pointed toward the floor in question. “I hate to ask, but you were so helpful with the diamond earring.”

“I didn’t find the earring,” I pointed out. I suspected she’d never lost it to begin with, but I wasn’t dumb enough to say that out loud.

“No, but you helped rule out the conservatory, which made Diya’s search easier later,” she said without missing a beat.

I glanced at the dance floor, torn. I would bet my last dollar Maya was over there.

Her grandmother was obviously trying to set us up, but I couldn’t figure out how I felt about it. Our history was too complicated for a simple matchmaking scheme to smooth it over.

And yet…

“I’m happy to help, Mrs. Gupta,” I said. “I hope I have better luck finding the ruby than the diamond.”

“Wonderful. I hope so too.” Her eyes twinkled as she patted my arm. “Take as much time as you need. I’m going to make myself feel better at the dessert station.”

She left, and I pivoted in the other direction, toward the dance floor.

I passed by my parents, who were deep in conversation with some of my father’s business associates and their wives. Dante and Vivian stayed home because Josie was still sick, but I spotted a few of my other friends in the crowd—Vuk taking photos of Ayana in the corner, Dominic and Alessandra swaying to one of the musical performances, Kai and Isabella piling up their plates at the various food stations, which served everything from biryani to chaat and kebabs.

I didn’t stop to say hi to any of them.

My vision had tunneled to the dance floor, and my heart beat faster the closer I got.

But even with her grandmother’s assistance, it was difficult to pick Maya out in the crowd of whirling, dazzling dancers. I had no idea what she was wearing or whether she’d moved on in the time it took for me to get here. Every time I thought I saw her, another guest spun past, blocking my view.

The music pressed in on me. My heartbeat escalated in sync with the crescendo as I scanned the floor, driven by the sudden urgency to find her.

Just minutes ago, I hadn’t been sure whether I wanted to talk to her, but now that I was here, and she was hypothetically within reach, I couldn’t not see her. I needed it more than I needed my next breath.

I pushed forward blindly, oblivious to the people bumping into me or stepping on my feet. Frustration chafed beneath my skin.

A group of shrieking teenagers passed by, obscuring my vision.

Then the crowd parted… and there she was.

I stopped, slightly breathless despite having barely moved.

Maya was dancing with her sisters about half a dozen feet away. The music’s heavy bass drowned out her laughter, but it was evident in her smile, in the sparkle in her eyes and the glow on her face. Her hair cascaded down her back in a shining dark waterfall, and the intricate crystal pattern dotting her lehenga glittered like a map of fallen stars. Her jewels flashed beneath the lights; her billowing skirt swayed with every movement.

The other guests spun and twirled around us to the escalating drumbeats, but despite the frenzy of color and music, she was the sole star in my universe. The only focus of my attention.

She was beyond ethereal, and I hadn’t seen her this happy since she beat me in our university debate. I’d forgotten how brightly her joy dazzled, or how devastating it was to my self-control.

When she smiled like that, I had the unsettling feeling that I’d do anything to have her look at me in the same way.

Neha’s gaze landed on me. She whispered something to Maya, who turned right as I came within earshot. I greeted her sisters with customary politeness, but I barely noticed when they made their excuses and left.

They disappeared, and suddenly, it was only the two of us.

The world stilled. The music muted, and everything else fell away as our eyes locked.

Maya’s smile faded, but a hint of color bloomed across her cheeks as the moment stretched taut around us.

Maybe it was the setting, a special kind of wedding magic, or the inevitable result of celebrating love for a week straight, but our argument last week seemed like a lifetime ago. The anger, the uncertainty, the jealousy—they blinked out of existence, one by one, until I was left with nothing but the desire to see her smile again.

“Your grandmother sent me on a mission again,” I said. “She lost a ruby ring.”

“Did she?” Maya’s eyebrows arched. “She’s gone her whole life without losing a single piece of jewelry, yet she’s managed to lose two in the past four months. Strange.”

“Very.”

Silence fell again, thick with words unspoken.

“You look beautiful,” I said, more quietly. The term didn’t come close to encapsulating the effect she had on me, but it was safe. Neutral.

For now, it’d have to do.

“Thank you. So do you.” The color on her cheeks darkened into a dusty rose. “I mean, you look nice.”

“Demoted from beautiful to merely nice?” I placed a hand over my heart. “I’m hurt, Sal.”

“You can take it. Your ego needed the reality check.”

I smiled at our brief return to form before I remembered something that’d been nagging at me all week. “Where’s your date?”

Zeke, Zack—whatever his name was—was an idiot for leaving her alone. It was further proof he didn’t deserve her, not that he ever had.

Maya hesitated. “I didn’t end up bringing him,” she admitted. “Where’s yours?”

“I didn’t bring one.”

She swallowed. “Oh.”

Oh was right. I shouldn’t read too much into her decision to attend solo, but my pulse insisted on hammering the point home anyway.

She was here, she was single, and she was mine—at least for the moment.

The music segued into a slower Hindi love song, and I held out my hand before I could change my mind. “May I?”

Maya’s eyes flared with surprise. After a single, suspended beat, she took my hand and stepped closer.

We instinctively fell into sync, our steps flowing effortlessly as we glided across the dance floor. Her hand fit mine perfectly, and its soft warmth sent a jolt of heat through me.

“I just realized this is our first ever dance together,” she said.

“That’s not true.”

Her brow creased.

“Senior year of boarding school,” I said. “Our Model UN club went to Spain for a competition. We had a bonfire on the beach afterward, and—”

“We got so drunk, we stole the speakers from some truck in the parking lot and blasted old nineties songs the entire night,” Maya finished. A reminiscing smile graced her lips. “I almost forgot about that. Andy Kim nearly drowned after Neville Grafton threw up on him in the middle of a Backstreet Boys number, and he ran into the ocean to clean himself.”

“He was so mortified. I think he had a crush on you.”

“Who, Andy or Neville?”

“Both.” I didn’t blame them. She was magnificent.

Maya wrinkled her nose. “Everyone was so off-key that night except for you. You would’ve made a great boy band member.”

“I like to think so. Minus the frosted tips—they’re not really my style.” My mouth quirked up. “Anyway, I distinctly remember us killing the choreography to an NSYNC song.”

She snorted out a laugh. “If by ‘killing the choreography,’ you mean embarrassing ourselves, then yes. But we didn’t dance together. We danced near each other.”

“Close enough.”

We danced in silence for a while, letting the music carry us. The singer’s sensual vocals wove through the soft twangs of the sitar and mirrored the gentle sway of our bodies.

I wanted to sink into the moment and pretend everything was okay, but I’d only be fooling myself. Until we cleared the air, there would always be a barrier between us, and I couldn’t let that stand.

“About the last few weeks.” I exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved. It wasn’t right or fair.”

Maya tilted her chin up so our gazes aligned. Shock swam across her face. “Did you just apologize to me?”

“Yes, but let the record show you did it first at the Vault last summer. I’m simply balancing the scales.”

“Of course you are.” She shook her head, but her words lacked their usual bite. When she spoke again, her voice was soft. “I didn’t tell you earlier, but thank you for the locket. It’s one of the most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received.”

“You’re welcome.”

That photo of Maya after the debate was one of my favorites. At the time, I’d been irritated about losing, but when I saw how giddy she’d been, I couldn’t resist taking a quick snapshot of the moment. She was so conscious of the way she presented herself, but the best parts of her shone through when she thought no one was looking.

I could’ve given her the photo years ago, but it’d never felt right.

This time… it felt right.

“Out of curiosity, why didn’t you bring your date?” she asked.

People swarmed around us, and I realized belatedly that the song had ended. The DJ was taking a quick intermission, but we lingered on the dance floor, our hands still clasped together.

Despite her casual tone, I could almost hear her heart beating as she looked at me—or maybe that was my own pulse, racing from the sudden charge in the air.

I could lie. I was good at it, and I was better acquainted with falsehoods than I was with the truth.

But I was sick of the lies, and I was tired of pretending.

I kept my eyes fixed on hers when I finally answered, my voice low. “She wasn’t the one I wanted to be here with.”

CHAPTER 23

Maya

SEBASTIAN’S WORDS HUNG IN THE AIR.

The ensuing silence was so pure, so absolute, that my ears rang from the clarity.

She wasn’t the one I wanted to be here with.

“So who did you want to be here with?” The question slipped out with a touch more breathlessness than I would’ve liked.

For the past week, my mind had churned out dozens of images of what Sebastian’s date might look like—statuesque blondes, sultry brunettes, voluptuous redheads. There’d been no Stop button, and after all that mental energy, it turned out the date didn’t exist at all.

I hated the tingle of relief in my chest.

“That’s not how this works, Sal,” Sebastian murmured. His grip was firm and steady, and I couldn’t pull away even though I knew I should. “One question per person. It’s my turn.” His eyes bored into mine. “Why didn’t you bring your date?”

My mouth dried, the truth hovering on the tip of my tongue.

I really had planned on bringing Zack. After my fight with Sebastian, I’d gone home, updated my RSVP, and sent Zack the wedding itinerary.

But in the end, I’d chickened out and canceled, saying it was too late for me to add a plus-one. I would’ve brought him mainly to spite Sebastian, and that wasn’t fair.

I knew deep down he was just a placeholder because when I pictured myself dancing with someone, I didn’t see Zack, Nikhil, or any of the dozens of men I’d been on dates with.

I saw dark hair and amber eyes, tanned skin and an infuriating smirk. I heard the trace of a French accent and the familiar cadence of a lazy drawl. Anything else felt wrong, like I was trying to squeeze into shoes that were a size too small.

And that scared the crap out of me because I was not supposed to feel this way about Sebastian Laurent. I couldn’t. It went against the natural order of things.

“Zack couldn’t make it.” I forced the truth back down. “Work.”

Sebastian’s eyes flickered. “You’re lying again.” It was a gentle reproach, but with one look, I felt like he could dig beneath my skin and uncover all my secrets.

The DJ returned from his break. Music blasted again, muffling the rising panic in my thoughts, but pressure ballooned behind my ribcage like a bubble on the verge of popping. The walls seemed to close in on me, and my breaths came out in short, shallow bursts.

“I need—I need air.” I yanked my hand out of his and shoved my way through the newly gathered crowd, my ears ringing. The other guests melded into a blur of bright colors and warped laughter.

I kept moving, too afraid to stop, until I burst out of the tent and into the open night.

I gasped in a lungful of fresh air, and another, and another, until my heart slowed and the world steadied.

Eventually, my vision cleared, revealing the gardens separating the wedding tent from the main hotel. Ten-foot hedges lined the path to a small lake dotted with lily pads. Strings of fairy lights twinkled overhead, and the scents of jasmine and marigolds perfumed the air. A pale wash of silvery light cast an ethereal glow over the scene, but I couldn’t enjoy it. The soundproofed tent masked the party going on inside, and the sudden silence was disorienting.

“Maya.”

I spun around, my breath hitching again when Sebastian came into view. The darkness pooling near the hedges hid his expression until he stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. For once, he wasn’t wearing his trademark smirk.

“You shouldn’t have followed me.” I hated how my voice trembled. “I want to be alone.”

“Second lie of the night.” He stepped closer, his eyes smoldering with challenge. “Care to tell me another so we can make it an even three?”

“Stop it.” A burst of anger ignited in my chest. “I am so sick of you acting like you know everything all the time. Maybe I’m a liar, but at least I have the courage to give you an answer.” I held his gaze. “You never answered my question earlier, Sebastian. Who did you want to be here with?”

His jaw ticked.

“You can’t say because you’re either afraid or you don’t know.” Once I got started, I couldn’t stop. “You didn’t bring that poor girl because, what? You’re afraid of intimacy? She’s too easy, so you got bored? Or maybe it’s because you’re Sebastian Laurent, and no one can meet your impossible standards. How long did you string her along before you decided she wasn’t good enough?”

Sebastian remained silent, but his eyes darkened with each passing second. He was so still he could’ve passed for one of the marble statues dotting the gardens.

I forged ahead through the danger brewing in the air. “Tell me.” I couldn’t make sense of the emotion surging in my chest. Why should I care about Sebastian’s mysterious relationship with a girl I’d never met? But I did, and that pissed me off even more. “Does she know what happened at the bar on Valentine’s Day? Do you—”

“No!” The word exploded out of him with enough ferocity to stun me into silence. Restrained fury carved through his composure. “She doesn’t know, and I didn’t string her along because she never fucking existed. I never asked anyone to be my date. There’s your answer. Are you happy now?”

Just like that, my anger seeped out of me, leaving me hollow and confused. “Then why did you say you did?”

Sebastian’s harsh laugh singed the air. “For someone so smart, you can be so goddamn clueless.”

He took another step toward me. I swallowed, my nerves taking flight. He was so close I felt the heat radiating off his body. “I told you I had a date because you were going to bring that guy from the bar, and I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing you two together. So I lied.”

Despite the heat, goosebumps pebbled my skin. “That doesn’t make sense. You hate me.”

Another laugh, this one low and laced with frustration. “I never hated you, Sal,” Sebastian said. “Not once. Not ever.”

The ringing in my ears returned.

I was good at connecting the dots. I solved puzzles in my free time, and I played logic games for fun. But Sebastian had always been an enigma, and my brain couldn’t reconcile what he was saying with the long-standing preconception I’d had of our relationship.

He can’t mean…

“If I hated you, I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t—” He stopped, his throat working. “I never hated you,” he repeated. “Not even after what happened.”

It wasn’t his first time alluding to something I’d done in the past. It could be any of the thousand times I’d insulted or one-upped him, but I had a feeling he wasn’t referring to those. It was something deeper.

I tried to ask for clarification, but the question lodged painfully in my throat.

Instead, I stared up at him, my blood pounding. I’d known him forever, but this was my first time really seeing him. The honesty. The longing. The anguish that reached into my chest and twisted something deep inside me.

I saw him, and I’d never witnessed anyone or anything more beautiful.

“You said you wanted to be alone, so I’ll give you a choice. I can walk right back in that tent, and we’ll pretend this never happened. Or I can stay.” His eyes bored into mine. “What do you want, Sal?”

Once again, words refused to come out.

I felt like an observer of my own life. My brain was screaming at me to speak, move, do something, but I was utterly frozen.

“Tell me the truth. No more lies.” Sebastian’s breath whispered across my skin. “Do you want me to leave?”

A touch of vulnerability crept into his voice, and that was what undid me.

I kept my eyes on his as I slowly, deliberately shook my head no.

Time suspended for a long, agonizing moment.

Then his breath shuddered, and I barely had time to inhale before Sebastian crushed his mouth against mine.

The world upended. There was no other way to put it.

Everything I thought I knew—every certainty, every preconceived notion—flew out the window as Sebastian Laurent kissed me like a man starved… and I kissed him back.

I slid my fingers into his hair, reveling in its softness while he cupped the back of my head and deepened the kiss. He tasted like strawberries and whiskey, hunger and desperation, and I couldn’t get enough. It was like I’d had my first hit of sugar after a lifetime of deprivation, and I shamelessly lapped it all up.

My other hand fisted the front of his shirt. He was the only solid thing left in a sea of sensation, and if I didn’t hold on to him, I’d melt into a puddle right there at his feet.

I whimpered when Sebastian broke away to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the hollow of my throat. I wondered if he felt it, that wild flutter of a pulse gone rogue. My lungs burned, and each heartbeat was a drum of raw, aching need.

My fingers dug harder into his hair as he kissed his way up my neck. “You still think I hate you?” he murmured.

“No,” I gasped, my head falling back when he nipped a particularly sensitive spot behind my ear. Tingles exploded throughout my body.

A low groan rumbled from his throat. He dragged his mouth across my jaw, sending new bursts of electricity across my skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered. “T’as encore un meilleur goût que je ne l’imaginais, mon ange.”

His lips claimed mine again, and any questions I’d had about how long that was, exactly, floated away like dust in the wind.

It didn’t matter how many years we’d been rivals or how deeply I’d loathed him at one point in my life. None of that seemed real. There was only the grip of his hand in my hair and the slide of his tongue against mine. Everything else was swallowed up by a flood of desire.

I sighed, drunk on the moonlight and the potency of our kiss. It was diabolical, the way he shattered my every inhibition with one touch.

Sebastian’s free hand gripped my waist. I arched into him, urging him closer, desperate—

“Maya!”

My name drifted over on the wind.

I ignored it and continued the kiss. I needed—

“Maya, are you out here? Helloooo?”

The voice was now close enough for me to recognize Priya’s singsong cadence. My eyes flew open as the realization tossed an ice bucket of water over the moment.

Sebastian and I wrenched apart just in the nick of time. My sister rounded the corner, her face lighting up when she spotted me.

“There you are!” Her eyes were suspiciously bright. I wondered how many drinks she’d had after she left the dance floor. “I was looking all over for you. Radhika wants to get a picture with all the cousins, like, right now.”

“Okay,” I squeaked. I cleared my throat. “I mean, I’ll be right there.”

“Great!” She waved at Sebastian. “Hey, Seb.”

He gave her a grim smile, his face flushed.

Thank God Priya was so drunk. If she were sober, she might’ve questioned what we were doing alone in the gardens, our clothes rumpled and our chests heaving as we struggled to catch our breath.

As it stood, she didn’t ask any of those things. She grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the party, chattering the entire way about the celebrities she’d met that night.

I looked back at Sebastian. He hadn’t moved from his spot by the hedges.

Our eyes connected, and another breathless shiver rolled down my spine. I was so distracted I didn’t notice my dupatta slipping off my shoulder and fluttering to the ground.

Before I could say anything—a goodbye, maybe, or a “let’s talk later”—Priya pulled me into the tent, and chaos enveloped us once more.

CHAPTER 24

Maya

GROUP PICTURES TOOK UP THE NEXT HOUR. FIRST, IT was the cousins. Then we added the aunties and uncles. By the end, there were so many people crammed into the frame that the photographer had to break out his extra-wide-angle lens.

I noticed belatedly I was missing my dupatta, but I didn’t have time to look for it until after the pictures were done, and there was nothing left to do except more drinking and dancing. We’d already gotten through the formalities like the cake cutting and speeches, so I congratulated Radhika and her husband one last time and excused myself for the night.

It was late. The crowd had dwindled, but there was still a significant number of guests left. I scanned the tent for Sebastian, but I didn’t see him anywhere.

I felt a stab of disappointment.

I’d left my phone in my suite, and I didn’t know what his room number was. Even if I did, I wasn’t bold enough to seek him out like that yet.

Uncertainty mixed with a twinge of frustration.

Every time Sebastian and I made progress, someone or something interrupted us. It was like the universe got a kick out of throwing us together only to yank us apart—except tonight was different. We’d crossed the point of no return, and I didn’t know where to go from here.

I stepped out of the tent, my thoughts in turmoil. I had to pass through the gardens again to reach the hotel, and my gaze strayed to the spot where we’d kissed.

I half expected to see him standing there, his mouth curled into a lazy smirk as he made some smart-ass remark about what took me so long. But of course, he wasn’t. There was nothing except shadows and greenery.

I shook off another wisp of disappointment. Did you really expect him to wait? Why would he stay here when he had no idea whether I was coming back or not?

Still, his absence didn’t stop a surge of memories.

His hands. His lips. His voice.

T’as encore un meilleur goût que je ne l’imaginais, mon ange.

You taste ever better than I imagined, my angel.

If Priya hadn’t interrupted us…

My skin flushed hot and cold all over as a host of new images invaded my mind. Things we would’ve done—things I would’ve let him do—right here in the garden, potential witnesses be damned.

Need coiled low in my belly, and I picked up my pace until I was basically running. But no matter how fast I moved, I couldn’t outrun what happened.

One kiss, and Sebastian had imprinted himself on my mind forever.

I burst into the hotel lobby and beelined toward the elevators, keeping my head low in case one of the other guests tried to stop me for small talk. I was about to press the lift button when I spotted several of my aunties turning the corner.

Shit. If they saw me, they’d rope me into an hour-long gossip session about who did what at the wedding or, worse, grill me about why I’d shown up without a date.

I frantically looked around for a place to hide. My eyes landed on the door to the stairwell, and I rushed through it before they noticed I was there.

“Was that Maya?” I heard one of them say as the door closed behind me. “That looked like her lehenga.”

“Why would she be taking the stairs?” another scoffed. “You’ve been drinking too much…”

I breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator pinged, and their voices disappeared. That’d been a close call.

However, I only made it up one flight of stairs when I heard footsteps behind me.

I tensed again. I whirled around, bracing myself for a confrontation with my aunties or a serial killer. I wasn’t sure which would be worse.

As it turned out, I was wrong on both accounts.

My heart pulsed when I saw Sebastian at the bottom of the stairs, my dupatta in hand. He must’ve picked it up when I lost it. “Don’t shoot,” he said, his expression faintly amused. “It’s just me.”

“God, Seb.” My shoulders sagged again with relief. My fight-or-flight response was getting a real workout this evening. “Were you behind me this entire time?”

“Yes. I’ve been trying to get your attention since you left the party.” Sebastian joined me at the top of the stairs, his amusement visibly deepening. “You dropped this in the garden.”

He handed me my dupatta. I took it, my skin tingling when our fingers brushed. His hand lingered for a second before he dropped his arm.

“You’re a fast walker,” he said. “Actually, ‘runner’ would be more accurate.”

My cheeks flamed. “I had a lot on my mind.”

“Did you?” His drawl was edged with velvet. “Like what?”

Now that I wasn’t scared for my life, I was hyperaware of the fact that we were alone again. His smile was small but knowing, and the heat crawled from my face down to my neck and chest.

There was no way I was going to tell him I’d been fantasizing about our kiss—and what might’ve happened had Priya not interrupted us. “Like whether I should find out what room you’re in so we can… we can talk.”

It was still the truth, but it was tamer. Safer.

Except it didn’t feel so safe when Sebastian dipped his chin, his gaze sweeping over my face. A trace of my perfume clung to him, and I hated how much it turned me on to know that he smelled like me. That our kiss had left as concrete a mark on him as it had on me.

“I see. And what did you decide?” His voice was like velvet, his question heavy with loaded meaning.

Just like that, I was thrown back in time to our kiss in the garden, when we were the only people in the world, and all I wanted was to melt into his arms and never leave.

“I decided to wait until tomorrow.” My throat was so dry, it was a miracle I could speak. “I wasn’t sure if the kiss was a mistake or…”

“Or?” A dangerous glint entered his eyes.

“Something more,” I finished, my voice barely audible.

Sebastian tucked two fingers beneath my chin and tilted it up. Instead of replying, he touched his mouth to mine—softly at first, then deeper until my toes literally curled.

My doubts faded beneath a surge of renewed desire as he teased the seam of my lips with the tip of his tongue. I parted eagerly for him, and he made a tortured noise in the back of his throat before he gripped my hips and pushed me against the wall. My dupatta slipped through my fingers and onto the ground again.

The kiss grew harder, more demanding. I’d lost all sense of where we were, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was him, and this, and us.

I ground against him, need pulsing to life in my belly. Little bursts of pleasure flickered down my spine, but they gave way to a whine of protest when Sebastian pulled back. He grasped my chin again, almost hard enough to hurt. “Did that feel like a mistake to you?” he asked, his voice rough. The intensity in his gaze made my lungs constrict.

I shook my head, unable to form words. My mouth felt swollen and tender, and I whimpered when he pressed his thumb in between my lips.

“Good,” he said softly. “Because if it did, I would’ve had to fuck the doubt out of you.”

My whimper turned into an embarrassing moan when he pushed deeper into my mouth. The taste of him flooded my mouth, and I instinctively suckled for more. Any inhibitions I had were long gone, erased by the strange yet intimate pressure of him inside me.

It wasn’t enough. I needed something else. I needed more.

Sebastian’s eyes darkened when I moaned again. He yanked his hand away and hauled me onto the floor, the force of his movements only making me wetter.

“Or maybe that’s what you want.” He shoved my skirt up, the heavy layers of silk no match for his hands. He easily found the sticky arousal between my thighs. “Do you want me to fuck you, Maya?”

I panted, too distracted by the lazy circles he was drawing around my clit to answer. I was strung tighter than a wire, my nipples straining against my top, my panties a soaked mess.

I shouldn’t want it like this, rough and dirty in a stairwell where anyone could see us, but the truth was, I’d follow Sebastian anywhere he took me. No one had ever made me feel like this. We hadn’t had sex yet, and I was already getting addicted to the high.

He slipped my underwear to the side and plunged two fingers inside me. A strangled cry ripped from my throat, followed by his low chuckle.

“I think that’s a yes, but I want to hear you say it.” He was unrelenting, his voice merciless as he dragged his fingers out and thrust them into me again. “Use your words, Maya. Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” I bit out, half pissed he was making me beg, half aroused beyond reason. “Yes, okay? I want you to fuck me!”

Sebastian pulled his fingers out again. I expected him to undo his pants, but I squealed in surprise when he grabbed my ankles and yanked me down so I sprawled gracelessly across the steps. My skirt was still bunched around my waist. The marble floor was cold and hard against my bare skin, but any discomfort was swallowed up by the sight of Sebastian kneeling below me, his eyes feral with hunger. There was no more amusement, only pure, undiluted desire.

My heart pounded as he pulled my underwear down and replaced his earlier touch with his mouth. A strange mix of lust and longing twisted inside me. No one had ever looked at me like that—like I was the most precious thing in their world, and they would stop breathing if they couldn’t have me.

I was lying half-naked and bared to him, but that type of connection made me feel more exposed than anything else.

Then Sebastian dragged his tongue leisurely over my clit, and all my thoughts disintegrated into dust. His hands bracketed my thighs, keeping them spread as he ate me out. He was a great kisser, but he deserved a gold medal for—

“Fuck!” I moaned again when he thrust his tongue inside me. He hit a sweet spot, and my body bowed into a near-painful arch.

I’d propped myself up on my elbows with the intention of watching him, but I lasted less than five seconds. The sensations were too intense, the pleasure too consuming. A violent shudder rolled through me, and my head tipped back, the ends of my hair pooling against the floor as Sebastian tongue fucked me into incoherence.

Sweat beaded on my skin. I trembled all over, my nipples so sensitive that the scrape of silk against the hardened points was almost too much to bear. My breaths grew more and more ragged until I came with a loud cry.

A hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my scream. “Shhh. Someone will hear us,” Sebastian warned.

He didn’t release me until my cries died down into little senseless whimpers.

My vision was still staticky from post-coital aftershocks, but I heard the metal rasp of a zipper being undone. Despite my recent orgasm, my body tightened again in anticipation.

This. This was what I wanted. Him inside me, taking me and filling me up so completely I’d never feel empty again.

The tip of his cock pressed against my entrance. His mouth captured mine before he sank into me, slow and deep, the sheer size of him stretching me to the limit. Tears sprang to my eyes. It didn’t hurt, necessarily, but the pressure was so immense, I almost couldn’t breathe.

“Are you okay?” Sebastian murmured, his voice unbearably tender compared to his earlier roughness.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

He paused, as if he were waiting in case I changed my mind. When I didn’t, he moved again, his rhythm picking up force and speed until he was fucking me so hard, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to walk properly for days.

I clutched his shoulders, broken gasps escaping with each ruthless thrust. Inch by inch, he claimed me, and I welcomed him greedily, my pussy spasming as he slid in and out of me with deliberate, mind-melting strokes.

He swallowed my screams, his kisses alternating between soft and punishing as we literally fucked decades of pent-up tension out of each other. I tasted my juices on his tongue, and that drove me even wilder than smelling my perfume on him earlier.

The beginnings of another orgasm stirred inside me. I bucked my hips up to meet his, desperately chasing that high, but my efforts were ruined when Sebastian stilled.

My eyes flew open, but any protests died a quick death when he picked me up and pushed me against the wall again. The angle let him go harder and deeper, and we quickly gave up the pretense of trying to be quiet.

His grunts and my moans echoed in the stairwell like a filthy symphony. I clung to him, shuddering with each thrust, each slap of flesh against flesh.

“Don’t stop. Please.” I was frantic with need, my blood scorching my veins, my body demanding release. My pleas fell out with increasing desperation. “Sebastian… Please, I need… I need… Oh God…fuck!”

I bit down on his shoulder to muffle another scream. His fingers dug into my skin.

“Say it again,” he ordered. “Say my name again.”

“Sebastian,” I sobbed. “Please. I need to come.”

He hissed. “Fuck.” Another thrust, a scrape of teeth against the sensitive spot on my neck. “Come for me,” he commanded.

That was all it took.

My second orgasm of the night hit like a lightning strike. There was no slow buildup, no sweet cresting of pleasure—just a sudden, overwhelming explosion of sensation. My body convulsed, every muscle tensing as I arched with a soundless cry of ecstasy, and my pussy clamped down on him like it was trying to pull him deeper and never let go.

Sebastian made a strangled noise. His breaths grew shorter, his thrusts more erratic until he stiffened. His cock twitched, and he buried his face in my neck, his groan vibrating through me as he came minutes after me.

We held each other in the comedown, his arms on my hips and my legs around his waist. My senses slowly came back to me, revealing pieces of our surroundings like a jigsaw puzzle being put together.

The sandstone walls. The marble stairs. The smell of sex and the hotel’s signature floral scent. The overhead lights flickered once, and I startled when a door slammed somewhere above us.

The sound cleared away the fog of lust and brought forth a painful rush of clarity.

Oh my God.

I had sex with Sebastian Laurent. In a stairwell. During my cousin’s wedding reception, where every single family member was present. Anyone could’ve walked in on us at any moment.

What the hell had I been thinking?

I unwrapped myself from around him and pushed him off me with shaking hands. Something wet trickled down my thighs, and I realized with fresh horror that we hadn’t used a condom.

Bile rose in my throat.

Sebastian must’ve come to the same realization because his eyes widened. “Shit.” His face was stricken with panic. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

“I’m on the pill,” I said. “It wasn’t—we both forgot. It wasn’t just you.” My voice sounded far away. I was numb.

Our lack of protection wasn’t what freaked me out the most. What freaked me out the most was the fact that I’d never forgotten about protection, but tonight, it hadn’t even crossed my mind. It was incredibly reckless, and I was not a reckless person. My life was built around plans, rules, and routines, but with one kiss, Sebastian made me forget one of my biggest rules. If he could do that in a few hours, what could he do if I let him in further?

His expression was guarded. He’d fixed his clothes, but his hair was a mess from my hands, and I was mortified to see the beginnings of a hickey blossoming on his neck. “Maya…”

“We should leave before someone finds us.” My pulse hammered in my throat as I picked up my dupatta with a shaking hand. “I—I need to go.”

I didn’t know what else to say, so I did the only thing a girl could do after sleeping with her lifelong rival.

I fled.

CHAPTER 25

Sebastian

THE FINAL DAY OF RADHIKA’S WEDDING FESTIVITIES dawned clear and bright. A gentle breeze ruffled my hair as I walked to the lake where the other guests were already gathered. It was a noticeably smaller crowd than on previous days.

Last night’s reception was the last grand event. Most people had already left or were leaving today. However, family and close friends were invited to stay for a more casual, intimate day of games and activities.

The first item on the itinerary was a boat ride around the hotel’s biggest lake. The man-made behemoth was big enough to accommodate dozens of boats at once, and guests were assigned a number corresponding with their boat group.

I searched the lakeside until I found Maya. She was standing with her sisters and their significant others. Like everyone else, she was dressed far more casually today in linen pants and a cotton top. She laughed at something Neha’s husband said, and my chest constricted.

I wanted to see her smile at me like that again. I wanted… fuck, I wanted everything about her again.

“Sir, you’re in boat number six.” The activity organizer handed me a card with a big red six printed on it.

I took it with a distracted thanks.

Maya hadn’t noticed me yet. It was almost infuriating, the way I was so attuned to her presence when she wasn’t to mine. She was fresh-faced and glowing while I was exhausted after a sleepless night. I’d tossed and turned until the early hours of morning, my mind teeming with memories of our time together.

Her cries of pleasure, the way she’d tasted… and the panicked look on her face when she realized we hadn’t used protection. I was still kicking myself for that massive oversight, but I was almost certain that wasn’t why Maya had fled after, especially since she was on birth control.

No, I knew her well enough to guess what she’d been feeling in that exact moment—shock that we’d slept together, horror over our recklessness, fear over what it meant for our relationship going forward.

She’d been scared, so she ran.

Once upon a time, I would’ve let her, but I was done pretending.

Some people waited their whole lives to experience something that inevitably turned out to be a disappointment. I’d waited my whole life to kiss Maya, and it’d shattered every expectation I’d ever had. It’d stolen my reason, my control, my fucking sanity, and I’d be damned if I let her go without a fight.

“Actually…” I faced the organizer again and put on a charming smile. “Can you tell me which boat Maya Singh is in? I’d like to be in that one instead.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Boat number two is reserved for extended family only.”

“I am extended family.”

He gave me a dubious look.

“If you don’t believe me, I have some friends who can testify to that.” I pulled out my wallet and slipped a thick wad of rupees into his hand.

Five minutes later, I joined Maya’s group with a number two card in hand. Neha and her husband had split off to their own group, leaving behind Priya, her fiancé Ben, and a guy I didn’t recognize.

“Hi, everyone,” I said easily. “I hope you all got some good rest last night.”

Maya didn’t turn around, but her shoulders visibly tensed.

“Is this group two?” I held up my card. When Priya nodded, I smiled. “Looks like we’re spending the morning together then. I can’t wait.”

“No, we’re not,” Maya said, still not looking at me. “This boat is for extended family only.”

“That’s not what he told me.”

“That’s not what he told me either,” the unknown guy butted in. “I’m also in group two. Dev.” He held out his hand. “My dad works with Radhika’s dad.”

He shook everyone’s hand, but he held Maya’s for a little too long.

I scowled. I hated him already.

With Dev’s unintended backup and the coordinator hurrying us along so we didn’t run behind schedule, Maya had no choice but to allow me to join her.

Each boat had its own oarsman. Once our group was settled in, he set off.

The lake was almost big enough to rival the one in Central Park. It was dotted with picturesque arched bridges and miniature waterfalls, and sunlight rippled across the serene surface with each oar stroke.

I’d tried sitting next to Maya, but she’d maneuvered herself in between Dev and Priya. However, her new position put her directly across from me, which meant we had a perfect view of each other’s faces for the next hour.

Unfortunately, it meant I also had a perfect view of Dev trying to flirt with her.

“You live in New York, right?” he asked her. “I love that place. I’m in Berlin now, but I was thinking about moving there next year.”

I suppressed a scoff.

What a lame-ass pickup line. I should push him off the boat and save us all the misery.

My eyes lingered on Maya’s profile as she gave him a polite answer. It was exquisitely delicate for someone so tough, but I liked that about her. People always underestimated her until she kicked their ass, figuratively speaking. I’d made that mistake once and never again.

Priya and Ben were too busy cooing at each other to make conversation, so I was forced to listen to Dev prattle on. This was supposed to be a peaceful activity, and he was ruining it.

“Last night was fun.” I interrupted his painful attempts to find out whether Maya was single by dropping questions about her ‘boyfriend.’ “What was your favorite part?”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Uh, the cake was good.”

“Yeah, great.” I couldn’t care less. “And you, Sal?” I asked, my tone deceptively casual. “What was your favorite part?”

Her cheeks flushed. I wondered if she was reliving our time in the stairwell as vividly as I was.

I could still taste her sweetness on my tongue and feel the way her body fit perfectly against mine. If I’d had any doubt about my feelings toward her, they were erased the minute she touched me.

Our first kiss had been a revelation, but our second kiss? That’d been confirmation.

There was no one else who could undo me the way she did.

“I liked spending time with my cousins,” Maya said. “It was nice to see everyone together again.”

“What a lovely sentiment,” I drawled. “I saw you and Priya go out into the gardens. They’re quite beautiful, don’t you think?”

Her blush darkened, but her eyes sparked with warning. “They’re okay. I’ve seen better.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

“Give me an example.”

Maya’s chin jutted out defiantly. “Versailles.”

“Basic.”

“Villa d’Este.”

“Overrated.”

“Brooklyn Botanic.”

“Please.”

I liked all of those places, but we weren’t talking about gardens, and I enjoyed seeing her so flustered. Any emotion was better than no emotion.

Dev’s eyes ping-ponged between us, his brow creasing with confusion. “Uh, why does he call you Sal?” he asked. “I thought your name was Maya.”

“It is,” she said through gritted teeth. “He calls me that to piss me off.”

Dev’s frown deepened.

“We went to boarding school together,” she clarified. “We were neck and neck for the valedictorian spot, but I got food poisoning and bombed a major test. I ended up as salutatorian, hence the shortened version of the word as my nickname. Sal.”

The test had been the morning after she threw up post-debate, but the effects from her food poisoning had lingered.

“Ah.” Dev’s brow cleared. He glanced at me. “Kind of a dick move, dude.”

“No one asked you,” I said coolly. “It’s an inside joke between us. You wouldn’t get it.”

“It’s not a funny joke. I hate it,” Maya said.

“Really?” I leaned forward. “Then why haven’t you told me to stop?”

Don’t stop. Please.

Another memory from last night resurfaced, and my body tightened in response.

Maya’s lips parted. Either we were on the same wavelength, or she’d picked up on the subtle shift in the atmosphere. Whatever it was, the effect on her was obvious. Her fingers curled tight in her lap, and her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths.

The enjoyment I got out of teasing her earlier vanished.

I didn’t want to be in this boat, engaging in frivolous banter while people I didn’t care about watched. I wanted to grab her and whisk her away somewhere, anywhere where I could kiss her again. I yearned to touch her so desperately that I ached from it, but even though she was sitting less than a foot away, she felt impossibly out of reach.

“I did tell you.” There was a catch in her voice.

“I don’t remember.” My eyes fixed on hers. “Tell me again right now, and I’ll stop.”

She didn’t.

Other than the lap of water against the boat and the cry of a bird circling overhead, it was eerily quiet.

Maya’s silence didn’t mean she was going to bend. Resolve hardened her features, and I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scream.

She was so damn stubborn, but that was one of the things that drew me to her. I didn’t want her despite her thorny edges; I wanted her because of them. She was the lightning to my storm, the fire to my darkness.

No matter where we were or who we were with, she would always be the most beautiful, interesting person in the room. I could meet a million people across a thousand lifetimes, and that would never change.

“Oh, shit.” Dev’s annoying voice sliced through the moment. “Do you two have a thing going on? Because I didn’t mean—”

“No.” Maya’s answer was swift but unconvincing. “No thing. There’s never been—no.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Never, huh?”

Her blush returned.

Dev’s gaze darted between us. “Okaaaayy,” he said slowly. “So, uh, that means I can ask her out, right?”

“Sure.” I smiled. “But if you do, I’ll kill you.”

Maya’s eyes snapped back to mine. “You don’t get a say in who I go out with.”

“Then go out with him.” I leaned forward. “I dare you.”

“Fine.” She leaned forward too, matching my stance. Her glare could’ve burned through steel, but I was close enough to detect another kind of heat simmering beneath her anger. “Maybe I will.”

“Never mind. It’s okay,” Dev said. He looked like he deeply regretted his choice of boating companions. “You’re both kind of unhinged.”

We ignored him.

“I would’ve thought you’d had enough of pointless dates by now.”

“I would’ve thought you’d have learned how to mind your own business by now.”

“Your business is my business.”

“In what world?”

“In every fucking world.”

We were so busy arguing we didn’t notice we’d half-risen from our seats or hear the oarsman’s urgent warnings. “Sir! Miss! Please sit properly, or we’ll—”

It was too late.

I caught a flash of alarm on Maya’s face right before the boat tipped over, and all six of us tumbled into the lake.

CHAPTER 26

Maya

“THIS IS YOUR FAULT.” I STORMED INTO THE HOTEL, MY wet shoes squeaking with every step. “I can’t believe you got me banned from my own cousin’s wedding.”

“The wedding is basically over, and we weren’t banned.” Sebastian kept pace with me. Of course, his shoes didn’t squeak, even though he was equally drenched. “We’re on a temporary timeout.”

Like we were children. Lovely.

The boat rides had ground to a halt after our group was unceremoniously dumped into the water. Radhika had been sympathetic, but my furious aunt had sent us back to the hotel so Sebastian and I could change and “sort our issues out with minimal disruption to the party.”

I’d never been so chastened or mortified. Neither had my parents. I was going to get an earful from them once we were alone, but I’d deal with that later.

For now, I had to shower, change out of my clothes, and, oh, kill Sebastian Laurent.

I slanted a sideways glare at him. His shirt was soaked to transparency. Water droplets dotted his tanned skin and dripped from his dark, disheveled hair, but unlike me—who looked like a drowned rat—he looked like he’d stepped out of a beach-themed GQ photoshoot.

The injustice continued.

I averted my eyes before he caught me staring, but that landed my gaze on the nearby stairwell entrance—the same one where we’d kissed last night.

And more, a sneaky voice whispered in my head.

Blood rose to my neck and chest. I jabbed at the elevator call button, doing my best to tamp down the memory of Sebastian’s lips on my skin.

The doors opened, and we stepped inside. Despite the chill from my damp clothes, his body heat enveloped the small space.

I almost wished my aunties would pop up again so they could serve as a buffer between us, but no such luck. The doors closed, the elevator rumbled into motion, and the heat thickened to unbearable levels.

I stared straight ahead. The stainless-steel doors warped our reflections, but I could see Sebastian looking at me.

“You forgot to press the button,” I said when he didn’t call for his floor.

“I didn’t. We need to talk.”

A sliver of dread curled in my chest. I’d known it was coming, but I’d hoped to avoid it somehow. Morning-after conversations were always awkward, but with Sebastian, it was guaranteed to be painful.

Last night hadn’t been a one-night stand with some random I’d met at a bar. It’d been… transformative. And terrifying. It’d stirred up feelings I wished I didn’t have, and I didn’t want to talk about them because that would make them real. Real things could be broken; hypotheticals couldn’t. If I had a choice, we’d return to our status quo and pretend what happened didn’t matter.

“You should change first,” I said in an attempt to delay the inevitable. I needed time to gather my thoughts or, ideally, hole up in my room until Sebastian got tired of waiting for me.

“Fuck changing,” he said. “I’m not letting you lock yourself in your room so you can try to wait me out.”

“I wasn’t going to do that,” I lied, but I didn’t protest again as we got off on my floor and entered my suite.

It was twenty times larger than the elevator, but Sebastian’s presence expanded to fill the space. It followed me into the bathroom, where I quickly changed into dry clothes, and it doubled in potency when I rejoined him in the living area, sweatshirt in hand. He was still standing by the door, but the weight of his gaze compressed the air into something thick and heavy.

I tossed the sweatshirt at him, making sure to keep a few feet of distance between us.

He caught it easily with one hand. He looked at it, then looked back at me. His expression was inscrutable.

“I forgot to give it back to you after Vermont. I only brought it with me because I knew I would see you,” I said.

I didn’t mention how I sometimes wore it at home because it was so comforting, and I could still smell him when I buried my nose in the thick material. It’d somehow become an emotional support item, but I couldn’t keep it. Not after last night.

“We live in the same city,” Sebastian said.

I didn’t have an answer to that.

He walked toward me, his stride unhurried but deliberate. An electric current sparked with every step, and when he came within touching distance, it took everything I had not to bury my face in his chest the way I had in his sweatshirt.

“Do you regret what happened last night?” His question was calm, even, but I detected an underlying hint of uncertainty that made my chest crack.

I wished the answer were a simple yes or no.

Our kiss had blown every other kiss I’d had out of the water; that was undeniable. Sebastian’s touch set me on fire the way no one else’s could, and I’d never felt as alive or wanted as when I was with him. The nagging doubts in my head had quieted, and I’d experienced what it was like to be with someone who desired me as much as I desired him. In an ideal world, I’d let myself fall completely and see where we landed.

But that was my heart talking. My head insisted on spinning a thousand scenarios of what would happen if I gave in to my emotions, and only a handful of them were good. If I took this further with Sebastian, our relationship would change forever. Maybe it already had, but it was still potentially salvageable. For better or for worse, he’d always been the one constant in my life. I didn’t want to risk that certainty for something that might or might not pan out.

What if last night had simply been the conclusion to years of tension masquerading as something more? Would Sebastian still be interested later, once the lust cleared and he got me out of his system?

With the countdown to my engagement deadline ticking, I had to evaluate every choice I made. Even if we did give this a shot, was I willing to put a stake in the ground and say he was the one I wanted to marry someday?

A storm of conflicting emotions roiled inside me.

Sebastian’s expression wavered the longer my silence stretched on.

“I’ll answer first,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “I don’t. If I could rewind time and spend the night with anyone in the world, I’d still choose you. Every time.”

His words rattled in my veins. “Why?” I whispered.

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to be with me?” I gestured between us. “We’re always fighting. Always competing. We can’t even enjoy a boat ride without it ending in disaster.”

“I don’t mind a little disaster. It keeps things interesting,” he said with a faint smile, but his face sobered when he spoke again. “I know you’re scared, but we owe each other the truth. The real truth. So this is me laying all my cards on the table. I want to be with you. Through every season, every iteration of our relationship… it’s always been you. I’m tired of pretending it’s not. And you’re right—we’re always fighting and competing, but that’s why I like you. You challenge me in a way no one else does, and you see me in a way no one else has. Sometimes you drive me up the wall, but you’re never boring. You are… my match in every way. You make me feel alive, none more so than last night. It meant something to me, and I think it might’ve meant something to you too. So the question now is…” His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “Whether you feel the same.”

My heart thundered in my ears. The room seemed to tilt as my brain struggled to process his words.

This was Sebastian as vulnerable as I’d ever seen him. The mystery cloaking him had been stripped away, leaving him raw and unguarded and waiting—for me.

Different responses clawed at my throat, but fear held them hostage.

If I said no, I’d lose him now.

If I said yes, I might lose him in the long run, when it would be infinitely more painful.

“I…” Panic washed over me. Darkness dotted the edges of my vision; my lungs strained for air. “I don’t… I can’t…”

I felt it before I saw it—the moment he shut down.

The glimmer of hope vanished from Sebastian’s eyes. His expression shuttered, and it was like an eclipse had blotted out the sun. I was so used to basking in his warmth that the sudden plunge in temperature sent me reeling.

“Right,” he said. “I guess I have my answer.” A bitter laugh leaked out. “I should’ve known. I thought that after the past few months… It’s been so long since the letter… I thought that things might’ve changed. But of course they haven’t. It was my fault for thinking otherwise.”

My stomach lurched. “What letter?”

Sebastian stared at me, his jaw tight.

“Seb.” I was tipping into free fall, my pulse roaring in my ears. “What letter?”

His face grew cold. “You know, Maya, you’re entitled to your feelings,” he said quietly. “But I was honest with you, and I thought you’d at least have the decency to not pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” He dropped his sweatshirt on the floor. “Keep it. I don’t want it.”

He walked out.

Hot tears blurred my vision, and I stood there trembling, stunned by how quickly everything had fallen apart.

I wanted to reach for Sebastian’s sweater in his absence, but it would’ve been cold comfort.

No matter what I did, I’d lost him anyway.

When I ventured out of my room again, it was nighttime. I’d missed the rest of the day’s activities after the boat ride, but if I didn’t make it to the last dinner, my parents really would kill me.

I walked into the restaurant, my chest numb. I’d managed to gather my composure in the hours after Sebastian left, but he still plagued my thoughts—the rawness of his confession, the hurt in his eyes when I didn’t reciprocate, the cold finality in his voice before he walked away.

Despite his parting words, I truly didn’t know what he meant by “the letter.” I’d never received a letter from him; I’d remember if I had. Right?

“What’s wrong with you?” Neha asked when I arrived at our table. My parents were sitting with my aunties and uncles, but my sisters and I were sequestered to the side with a few of our cousins. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks a lot.” I took the seat next to her and scanned the dining room. Less than two hundred of the original two thousand guests had been invited to stay for the last day of activities. Most were relatives, but I spotted Sebastian’s parents at a table with some other close family friends. Sebastian himself was nowhere to be seen.

My heart sank. I kept an eye on the door, but he was still missing in action after appetizers were served.

“Do you know where Sebastian is?” I asked.

Neha wasn’t close with him, but she had a way of knowing everyone’s business.

Her eyebrows rose. “Didn’t he tell you? He left earlier this afternoon. Went back to New York for some emergency.”

A sharp ache knifed through my lungs. “Oh,” I said, my voice small.

He was gone. He’d left, and he hadn’t so much as said goodbye.

What did you expect? He was hardly going to shower me in farewell hugs after the way we left things. But in the past, even in the fiercest depths of our rivalry, he would’ve never left without telling me first.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to take another bite of food. It tasted like cardboard.

It wasn’t like Sebastian had set off on a year-long trip to the wilderness. He’d gone back to New York, where we both lived. I was due to fly back tomorrow myself, and we still had to see each other at work.

But his abrupt departure was a clear statement: he was done with me.

I didn’t blame him. He’d laid it all out on the table, and I couldn’t even give him a straight answer.

I used to say I hated him, but I hated myself more.

I blinked back another onslaught of tears as I shoveled more food into my mouth. Some of it went down the wrong pipe, and I broke into a fit of coughs.

Neha’s eyebrows pinched together. “Are you okay?” Her usual sharpness softened somewhat. “Did you two get into a fight again?”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

“If you did, you’ll get over it,” she said. “You two fight all the time.”

Not like this. A fight would have been easier. It was one and done.

This… this was something else, and I wasn’t sure we could come back from it.

But I had to try.

My despondency hardened into resolve.

I was the one who kept running away, and honestly, I still didn’t know how to deal with his confession. It hadn’t fully sunk in yet. But I refused to believe this was the end. Sebastian and I had been through too much and known each other for too long for this to be it.

I’d find a way to fix things. I always did.

But first, I had to figure out what letter he was talking about.

CHAPTER 27

Maya

THE FIRST THING I DID WHEN I GOT HOME WAS SEARCH through my belongings.

I had no clue what the letter looked like, when he gave it to me, or if I’d received it at all. It’d probably long disintegrated by now, its contents nothing more than a lost memory.

But something in my gut told me it still existed somewhere. I felt it calling to me; I just had to figure out where it was.

As expected, Sebastian didn’t return any of my texts or calls, so I spent a week tearing through my closets and rummaging through my drawers. I looked in every pocket and under every bed. I even went to the post office and pestered the supervisor into checking to see if I had any missing mail.

Nothing.

I sank into a brief bout of despair before I remembered I’d left a veritable treasure trove at my parents’ house. After I’d graduated from boarding school and college, I’d packed up all my things and stored them in their attic. If Sebastian had given me a letter, it had to be in there. If it wasn’t, then it really was lost forever.

So the weekend after my epic post office fail, I drove to Westchester and asked Diya for help digging up my old storage boxes. She didn’t ask any questions, but the giant bowl of chocolates she left for me communicated her concern.

I’d accumulated a mountain of mementos from my school years, and it took me the whole weekend to sort through them all.

My hope had dwindled to almost nothing by the time I got to the last two boxes. I opened the closest one and sneezed at the cloud of dust wafting up into my face.

Once I got my allergies under control, I flipped through a stack of notebooks. They were filled with handwritten observations from my classes, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

Just when I was about to give up and move on to the last box, I came across a stiff corner hiding between the pages of my social studies notebook.

My heart skipped a beat. I held my breath as I slowly pulled the timeworn paper free.

And there, tucked in a yellowed envelope with my name scrawled across the front in distinctive black lettering, I found it.

CHAPTER 28

Sebastian

MID-MARCH IN NEW YORK WAS BRUTAL. ICY GUSTS OF wind howled through the streets, kicking up dirt and other things I’d rather not name. The skies were painted a dull, unrelenting gray, and everyone seemed surlier than usual as they trudged from home to work and back again.

It suited my mood perfectly.

I took the stairs down to my chosen bar for the night. I shook off a light dusting of snow before handing my coat to the hostess, who greeted me with a flirtatious smile that I didn’t reciprocate.

Her confidence visibly wavered—she didn’t look like the type who was used to rejection—but she recovered and led me to the back, where Xavier and Killian were already seated in a burgundy leather booth.

“I took the liberty of ordering you a drink.” Xavier pushed a glass of Scotch toward me. “You look like you need it.”

I took it without a word and downed it in one pull. After I was done, I signaled to our server for another glass.

My alcohol ban had exceptions, and the past two weeks had been one giant red exception.

Killian let out a low whistle. “What happened? Did someone piss in your food or something?”

“That’s disgusting, and no.” Although I would’ve preferred if someone had—not because I liked bodily fluids in my food, but because that was an easier problem to solve than the gaping hole in my chest.

I’d left India two weeks ago. Since then, time had crawled by with agonizing slowness. I’d ignored Maya’s texts and calls, but I didn’t delete them. They sat in my phone, waiting, taunting, daring me to call her back.

Knowing her, she was trying to make amends for how we’d left things, but I had nothing else to give. I’d laid my soul bare for the second time, and she’d stomped all over it, also for the second time. I was persistent, but I wasn’t a masochist.

I was done.

Our server brought over more Scotch and a selection of Cuban cigars, which I’d requested in advance since it was a designated smoking lounge. Killian and I plucked one each from the humidor, but Xavier passed.

“Sloane will kill me if I come home tasting like cigars.” He eyed me with curiosity. “I haven’t seen you smoke in ages.”

“Felt like it tonight,” I said tersely. I took a puff of my cigar, but the cloud of heady smoke didn’t do much to chase Maya’s specter out of my mind. Neither did the alcohol.

She was always there, haunting me. A persistent ghost I couldn’t exorcise.

I downed my second glass of Macallan, my jaw grinding.

Xavier and Killian watched me with varying degrees of concern.

“Okay, this shit is getting weird,” Xavier said. “You want to tell us what’s really going on, or would you rather brood like an emo asshole all night?”

“Second option.”

I wasn’t in the mood for psychobabble bullshit. I wanted to eat, drink, and maybe fuck. The bar was filled with beautiful women. I could take any of them home tonight.

But when I looked at them, I felt absolutely nothing. No lust, no attraction, not even a flicker of interest.

Unless it was Maya, I didn’t care.

It was yet another thing she’d ruined for me.

“Fine by me.” Killian reached into his pocket and slapped a deck of cards on the table. “I’d rather play for money while Laurent broods than listen to him wallow in self-pity.”

I flipped him off, but I accepted his poker challenge even though I hadn’t played in years.

Here was the thing about bad habits: they were hard to break and easy to fall back into.

For the next few hours, I indulged in every vice I’d sworn off in the past. I drank. I smoked. I ate a fuck ton of artery-clogging food. I gambled thousands and lost thousands. Of course I did; the universe delighted in kicking me when I was down.

That didn’t stop me from putting down more money or ordering another drink. The toxic indulgences were cathartic in a way, like I was purging myself in preparation for a fresh start. One last hoorah before the real work began.

Either that, or I was royally fucked.

I could tell Xavier was leaning toward the latter camp, but he waited until Killian left to use the restroom before he swooped in.

“That’s it.” He took my drink from me, his tone firm. “I’m cutting you off.”

“Fuck off.” My words slurred. My tongue felt thick in my mouth, but my head swam with pleasant detachment.

It was nice.

“Sebastian.” Xavier fixed me with a hard stare. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing.” I reached for the last cigar, but the bastard took that from me, too. “Since when did you become such a buzzkill?”

“I’m not trying to be a buzzkill. I’m trying to keep you from killing yourself.”

“It’s a little smoke and alcohol, Castillo. I’m not going to die.”

“You drank almost an entire bottle of scotch by yourself tonight.”

“Good thing I don’t make a habit of doing that.” I made a half-hearted swipe for my drink. My limbs felt heavy and clumsy, and I missed by a mile.

“Stop it.” Xavier’s eyes flashed. “You’ve had enough. I came to hang out, not watch you self-destruct.”

“Stop it,” I repeated. “Or what?” A nasty edge slid into my voice. “Just because your ball and chain has you on a leash, it doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t have fun.”

He stilled. “First of all, never call Sloane that again,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “Second of all, I’m cutting you off because I’m your friend. I’ve seen other people spiral like this, and it never ends well. You’ve had your fun. Now you need to deal with whatever is bothering you in a healthier way.”

My teeth ground together. I felt a twinge of regret for lashing out at him when he was only trying to help, but it was quickly smothered by his next question.

“Does your shitty mood have anything to do with why you left Radhika’s wedding early last month?” he asked.

How the fuck did he know about that?

New tension seeped into my muscles. If I could erase everything about that wedding from my mind, I would. “You left before I did.”

“I wasn’t invited to the close friends and family day. You were.” Xavier’s knowing gaze bored into my skin. “Trouble with Maya?”

“Don’t say her name.” The viciousness of my reply shocked even me.

Bitterness crawled into my throat, and a dull ache radiated up my arm. It was only then that I realized I was clenching my hands so hard, my knuckles throbbed.

I forced myself to loosen my them, but the ache remained.

Xavier’s face softened as understanding dawned. “So it is about her.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I was desperate for another smoke or drink. My lovely high was slipping away, every mention of her chipping away at my shield until I was in danger of being exposed again.

Bile sloshed in my stomach.

“What happened?” Xavier persisted. He was like a fucking dog with a bone. I wished I’d only invited Killian tonight. Pre-relationship Xavier wouldn’t have cared what happened as long as we were having a good time, but now that he was happily in love, he seemed to think he was some sort of relationship expert. “Did you—”

“Xavier.” I clipped out his name with cold, steely precision. “Drop it, or this friendship is over.”

A long, fraught second ticked by before Xavier averted his gaze. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like you idiots, but he didn’t press the issue any further.

Killian returned a minute later, his cheek smudged with a lipstick print that hadn’t been there earlier.

He retook his seat, seemingly oblivious to the tension. “What’d I miss?”

I didn’t stay for much longer at guys’ night. My conversation with Xavier had put a damper on the evening, which wasn’t doing what I’d needed it to do anyway.

I thought hanging out with my friends and drinking the night away would make me feel better, but it only made me feel worse. Once the brunt of the alcohol wore off, I was left feeling nauseous and hollow.

I’d slapped a temporary Band-Aid on a wound that was too deep to heal, and I had nothing except a nasty impending hangover to show for it.

I stumbled out of my Uber and up the stairs to my house. I jammed my key into the front door after several tries. The world swung sideways, and I knew there was no way I’d make it upstairs in my current condition.

I somehow made it into the kitchen and chugged a glass of water instead. Once I was done, I leaned forward and propped my forearms on the marble island. I bowed my head, trying to breathe through the vise strangling my lungs.

The brownstone’s silence made it easy for her to invade my thoughts again.

She was in the same city. If I took a cab, I could be at her place in half an hour. I could call her and hear her voice. I could—

Stop.

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a long, measured breath through my nose. I told myself I was done, and I meant it.

Maya had made her feelings clear years ago. I was the idiot who’d refused to give up hope, but no more. It was time to let go.

The haze in my head gradually cleared. The room no longer spun every time I moved, and I was able to straighten without a vicious hammer slamming against my skull.

But that hole in my chest? It was still there, and I had a sinking feeling it’d stay there for as long as Maya held a piece of my heart.

The doorbell rang. The sudden noise made me flinch, but I stayed put. It was probably a needy neighbor or a kid playing a prank. I wasn’t in the mood or condition to deal with either.

But whoever was at the door refused to go away. They alternated between knocking and ringing the bell until they wore me down with sheer annoyance.

I bit out a string of French curses as I stormed into the living room. I yanked open the front door, ready to give the asshole a piece of my mind, but my words died a swift death when I saw who was standing on the front step.

Maya’s hand was poised for another knock. She lowered it when I opened the door, and we stared at each other, our breaths forming small white puffs in the icy air. Her eyes were glossy in the moonlight, almost like she’d been crying.

A sliver of awareness knifed through my numb stupor.

Maya was here. At my house. On a Friday night.

Why?

I soaked her in hungrily despite myself. I hadn’t seen her in weeks, and her appearance hit me like a bolt of lightning.

Her hair was loose, her face makeup-free. She was wearing jeans and the sweatshirt I’d given her in Vermont. Her gold birthday locket gleamed around her neck, but my attention snagged on the envelope in her hands.

My stomach plummeted. It can’t be.

The paper was worn with time, but I’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.

It was mine.

And inside that envelope was my biggest regret, the one thing I wished I could take back—the letter I wrote to her in boarding school.

CHAPTER 29

Maya

“HI,” I SAID, MY VOICE SMALL. “CAN I COME IN?”

Sebastian’s gaze slid from my hands back up to my face. A muscle ticked in his jaw, the only indication he’d heard me. He kept a white-knuckled grip on the doorknob.

His skin was pale, his eyes were bloodshot, and I could smell the whiskey coming off him from a mile away. He looked like hell, but my heart still wrenched at the sight of him.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was devoid of any warmth.

“I just want to talk.” A hard lump cinched my throat. “Please.”

That one word seemed to undo him.

A visible shudder ran through his frame. His grip tightened on the doorknob before he released it and stepped silently to the side.

I walked in, my body soaking in the relative warmth when Sebastian closed the door behind us. My sweatshirt—his sweatshirt—wasn’t adequate layering for such a cold night, but I needed him to see it. To understand that, even if I couldn’t verbalize it, part of me would always belong to him.

The house smelled like him. The lights were off, but a spill of watery moonlight snuck through the curtains, illuminating his living room. I hadn’t been to his house since he moved downtown a few years ago, but the art, the fireplace, the perfectly worn-in leather furniture—it was all so quintessentially him.

Sebastian came around so he faced me again. “You want to talk. Let’s talk.” His tone was measured, his face carefully blank.

He felt like a stranger, and though he was standing right there, the loss of him hit me all over again.

“I…” I’d rehearsed my speech during the cab ride here, but my mind completely blanked. It was one thing to play out this scenario in my head; it was another to get the words out when he was looking at me like he didn’t know me. But I had to do something, so I thrust the envelope at him, my nerves cramping. “Read this.”

His eyes grew colder. “I know what the letter says, Maya. I wrote it.”

Right.

Frustration tightened in my lungs. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I was supposed to walk in, give an eloquent speech about my feelings, and watch everything fall into place, but I couldn’t seem to do anything right these days.

For someone who was used to succeeding at everything on the first try, this was torture, but I deserved it. I didn’t tell him the truth when I’d had the chance, and now I had to start over at square one.

I curled my fingers around the edge of the envelope and tried again. “When did you write it?”

“You know when.”

“I don’t.” The dam broke, and words tumbled out so fast they collided with each other. “That’s what I came here to say. I had no idea you wrote this. I didn’t get—”

“Is this a joke?” Sebastian stared at me in disbelief, his words lashing through me like a whip. “Is this why you showed up, unannounced, to my house on a Friday night? To torture me some more? Is this fun for you?” His voice was low, furious. “You’ve made your point. You fucking win, okay? Congratulations. You win, and I lose. Now leave.”

“No!” Panic scrambled through my chest. My throat tightened as the frustration boiled over, choking me.

I’d been student body president. Debate champion. I was in charge of communications for a Fortune 500 company, for fuck’s sake. So why the hell couldn’t I communicate properly when it mattered the most?

I drew a shaky breath and silently counted to three before I spoke again. The pause helped clarify some of my thoughts. “I didn’t come to rub the letter in your face. I would never do that. I’m not sure what happened to make you think I received this, but I truly had no idea the letter existed until a few days ago.”

“Bullshit.”

“I swear. Why would I lie about that?”

“I don’t know,” Sebastian said flatly. “But you lie about a lot of things, Maya.”

The blow landed somewhere south of my gut. Hard. And I couldn’t even fight back because he was right. From lies of omission to straight-up denial, I’d hidden so many truths from him and, most importantly, from myself.

Pressure built behind my eyes. Do not cry. Don’t you dare cry.

“You’re right, but I’m not lying about this,” I said. “You can ask Diya. She helped me dig up my old school stuff last weekend, and I found it in my social studies notebook. I don’t know how it got there or why I didn’t see it earlier, but that is one hundred percent the truth.”

I didn’t have the best track record, but I was desperate to prove that I wasn’t the terrible person he thought I was. That I hadn’t come just to fuck with him when he’d been nothing but open and honest.

He could scorn me as a rival and doubt me as a partner, but I couldn’t bear the thought of him loathing me as a person.

I spotted a tiny crack in Sebastian’s mask before his face hardened again. “I don’t need to ask Diya anything. I know you received the letter when I first sent it. Do you know how?” He took a step toward me, his eyes smoldering with anger. “Because you wrote me back.”

The ground fell away beneath my feet. I swayed, reeling at the revelation. “That’s impossible.”

“Is it? I can tell you what you said, word for word.” His voice was clipped, his recitation cold and deliberate. “Sebastian, thank you for your note, but I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. Our relationship isn’t, and has never been, anything more than a semi-friendly rivalry. I appreciate that you’ve developed romantic feelings for me, but in the spirit of full transparency, I don’t feel the same. I just don’t see you that way. I’m sorry. However, I don’t want to make things awkward since our families are friends, and we’ll be attending the same college. So for the sake of preserving our peace, let’s chalk your letter up to misguided infatuation and pretend it never happened. Please don’t mention any of this again. Best, Maya.”

Nausea curdled my stomach. I wanted to throw up. I wasn’t sure what sickened me more—the casual cruelty of that response or the fact Sebastian had memorized every word.

For fourteen years, he’d lived with the mistaken knowledge that I knew how he felt and didn’t care. Every conversation we’d had, every moment we’d shared—tainted by some evil alternate version of me who’d tossed his feelings aside like trash.

How could he stand to look at me after that?

“I didn’t write that.” My voice sounded too thick and watery to be mine. I kept shivering, my skin icy despite the heat blasting through the vents. “I—”

“I still have it,” Sebastian said, his tone cutting. “Your response, signed and dated with your signature.”

No. That couldn’t be right. Someone had to have forged my signature, or… or…

Doubt clawed at me. Had I somehow blacked out and actually written that response? Even if I had, the odds of me completely forgetting about his letter and mine were slim to none.

There had to be another explanation, but I’d figure it out later. I had a more urgent problem to fix at the moment.

“Seb.” I grasped his arms, my chest pinching at the way he stiffened at my touch. “I swear on my entire family’s life that I never wrote it. I don’t know who did. But you know me. Even if I didn’t—even if I felt that way, I wouldn’t have responded so callously.”

Sebastian stared down at me. For a second, I thought I might’ve gotten through to him, but then he shook his head and pulled free of my hold.

“Fine.” The anger drained from his face, and he suddenly looked exhausted. “You didn’t get the letter, and you didn’t write that response. It doesn’t matter. I told you, in person, how I felt last month. I asked whether you felt the same, and you didn’t. That’s all there is to it. We don’t need to rehash something that happened over a decade ago when I already have my answer.”

“But you don’t. That wasn’t…” I dragged in another unsteady breath and spoke carefully. I had to get this right. It was my last chance. “I didn’t have an answer at the wedding because I was scared, okay? Scared that things were changing too fast and I wouldn’t know where we’d end up. I don’t like change, and I hate uncertainty. They’re inevitable, but you—us—that’s always been something I could count on to stay the same. So when I started to feel… differently toward you, I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified of ruining that stability. Most of all, I was terrified of how real things felt with you. You made me feel so seen and wanted, and I both loved and hated it because that type of relationship would require me to show up. Showing up means risk. It means potentially getting hurt. And I think…” My voice hitched. “I think any hurt that came from losing you would devastate me more than never having you to begin with.”

Sebastian’s face was so stony, he appeared carved out of marble. If it weren’t for the uneven rise and fall of his chest, I would’ve thought he hadn’t heard me at all.

“When you asked how I felt, the doubts started,” I said. “I wanted to say yes, but being in a different country, knowing we’d slept together the night before… I wasn’t sure if we were just caught up in the moment. What if the sex was clouding our judgment? What if I was something you needed to get out of your system, and you get bored with me in a few months? This was before I found your letter, and I couldn’t stop second-guessing everything. I panicked, so I didn’t give you a real answer. But I’ve had two weeks to sit and digest everything, and honestly…” My chin wobbled. “I missed you. So much. I had a taste of what life would be like without you, and the emptiness of it overshadowed all of my earlier doubts.”

Sebastian didn’t move a muscle. He stared at me, his eyes unreadable, the lines in his neck corded with tension.

“What I’m trying to say is…” My heart climbed into my throat. It was my turn to lay all my cards on the table, and as petrifying as that was, I had to do it. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t. “I’ve found my answer. You asked whether I felt the same about you as you do me. The answer is yes.”

His composure finally cracked, and a ragged breath exploded out of him. “Don’t,” he said, the word tight with barely restrained emotion.

I took another step toward him, the ache in my chest so sharp it burned. “You wanted the truth. That’s mine.”

A flicker of anguish passed through his eyes before he tore his gaze away, his throat working with a hard swallow. “I can’t do this again.” His voice was so low, I almost didn’t hear him. “I’ve spent years waiting for you, hoping—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching. “I was done. You don’t get to walk in after everything and upend my world again.”

Was done. Not am done.

Past tense.

A tiny spark of hope fluttered behind my rib cage.

“I know,” I whispered. I closed the remaining distance between us and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to his jaw. Another shudder ran through him, but he didn’t push me away. “I know you don’t have a good reason to believe me. But I have to try.”

My lips lingered on his skin. It was warm and rough with the faintest hint of stubble.

Sebastian closed his eyes, every muscle in his body coiling as if it hurt to have me this close. I slowly kissed my way across his jaw, one hand lightly braced against his chest. I could feel the rapid thump of his heart beneath my palm.

I’d said everything I wanted to say, and I wouldn’t blame him if he thought it wasn’t enough. If my late-night confession didn’t make up for the years of pain I’d put him through, knowingly or not.

But I hoped against hope that he tasted the depth of my honesty, and that he’d give us a chance even after all the lies and misunderstandings.

When I reached the corner of his mouth, I paused, my breath mingling with his. “Do you want me to leave?” I asked, my voice small with vulnerability.

It was a callback to our kiss in the garden a lifetime ago.

Tell me the truth. No more lies. Do you want me to leave?

I wished with everything in me that I could redo those forty-eight hours. Since that wasn’t possible, I had no choice but to wait, my stomach in knots.

Sebastian didn’t move for an agonizingly long moment. When he turned his head toward me again, his expression was tortured. I saw the war raging inside him, and for a brief, heart-stopping second, I thought he might say yes.

But his response came out rough and raw, as if he hated himself for his weakness. “No.”

I didn’t get a chance to react before he grabbed my face with his hands and crushed the word between our lips. His letter fluttered to the floor as I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back with equal fervor.

Smoke and whiskey filled my lungs. The kiss was hard and desperate, like we were trying to make up for weeks, months, years of distance and longing. It was a culmination of everything we’d wanted but held back on, and the last barriers between us crumbled as I surrendered myself completely.

I wanted to drink him in forever, but we eventually had to break for air. We pulled apart, our foreheads pressed together as we caught our breaths.

Sebastian traced the edge of my locket with his thumb, his face softening. “Nice outfit,” he said, a tinge of familiar amusement in his voice.

Relief bloomed, free and unencumbered by my earlier uncertainty. This was my Sebastian, not the cold, unfeeling stranger who’d greeted me at the door.

“I figured the time for subtlety was long past. Also…” My breath hitched when his fingers brushed against the bare skin of my throat. “This sweatshirt is really comfortable.”

His chuckle filled me with warmth.

I didn’t want to ruin the moment by bringing up the past again, but I had to know. We had to figure out what’d happened, if only so we could put it behind us.

“All these years, you thought I wrote that awful response,” I said. “Why didn’t you confront me about it? If I confessed my feelings to someone and that was their reaction, I would’ve lost it.” It was one thing to turn someone down; it was another to do it so heartlessly.

But Sebastian had never given any indication he was mad at me. Our banter and rivalry had continued, uninterrupted, through college and our twenties. It wasn’t until Radhika’s wedding that I had an inkling something was wrong.

“Because,” he said quietly, his gaze coming up to meet mine again. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Emotion swelled in my throat. I thought about all the years we’d lost, and another ache ripped through me.

But strangely enough, part of me was also glad our relationship had unfolded the way it had. I wasn’t sure our younger selves would’ve been mature enough to make it in the long run. We were different people back then, still learning, still too stubborn and prideful to bend even when the situation called for it.

“You won’t lose me,” I said. “I’ll always be here.”

Sebastian smiled, but it didn’t fully reach his eyes. “Don’t break my heart, Sal.”

My chest fractured. How could I break his heart when he was already breaking mine?

I stood on tiptoes and kissed him again, letting my touch convey the emotions I didn’t have the words to articulate.

The taste of whisky wasn’t as strong this time around, but it was still enough to make me dizzy. “How much did you drink tonight?” I asked, half amused and half worried.

“Enough that I thought it might make me forget a certain person who haunted my every waking moment.” His tone was sardonic.

His reply shouldn’t have made me as happy as it did. At least I wasn’t the only one consumed by our separation these past few weeks. “Did it?”

“Not even close.”

Sebastian pulled me close again, and any stray thoughts vanished as I lost myself in his embrace. He made me feel like the rest of the world didn’t exist when we were together, and I couldn’t believe there’d been a time when I thought I could survive without him. Without this.

My hands roamed over his shoulders and down his arms. Our kiss grew hotter, more urgent, but when I tried to tug his shirt over his head, he stopped me with a shake of his head.

“Not tonight,” he said.

I blinked. “You’re turning down sex?”

“For the time being.” Sebastian’s mouth quirked at my sputter of disbelief. “I want to do this the proper way. Courtship first, then sex.”

“But…” I was flabbergasted. “We’ve already had sex.”

“That was before we started dating.”

A wave of flutters swept away my indignation. Dating. For once, the word didn’t send dread crashing through me.

“Is that what we’re doing?” I teased, unable to stay upset when I was this close to floating off the ground. “I don’t remember you asking me to be your girlfriend.”

“That’s because you asked me to be your boyfriend first.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Really?” Sebastian drawled. “Because you’re the one who showed up at my house, wearing my sweatshirt and…”

“Fine, fine.” I laughed. “We’ll call it a tie. We asked each other to be official.”

“I should’ve known you’d fight me even on semantics, but that’s what I signed up for.” He brushed my hair out of my eye, his touch tender. “I’m glad you came tonight,” he said softly.

I smiled, something inside me melting. “Me too.”

I was the type of person who lived in the future. I was always thinking three steps ahead, my brain hard-wired to plan for future contingencies.

But for once, I let those instincts rest and simply… existed in the moment.

It was one of the best I’d had in years.

Dear Maya,

It feels weird to write to you when our last written correspondence was in fifth grade. I won our school spelling bee after you got tripped up by “chiaroscurist,” and you left me a note filled with quite a few choice words of your own. I have to say, I’ve never seen someone use “truncheon” and “rectum” in such a creative sentence before. I wasn’t the most gracious winner, so I suppose I deserved it. The note I wrote back wasn’t very nice, either.

But fifth grade was a long time ago, and some things can only be expressed through ink on paper. I’m sitting alone in the library, where we’ve spent countless nights arguing about the most mundane of topics, and the illusion of anonymity is what gives me the courage to write this letter. That… and the memory of you, sitting right across from me. I think you’d laugh if you saw how nervous I am right now.

I debated for months over whether I should tell you at all. It’s terrifying to imagine how you might react, but we’re about to graduate, and even though we’ll be attending the same university, I have a feeling that if I don’t say this now, I never will.

So here’s the truth: I love you. Fully, inexplicably, and painfully. I’ve loved you in silence, through the turbulence of the years, and in the margins of our rivalry. You’re all I think about when I’m awake, and you’re all I dream about when I’m not. It is… agonizing.

I tried to deny it because I’m supposed to hate you. You were the thorn in my side, the obstacle on my way to success. You’re the only person who’s ever challenged me, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I wasn’t used to being bested, especially not by someone who was so happy to rub it in my face. Honestly, it pissed me off.

But somewhere along the way, my feelings changed. I don’t know when, or how, or why. I’m sure it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the very things I hated about you in the beginning are the things that I love about you now… your drive, your intelligence, your wit (which you’ve used against me many times), your sense of humor and your audacity to be openly proud of your accomplishments. You don’t shrink yourself to fit into the boxes other people built for you, and sometimes, the sting from your thorns is the only thing reminding me that I’m still alive.

Without you, my life would be an empty canvas, pristine in its perfection but yearning for color to fill it.

You see me as your rival, and part of me will always be that. I think we’re both too proud to ever stop competing in one way or another. It’s a core part of our relationship, and I wouldn’t want it to change.

But I hope that when you read this, you’ll also see me as something more. It’s possible I may have imagined the significance of our shared moments or read too much into the glances between us. This type of love isn’t something I have experience with, so like I said, it’s terrifying to think about how you might react.

However, I once read a quote that stuck with me: “Risk must be taken because the greatest hazard of life is to risk nothing. The person who risks nothing does nothing, has nothing, is nothing.” Leo Buscaglia.

So here I am, taking the biggest risk of my life to tell you that I love you, part of me has always loved you, and part of me will always love you, no matter how you respond. If there’s even the slightest chance that you feel the same, then every risk I took would’ve been well worth it.

Love,

Sebastian

CHAPTER 30

Sebastian

SOME PEOPLE MIGHT’VE CALLED ME A FOOL FOR GETTING wrapped up in Maya again. They might have even been right. If there was one person with the power to devastate me, it was her.

But when I looked at her, and I touched her, I couldn’t care less about what might happen.

I’d loved her for so long that I couldn’t remember life before her. Now that I knew she felt the same, there was no way I’d let her go.

I placed a soft kiss on the top of her head, my heart aching when she sighed and snuggled closer to me.

We’d made it upstairs to my bedroom, where she’d promptly fallen asleep. It was hard to believe I’d started the night spiraling in a bar but ended up here, with her in my arms.

The universe had given me a break, and I wasn’t going to take it for granted.

So no, I didn’t care about what’d happened in the past or what obstacles might pop up in the future. I didn’t even really care about who’d sabotaged us in boarding school because she was here, and we were together, and for the first time in fourteen years…

I could finally breathe.

CHAPTER 31

Maya

THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY, A FULL WEEK AFTER WE reconciled, Sebastian and I met bright and early at the first stop of his Official VIP Girlfriend Tour—a full day of curated culinary experiences featuring his favorite food spots in the five boroughs and, of course, Sebastian himself as my private tour guide.

The tour kicked off with breakfast at a quaint, old-school diner in Queens. It had red leather booths, a working jukebox, and a small but friendly staff that showered us with VIP treatment the moment we walked in.

“Seriously. Does every person in every restaurant know you?” I asked after we placed our orders. I’d taken Sebastian’s advice and opted for a stack of the diner’s signature pancakes with extra whipped cream and strawberries on the side.

He grinned. “Only the ones who matter.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can’t believe I’m dating someone so arrogant.”

“Not arrogant, Sal. Confident.” His grin turned cocky. “That’s why you’re with me. You’d hate being with someone insecure.”

“Big talk for a guy who took a full week to plan one date,” I teased, but he was right.

I loved Sebastian’s self-assurance and the fact he had the skills to back it up. I loved the heart beneath his cocksure persona, and the thoughtfulness behind his every gesture. He’d told me once that I needed someone who could keep up with me; he did that and more. He pushed me to be a better version of myself, and he gave meaning to my wins. Without him, I’d be a general without a battlefield. A victor without an opponent.

That’d been true our entire lives. I should’ve known, from the moment I marked Sebastian Laurent as my number one rival, that I would end up falling for him. It’d been inevitable.

“What can I say? I wanted our first date to be perfect.” His smirk softened beneath a glimmer of tenderness. “I hope you like it.”

My heart rioted. “I love it.”

His answering smile curled through me like a warm ribbon of sunlight.

I thought we’d have a harder transition from being frenemies to dating, but the past week had been seamless. I was freaked out about the mystery person who’d intercepted his letter and forged a response from me, but that’d happened over a decade ago. I wasn’t in imminent danger from some letter-forging bandit. Still, I secretly added uncovering their identity to my list of mysteries to solve, right under my Pittsburgh dilemma.

Sebastian and I had other things we needed to figure out, like when we were going to tell our friends and family about us and what I was going to do about my engagement deadline. Since Sebastian and I were officially dating, other options for suitors were off the table.

But were either of us ready to say for certain that we wanted to get engaged come November? Would my parents enforce that deadline if they knew I was in a serious relationship with Sebastian?

I didn’t have any answers at the moment, but we’d only been dating for a week. We’d deal with the future when it came. For now, I just wanted to enjoy our honeymoon phase—and the absolutely orgasmic pancakes that our server brought out.

“Oh my God.” My eyes widened after my first bite. I always thought influencers were exaggerating when they rolled their eyes and moaned after eating something—seriously, how many tomatoes tasted that good?—but if anything was moan-worthy, it was these pancakes. “These are amazing.”

They were light and fluffy with crispy edges, a rich, buttery texture, and the perfect balance of sweetness and tang. I wasn’t even a big pancake person, but I’d happily bury myself in their cloudlike deliciousness.

“They’re the best in the tri-state area,” Sebastian confirmed, smiling as he watched me devour the food. “I’d never steer you wrong.”

“How do you find out about these spots?” I asked. “You can’t be personally trying every restaurant yourself.” Given the rapid rate at which businesses opened and closed in New York, that would’ve been impossible.

“Word of mouth and lots of trial and error. But I explore more often than you think. Finding hidden gems is one of my favorite parts of the job.” Sebastian held a forkful of his eggs out to me. “Try this. Their eggs are almost as good as their pancakes.”

I leaned forward and wrapped my lips around the fork. The eggs were impossibly soft and savory, but I barely registered their taste as Sebastian’s gaze dipped to my mouth.

A subtle shift charged the air. My skin tightened, goosebumps rippling across the surface.

“What do you think?” he asked softly.

I chewed, slow and deliberate, never breaking eye contact. “You’re right,” I said after I swallowed. “Almost as good.”

A beat pulsed between us, thick and electric. His eyes flickered with heat before he pulled the fork back and set it on his plate, his movements tightly controlled.

There was nothing inherently sexual about this moment, yet desire bloomed low in my stomach nonetheless. I crossed my legs, the air a shade warmer than a minute ago.

Sebastian and I had agreed not to have sex again until after our first date, which meant we were clear for today. Right?

But if I thought he’d pick up on my vibes and scrap our remaining stops for a torrid afternoon in his bedroom, I was sorely disappointed. He held fast to our original itinerary, and after we finished breakfast, we walked off the food with a leisurely stroll through Corona Park.

After that, he took me to Brooklyn, where we popped into various specialty shops to say hi to the purveyors—a butcher who sold the best prime cuts in the city, a cheese monger with an encyclopedic knowledge of her wares, and the proprietor of a darling wine shop who introduced me to a gorgeous full-bodied red that was perfect for winter.

I loaded up on wine and cheese. The owners promised to ship them to me so we didn’t have to carry them around all day. I didn’t eat meat, but even I marveled at the beautiful marbled cuts at the butcher shop.

Lunch was a casual affair at a tiny restaurant that looked like it’d been transported straight from Bangkok. It was cash only and big enough for maybe ten people at a time, but the green curry literally changed my life.

Because I loved sweets so much, Sebastian added three spots to our dessert crawl: a gourmet ice cream shop where we split a strawberry and sweet cream swirl with house-made graham crunch, a family-owned Asian bakery for a heavenly slice of pandan chiffon cake, and finally, a French chocolatier for an assortment of truffles. By the time we were done, I was practically waddling down the street.

“No more. I don’t think I can walk.” I sank onto a nearby bench with a groan. “I’m stuffed.”

Sebastian laughed. He sat next to me, his knee touching mine. “I expected more from you, Sal. We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

I leveled him with a mock glare. “Aren’t you supposed to be nicer to me now that we’re dating?”

It felt strange to utter that word aloud, but it was an accurate descriptor. I was dating Sebastian Laurent—and I was having an incredible time.

He’d planned the perfect first date. I loved food, but I’d endured enough boring, stuffy dinners to last me a lifetime. Today’s tour combined my culinary cravings with just the right amount of activity. It was way easier to relax when we were out and about instead of crammed into some formal table with overly solicitous servers hovering around us.

“Do you want me to be nicer to you?” he asked, sounding amused.

“God, no. Have a backbone,” I said, earning myself another laugh. “Except for the instances when you should be nice to me. I expect you to know the difference by reading my mind.”

I was joking, but my heart skipped a beat when Sebastian tucked my chin between his fingers.

“Hmm.” His eyes glittered with mischief. “Would this count as one of those instances?”

“Maybe,” I breathed.

He leaned forward. My eyes fluttered shut, and—

“Maya, is that you?”

I jerked back so fast I almost fell off the bench. Sebastian pulled away more gracefully, but his shoulders bunched with tension as my aunt approached us, her grocery bags in hand.

“Hi, Meera Aunty,” I said, trying to quell my rising panic. “What, um, are you doing here?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I live around here.”

Shit. I’d forgotten that she lived in Brooklyn. That, plus the fact she was in her mid-fifties and unmarried, had made her somewhat of a pariah in my family. I’d asked my mother to come with me to Greenpoint once, and she’d acted like I told her to abandon civilization and live in a cave instead.

“What are you doing here?” My aunt glanced at Sebastian, a speculative gleam lighting up her eyes. “With Sebastian Laurent, no less.”

Double shit. My pulse pounded. Sebastian and I weren’t trying to keep our new status a secret, per se, but if my aunt spilled the news to my mother before I did, all hell would break loose.

“Work research.” Sebastian saved me from answering. “There are some great food shops here that we’re considering as vendors for the launch event in June.”

“Our companies are collaborating on a frozen foods line,” I added in case Meera Aunty didn’t know what he was talking about. She wasn’t really involved or interested in the business.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “I read the news and the family group chat.” She clucked her tongue. “I heard about Priya’s engagement. I can’t believe it. I always thought she’d elope or join a cult, whichever happened first.”

I forced a laugh. “No, no cult unless you consider Pilates a cult. Which some people do, I guess.”

My aunt peered down at me. She was just shy of five feet, but she had a way of looking at me that made me feel about two inches tall. “What about you? Any marital prospects? Your deadline will be here before you know it.”

Did everyone know my business? I’d muted the Singh Squad, our extended family group chat, but maybe I needed to check it more often. God knew what they were saying about me in there.

“Oh, you know,” I mumbled, trying my best not to look at Sebastian. If I did, my aunt would surely pick up on our romantic vibes. It was like an aunty superpower. That was assuming she hadn’t caught us almost kissing earlier, though if she had, she would’ve mentioned it by now. “We’ll see.”

“Clock’s ticking,” she warned. For someone who was famously single, she seemed perfectly content to pester me about marriage as much as my other, married family members.

Thankfully, she didn’t stay much longer. After a few more pointed questions and vague answers on my part, she left.

“That was close,” I said after she disappeared down the block. I slumped against the bench, my adrenaline pounding.

“Do you think she’ll tell your mom she saw us?” Sebastian asked. He sounded worried.

“Maybe. I don’t know. They don’t talk much, but…” I grimaced. I really didn’t want my family to know about us yet. I wasn’t ashamed of Sebastian—far from it—but the last thing we needed was my mother bombarding him with engagement ring options and wedding plans before we even hit our one-month anniversary. The pressure alone was enough to kill most new relationships.

I’d already told Sebastian all this, which was why he gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

“It’ll be fine,” he said. “It won’t be the end of the world if your parents find out early. We’ll deal with it if it comes up.”

“You’re right.” I attempted to find the silver lining. “But please tell me we’re going somewhere less crowded for dinner. With our luck, we’ll run into Neha, and you know she’ll blab.”

“Don’t worry.” The mischief reentered his eyes. “Dinner is a much more private spot.”

CHAPTER 32

Maya

“WELCOME TO CHEZ LAURENT.” SEBASTIAN SWEPT HIS arm around his kitchen. It was a chef’s dream—top-of-the-line appliances, gleaming cookware, and a giant marble island anchoring the room. “I’ll be personally cooking your dinner. I thought it would be a nice way to end the tour—as long as you don’t mind hanging out for a bit until the food comes out.”

I melted a little at how much thought he’d put into our date. I’d expected another hidden gem restaurant for our last meal of the day, but this was even better.

“That sounds perfect,” I said.

“Great.” Sebastian smiled, a hint of relief crossing his face. “Feel free to explore the house or sit back and relax. Dinner will be ready in an hour or so.”

“Can I help? I’d rather do something more useful than lounge around.”

“As long as you stick to food prep,” he said. “I still remember the bake sale cookie disaster.”

My jaw dropped. “Okay, that’s unfair because I was ten. We had to replace the oven, but I didn’t burn the house down, did I?”

“No, you just burned a dozen perfectly good cookies.”

I responded to his good-natured teasing with a few obligatory grumbles, but my lips curled into an involuntary smile as we prepped for dinner together. I stuck to chopping vegetables and mixing sauces while Sebastian did the bulk of the work, and we quickly fell into an easy rhythm.

Some people might chafe at making their own dinner for a first date, but this was turning out to be my favorite part of the day. It felt so domestic, and seeing Sebastian cook was incredibly hot.

I snuck another peek at him as he trimmed the steak with quick, precise strokes. His forearms flexed with every movement, and he maneuvered with effortless grace as he seasoned the meat after trimming it. He didn’t consult a recipe or look to see what he was grabbing; he knew exactly what was where and how much he needed of each ingredient.

God, I loved competent men, especially ones who looked that good in an apron.

Forget men in uniform. I’d take one in the kitchen all day, every day.

I was so busy looking at him that I didn’t notice the sauce bowl was overflowing until the sticky liquid dripped onto my hand.

Sebastian was too busy on his side of the kitchen to notice my mistake, but it was the reminder I needed to keep my eyes on the task at hand and stop ogling my (objectively gorgeous and ogle-worthy) boyfriend. If I messed up something as simple as food prep, he’d never let me live it down.

Thankfully, the rest of the prep and cooking process went smoothly. Once our food was done, we took it to the dining room. It was already set up with candles, roses, and soft French jazz playing in the background.

I settled in my chair, my insides suspiciously gooey. “Sebastian Laurent, a true romantic,” I teased. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“I’m not sure you can call me a true romantic when I asked you to prep your own dinner.” He poured us both a glass of wine and sat back. “You did great, by the way. My favorite assistant by far.”

“Have you had many of those?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Is that your way of asking if I’ve cooked for other dates in the past?”

I shrugged, but a blush crept across my cheeks. I really needed to work on my subtlety.

“No,” Sebastian said, his eyes on mine. “I’ve never cooked for another date. I’ve never wanted to.”

I didn’t bother hiding my smile this time around.

He’d cooked two different main courses—pasta for me, steak and potatoes for himself. The food was incredible. I hadn’t expected anything less, but it felt extra special knowing I’d played some part in creating it.

We lapsed into an easy conversation about a new art exhibit at the Met, followed by a fifteen-minute breakdown of the latest hit TV show and an argument over which country might win the next World Cup. The best part about dating someone you’ve known your whole life was skipping the small talk and cutting straight to the topics that interested you.

However, because this was us, and we were who we were, the conversation inevitably circled to work.

“I’m so excited for the launch event,” I said. “I can’t wait for everyone to taste your cooking. You’re going to blow their minds.”

The launch was in three months. We’d lost some momentum due to our personal issues, but we were quickly making up lost ground. When Sebastian and I stopped arguing and actually worked together, we were unstoppable.

I expected him to make a flippant remark about how of course they’ll love it because he was a genius, but his response was oddly subdued. “I hope so.”

I frowned. “What’s wrong? Are you nervous?”

The kitchen was his element, and he was always so sure of himself in there. Tonight was proof of that.

“No. Yes. I mean…” Sebastian blew out a breath. “I didn’t tell you this, but when I agreed to take Derek’s spot in the collaboration, I made a deal with my father. If I—if we—succeeded in making the launch the event of the season, he’ll let me quit as CMO and become a chef full-time.”

Holy shit. That was huge. I’d suspected Sebastian was more passionate about cooking than marketing, but his father wasn’t the type to let his only heir abandon corporate prestige for restaurant life.

“That’s a good thing… right?” I ventured. It was a lot of pressure, but Sebastian thrived under pressure. I was confident we’d pull off a great launch, and his cooking skills were second to none. The odds were stacked in his favor.

“I guess,” Sebastian said. “We’ll see what the critics say.”

“They’ll love you.” I gestured at our plates. “You are talented. I’m not saying that because I’m your girlfriend and obligated to do so. This meal is truly one of the best I’ve had in a long time. Your love for your craft shows in your food. I’m sure the critics will pick up on that too.”

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But talent is only part of the equation. Things didn’t work out so well the last time I ran a kitchen.”

My brow knotted. “What do you mean?”

“We can talk about it another time. It’s too heavy a topic for our first date.” He sipped his wine and tossed out a half-hearted smile. “How are your bridesmaid duties going? Has Priya turned into a bridezilla yet?”

“Sebastian.” I fixed him with a stern look. “We both know this isn’t a typical first date. I don’t want to talk about my sister’s wedding. I want to talk about you—if that’s what you want.”

He hesitated, appearing to debate whether to deflect or tell the truth before he settled on the latter. “Do you remember the Le Boudoir opening a few years ago? It was in the news for months.”

I nodded slowly, my mind rifling through my memories until it landed on why, exactly, that restaurant opening had been so memorable. “That was where Martin Wellgrew…”

“Died,” Sebastian finished. “You can say it.”

I winced. The banker’s high-profile death during an equally high-profile event had been the talk of the town. It’d made headlines in national news outlets, and everyone thought that would be the end of the Laurent Restaurant Group. Sebastian’s family weathered the storm, but they came out bruised and battered.

I remembered how vicious the press had been and how certain people had delighted in what’d seemed to be the Laurents’ downfall. I hadn’t been one of them. We were rivals, but I wanted to beat him, not see him vilified.

I’d talked to Sebastian a few times during that period. He’d seemed fine, but he was good at putting on a mask, and the experience had obviously taken a bigger toll than I’d realized.

I didn’t want to push him, so I waited silently for him to continue.

“I was the head chef that night.” Sebastian swallowed. “It was my first time running a kitchen, and someone died. It’s every chef’s nightmare, and it fucked me up for a while. I went to therapy, but I also spiraled. Hard. I couldn’t cook for ages. I couldn’t even pass by a kitchen without getting a panic attack.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “My therapist was great, and I eventually got better. I slowly rediscovered my love for cooking. But there’s a part of me that’s afraid something similar will happen if I do anything beyond making meals for family and friends. That’s why I was so hesitant when you pushed me to replace Derek on the collab. I was so fucking scared that I’d mess up again on an even bigger scale. My family barely survived the first crisis; I don’t think we can survive a second one.”

“That’s not going to happen,” I said fiercely. “The recipes have been double and triple-checked, and I’ve seen the reports from the test groups. People love them. What happened at Le Boudoir was terrible, but you can’t blame yourself. Shit happens in restaurants all the time. It’s not a reflection of you or your abilities.”

“In that case, it was.” Sebastian’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “He died from a peanut allergy, Maya. It wasn’t a freak heart attack or an accident. It was food-related, which means what happened was on me.” His voice cracked. “I’ve replayed that night dozens of times in my head. None of our dishes had peanuts, and I was so sure we didn’t have a trace of them in our ingredients either. But something must’ve slipped past me, and it kills me that I can’t figure out what it was. If I don’t know what the problem is, I can’t fix it, and it can happen again.”

A sharp pang tugged at my chest. I couldn’t imagine the guilt he’d been living with. How long had he shouldered that burden, thinking he was responsible for someone else’s death?

“You don’t know that there was a problem,” I said. “I understand why you feel responsible. If I were in your shoes, I’d feel the same way. But you said it yourself. You did everything in your power to keep the kitchen peanut-free. It’s a common allergen. The person sitting next to him could’ve had a peanut bar in their pocket, or he could’ve, I don’t know, kissed someone who ate peanut butter beforehand. The point is, there’s no way to know. What happened to Martin was an extraordinary circumstance, and it’s not an omen for the future. You’re not cursed, Sebastian. You just got unlucky.”

He didn’t appear fully convinced, but his lips did curve into a small smile. I took that as a win. “I can’t say I’ve heard that peanut butter line before,” he said. His smile dimmed again. “You must think I’m a hypocrite for pushing my father to let me pursue cooking full time when I have all this… baggage weighing me down.”

“I don’t think you’re a hypocrite,” I said. “I think you’re brave. Not a lot of people have the courage to chase their dreams after their worst fear comes true. You do.”

The strength of my conviction seemed to get through to him. Some of the tension slipped from his shoulders, and his eyes crinkled into a genuine smile. “Maya Singh, complimenting me? The world must be ending.”

“It’s part of the girlfriend perks package.”

“Hmm. I like it, but it’ll take some getting used to.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t get used to it. Compliments are reserved for special occasions.” I reached for my wine. “This is our first date, and you fed me well, so consider that the special occasion.”

He laughed. The atmosphere lightened, and we gradually segued to easier topics, but the unguarded intimacy of our earlier conversation lingered.

Sebastian and I might’ve grown up together, but there was still so much I didn’t know about him. There were more layers than I’d expected, and out of everything we did that day—the food, the cooking, the laughter—getting a glimpse of the real him was by far the best part.

CHAPTER 33

Sebastian

THE SECOND HALF OF MARCH PASSED IN A BLUR. Before I knew it, it was April, and the temperatures had inched into more manageable territory. I still had to wear a coat every time I left the house, but the wind no longer tried to bite my face off when I walked down the street.

Maya and I continued dating in secret. We planned on telling our friends soon, but we were holding off on telling our families until after the launch event. Her parents were intense about her love life, and she didn’t want that pressure on top of the chaos at work.

We were only two months out from launch. Everything was going smoothly so far, but I was constantly on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. If it weren’t for Maya, I would’ve cracked already.

“Did you see the latest email from the venue?” I asked.

Maya nodded. “About the table settings? I’ll respond.”

It was Wednesday, and we were working out of her living room instead of our shared office at Singh Foods HQ. We’d been alternating between her penthouse and my brownstone the past few weeks. It was our sneaky way of combining business and pleasure—we still got plenty done, but we could take quick “breaks” without worrying about someone walking in on us.

However, the emails had been endless today, and it took us another hour to get through them all before we ventured to the kitchen for a snack and a stretch.

“How are you feeling about everything?” Maya asked. She leaned against the counter, a bowl of strawberries in hand. Since we were working from home, she was dressed more casually than usual in a pair of shorts and a vintage concert T-shirt. Her feet were bare, and her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders.

The sight sent a tendril of warmth through me. This was my favorite part of our new relationship—seeing her comfortable and unguarded and so completely herself.

“Fine,” I said. When she cocked an eyebrow, I amended, somewhat ruefully, “Fine some days, a bit of a mess on others.”

I was trying not to let the pressure get to me.

My father hadn’t mentioned our deal since we signed the contract, and his silence only fueled my overthinking. He was probably biding his time and waiting for me to flame out on my own, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me fail. I refused.

“Sounds normal to me,” Maya reasoned. “Everyone has ups and downs before a big event.”

“Maybe.” I wiped my hands on a napkin and tossed it in the trash. “What about you? How are you feeling?”

I was squeezed by external pressure, but Maya was her own harshest critic.

“Fine some days, a bit of a mess on others,” she said, making me smile. “For example, I’m happy that everyone we invited RSVP’d yes, but if the venue fucks up the place settings—despite repeated, detailed instructions from me—I will lose it. And if we don’t win the Gastronomic Event of the Year award, I will definitely lose it because I know the CMO at Whitaker Farms is just waiting for me to—”

“Breathe.” I laughed and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. Once she got started, it took an army to stop her. “Only one of us is allowed to spiral at a time.”

“Sorry.” Maya blushed and set her bowl down. “I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent, but you see? You’re not the only one feeling the pressure, so don’t feel like you have to hold it all in. We can break down together. It’ll be more fun.”

I laughed again even as my chest twinged. I shared more of myself with her than anyone else, but if I trauma dumped on her every time the walls closed in, we’d never get anything done. She had enough on her plate without playing therapist for me.

I told her enough to relieve the worst of my tension and handled the rest on my own.

“How’s your research going?” I switched topics. “Have you found anything yet?”

Maya hadn’t given up on her Pittsburgh theory. It was her pet project when we weren’t working on the launch, but she’d hit a dead end.

“No.” She sighed. “I feel stupid for spending so much time on a hunch, but it’ll keep bugging me until I figure it out. So… I guess I’ll be stupid and continue trying.”

“Let’s make a deal,” I said. “When the launch is done, and you figure out what happened in Pittsburgh, let’s go on the biggest, most indulgent trip we can think of. I’m talking a full month of food, drink, and general debauchery. No work, no emails. Just… fun. And relaxation.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d truly relaxed with no obligations looming over me. I bet Maya couldn’t either.

She smiled. “Deal.” She glanced at the clock, then back at me. “You know, it’s almost the end of the workday, and we haven’t taken a single proper break yet…”

My body tightened at the subtle suggestion running beneath her words, but I didn’t reply as she pushed off the counter to stand in front of me. She hooked her fingers through my belt loops, her chest brushing mine. “I think we deserve one. Don’t you?”

“Do we?” I drawled, my blood heating. There was a noticeable shift in the air, and thoughts of work, my father, and Pittsburgh suddenly seemed light years away. “I didn’t take you for a slacker, Maya.”

“Oh, I’m not.” She smiled again, this time with a devilish gleam in her eyes. “I’m a very hard worker.”

My breath quickened when she undid my belt buckle and pants in one deft motion; it vanished altogether as she sank to her knees and took me in her mouth.

Wet warmth engulfed me. I bit out a rough curse before I braced my hands against the counter, my knuckles white.

Maya was right: she was a hard worker, and she sucked my cock with the same dedication and enthusiasm she reserved for everything else. Lust scorched my veins, and I had to recite the Blackcastle Football Club’s current roster in my head so I didn’t come in seconds like a schoolboy.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” I breathed again when she slowly ran her tongue up my shaft and swirled it around the head. She sucked, her cheeks hollowing, and the sight of her full lips wrapped around my cock was so erotic, it sent shudders down my spine. “You’re so damn gorgeous.”

Maya stared up at me, her eyes soft with desire and adoration as she sucked and licked her way down my length again.

It was her softness that undid me.

Sometimes, I looked at her and couldn’t believe she was mine. I’d waited for her for so long, and I was sure I didn’t deserve her. But now that I had her, the devil himself couldn’t tear me away.

She was mine, always.

And I was hers. Always.

My cock pulsed, growing impossibly harder and thicker. She moaned, her mouth glistening with a mix of saliva and pre-cum as she took me all the way down her throat.

Another shock of pleasure rocketed through me. I uttered a hoarse groan, my head tipping back and my fingers tangling in her hair as she sucked me off in earnest. I kept my other hand on the counter, trying to steady myself as my knees weakened.

The wet, sloppy sounds of her blow job filled the kitchen, and she was so eager to please, so damn into it that her enthusiasm was hotter than anything she physically did—which wasn’t to say she was lacking in that particular department.

The head of my cock hit the back of her throat. Maya spluttered, her tight passage convulsing around me as she fought her gag reflex. Her eyes welled with tears, her body visibly tensing, but she kept going. She grabbed my thighs for leverage, and the sensation of her swallowing every single fucking inch of me was too much.

The leash on my already frayed self-control snapped. “I’m going to come,” I panted. She redoubled her efforts, her needy whimpers vibrating through my entire body. “Fuck. Maya, I—fuck!”

I pulled out at the last possible second. Thick, hot ropes of cum splashed across her face and lips. It dribbled down her chin and onto her shirt, but she didn’t seem to notice as she knelt at my feet, mouth open and tongue out. She waited until I was done before she swallowed an entire mouthful of my cum with a moan.

Jesus fucking Christ. I almost came again from that sound alone.

Fuck gorgeous. She was perfect—made for me in every single way that mattered.

Despite my recent orgasm, my cock was still throbbing, my muscles tight with pent-up lust. I could spend hours slaking our desires, and it wouldn’t be enough. When it came to Maya, I was insatiable.

I reached down and pulled her bottom lip down with my thumb.

“Look at you,” I said softly. “Did you like that? Did you like drinking up my cum like a good little slut?”

She nodded, her eyes flaring with renewed desire at my words. Her nipples were so hard I saw them poking through her shirt.

“Good.” I dragged my cock down her cheek and across her chin, coating it with the leftover cum. A dark blush stained her cheeks when she realized what I was doing, but she didn’t protest when I nudged the tip of my freshly cum-covered cock against her mouth. Her lips parted and wrapped eagerly around me once more. “Clean me off. It’s not polite to leave a mess after you’re done eating.”

Maya shivered. She obeyed, making hungry little noises as she licked my cock clean like it was the world’s filthiest creamsicle. By the time she was done, there wasn’t a speck of cum in sight, and I was rock hard again.

She sat back, her face so proud it made me laugh, but she squealed a second later when I picked her up and carried her over to the breakfast table. It was tucked into the corner of the kitchen and smaller than the formal dining table in the other room, but it’d do.

“What are you doing?” She watched, her voice laced with both anticipation and apprehension, as I left her on the table to gather what I needed from the rest of the kitchen.

I returned a short while later. She eyed the items in my arms nervously, but I didn’t miss the way her thighs clenched when I set them on the closest chair. She was so wet, I’d smelled her arousal from across the room.

“It’s not a proper break without lunch.” I unscrewed the cap of a half-empty whiskey bottle.

“We had lunch three hours ago.”

“Three hours is a long time.” I brought the bottle to her mouth. “Open.”

“We shouldn’t be drinking during work,” she said breathlessly.

My voice hardened. “Open your mouth, Maya.”

She didn’t argue again. A soft, dreamy sigh escaped through her nose as I tipped the bottle toward her lips. Whiskey dribbled into her mouth, and her throat worked to swallow at the same pace I was pouring.

My cock throbbed. Once I was satisfied she’d had enough, I yanked the bottle away and leaned forward to capture her mouth in a rough, messy kiss. She tasted sweet and smoky and so damn intoxicating I could spend the remainder of my days surviving on her kisses alone.

My free hand slid over her shoulder and down the curve of her waist. I tugged her shirt up, and we broke apart so she could pull it over her head. My gaze raked over her, drinking in the sight of her half-naked form sprawled across the table. She was a feast waiting to be devoured, and I was fucking starving.

“You have the world’s most perfect breasts. Do you know that?” I tilted the bottle again and poured a trail down the center of her body. She gasped, her back arching as I brought the bottle back up and splashed more whiskey over her chest. “Soft…” I set the bottle down and leaned over her. “Firm…” My lips skimmed the gentle curve of her breast. “Perfect,” I repeated huskily.

I drew a peaked nipple into my mouth and sucked. Another whimper fell from her lips when I scraped my teeth over the sensitive bud. I took my time, licking and lathing and rolling the nipple between my fingers until I didn’t taste the alcohol at all, and she was squirming helplessly beneath me.

“Seb. Please.” She reached for me, but I stopped her with a firm hand.

“Don’t move, or I’ll leave you like this,” I warned. “I don’t like it when people interrupt my meals.”

But I took pity on her and moved to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention as I had the previous one. Once I was satisfied with my ministrations, I turned my attention to the rest of her body. Her muscles quivered as I lapped up every drop of whiskey with relish. It tasted sweet against her skin, and the sound of her breathy moans was even sweeter.

I made my way down her stomach and to the waistband of her shorts. Maya’s hips bucked, chasing a type of friction I refused to let her have yet.

“Seb.” She was sobbing now, her legs splaying open as I removed the rest of her clothing.

I hissed out a sharp breath. She was fucking drenched. Her thighs glistened with her juices, and the air was thick with the musky scent of her arousal. It seeped into my blood and mixed with the alcohol for a high unlike any I’d experienced before.

I looked up at her, my pulse thrumming. Her skin glistened in the late afternoon light. She was panting, her face flushed, her mouth swollen, and her eyes heavy-lidded with desire. I wished I could take a picture of her just like this—completely undone and wrecked with pleasure.

I’d barely started, and she was already killing me.

“Yes?” I rubbed a thumb over her thigh, smearing it with her juices. I brought it to my mouth and licked it off. Delicious.

“Please,” she begged again. “No more teasing. I want—I need…God.” Her head fell back against the table when I pushed two fingers inside her. They glided through her slickness with almost no friction.

“Please what?” I curled my fingers, hitting a spot that made her legs shake. “Please fuck you? Or please eat you out right here in your kitchen while the taste of my cum is still in your mouth?”

We hadn’t had penetrative sex since the stairwell. We’d done everything else, but I’d been waiting for the right moment to fully consummate our relationship again.

“Both,” Maya gasped. “Both, please.”

“You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” I dragged my fingers out and slammed them back in again, eliciting a strangled cry. “I’ll make you a deal. If you can stop yourself from coming while I eat your pussy, I’ll fuck you as many times as you want.”

She had enough fire left inside her to lift her head and glare at me. “You bastard.”

“Is that a yes?” I kept my fingers inside her and ground the heel of my palm against her clit.

Maya’s body jerked, her walls clenching tight around me. She gave up fighting. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” I was dying to bury my tongue inside her, but she was so on edge that she might come immediately.

Instead, I took my time… with a little help from the props I’d collected earlier. Chocolate syrup. Honey. Whipped cream. I sampled each one individually, drizzling them over her body and cleaning them off with meticulous care. I nibbled gently on the inside of her thighs and sucked her clit into my mouth, indulging myself until I tasted more of her than anything else.

Out of all the desserts, she was the sweetest.

The skies outside darkened. Maya’s pleas dissolved into incoherent sobs, but she’d held off coming with impressive willpower. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands fisted at her sides as she fought off her orgasm. She was trembling all over, and I helped her out a bit, slowing down and pulling back when I sensed she was about to tip over the edge.

My cock was so hard it’d passed the point of pain a long time ago, and eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore either. I held her hips with both hands, thrust my tongue inside her cunt—and she broke.

Maya came with a loud, keening wail. Her juices drenched my face, and if I hadn’t been holding her down, she would’ve bucked right off the table. Her pussy clenched desperately around my tongue as I continued thrusting into her, and the end of her orgasm rolled straight into another one. She ground against my face, riding out wave after wave of pleasure until she finally went limp.

My balls tightened. My cock jerked, and something hot and wet splattered across my stomach.

I half laughed, half groaned. Jesus. I’d come without touching myself.

I couldn’t remember the last time that’d happened, if it’d ever happened at all. But Maya was so damn addicting, she made me lose all sense of time and control.

I could keep my face buried in her gorgeous pussy forever and die a happy man, but I needed to clean us up. Judging by her slack limbs, she was in no shape to stand or walk on her own.

I reluctantly stood and wiped my mouth. She was still making little whimpers, her hips undulating mindlessly as I bent over her.

I kissed her softly, my lips brushing hers with every word. “Best meal I’ve ever had.”

Maya

It took us over an hour to clean ourselves properly in the shower. The chocolate and whipped cream came off easily, but the honey stuck. Literally. Plus, neither of us was operating at full speed.

I could barely walk after what happened in the kitchen. Sebastian had to carry me to the bathroom, where he’d bathed and washed me with enough care to make my chest squeeze.

My limbs were heavy and languid from my earlier orgasms, and the mirrors were fogged up from the steam. He’d given me my biggest orgasms ever (plural), but…

“Why do you look so sad?” Sebastian asked, his words tinged with both amusement and concern. We were still in the shower, and the water sprayed against his back, soaking his hair and dripping down his naked torso. He looked like some sort of sea god who’d deigned to grace the mortal lands with his presence.

“I’m not sad.” The sound of the shower muffled my voice. “I’m, well…” I was too embarrassed to continue.

“Well, what?” He reached up to smooth a lock of hair out of my face. “You can tell me.”

I sighed, my face heating. “I’m upset I lost our bet.”

I was so sure he’d crack before me, but then he did that thing with his tongue, and I was a goner.

Sebastian blinked. A beat passed before laughter rumbled from his chest. It started low, but it gradually built and built until his shoulders shook with unrestrained mirth.

“It’s not funny!” I protested.

His eyes gleamed with humor, but he regained enough control to ask, “Do you want me to fuck you, mon ange?”

“Not anymore,” I grumbled. “Not after you laughed in my face.”

“I’m sorry.” He was still laughing, but the sound gradually faded as he placed his hands on my hips and drew me to him. He pressed his mouth to my shoulder. “Tell me. Is that what you want?” He kissed his way up my neck, his lips teasing my earlobe. “For me to fuck you in the shower?”

This time, my sigh was softer, more pliant. “Maybe.”

“Maybe isn’t good enough. Give me a yes or no.”

I closed my eyes when he nibbled on my earlobe. A shiver ghosted down my spine. He always knew exactly how and where to touch me to make me lose control. “Yes.”

“See?” Sebastian’s voice was husky now, no trace of amusement to be found. “All you had to do was ask.” He maneuvered us so my back was against the wall. “We’ve waited long enough, and you came so beautifully on my face.” Another chuckle slipped out when I blushed. “I think you deserve a reward. Don’t you?”

I sucked in a sharp inhale when he slid inside me. Even though we hadn’t had proper sex in over a month, my body molded around his like it was made for him—or his was made for me.

My eyes fluttered shut again when he started moving. I was still hypersensitive from my earlier orgasms, and it didn’t take long before I was floating on a cloud of bliss again.

Unlike our first time, this was slow and sensual, our bodies moving in perfect sync as Sebastian kissed me with unhurried thoroughness. It wasn’t about achieving orgasm as much as it was about being together, and when I came, it was a sweet, gentle crest instead of blinding intensity. It was no less pleasurable than my previous highs, but it was more intimate. More profound.

“Je t’aime,” Sebastian whispered, resting his forehead against mine. “I love you.”

Warmth unspooled in my chest. I melted against him, my reply coming out on a sigh. “I love you too.”

I love you. It was the first time we’d said those words to each other as adults. He’d told me in his letter, but that was over a dozen years and thousands of miles ago.

This was different. This was here and now, and it was real. So real I felt it settle deep within my bones, anchoring me.

Most couples agonized over when to say the L word because they wanted to time it perfectly, or they weren’t sure whether the other person felt the same way. But for us—for me—the words came as naturally as breathing.

I guess part of me had always known, from the moment Sebastian and I had met, that our lives would be intertwined forever. Our relationship could’ve gone one of two ways, and we’d spent most of our lives on the other path. I was glad we’d made it to this one.

Now that we’d found each other, we wouldn’t get lost again.

I was sure of it.

CHAPTER 34

Maya

I FINALLY TOLD MY FRIENDS THAT SEBASTIAN AND I were dating a month into our relationship.

Between work, travel, and family obligations, we hadn’t had much time to connect in the new year, and this was our first real girls’ night in months. It seemed like the perfect time to break the news.

They reacted with varying degrees of shock and elation, though they weren’t quite as surprised as I would’ve expected.

“I watch too many rom-coms not to have seen it coming,” Sloane said. “Enemies to lovers? Obsessed with each other since childhood? The writing was on the wall.”

“We weren’t obsessed,” I protested. “I didn’t even like him until recently.”

“Mmhmm. Is that why you guys kept seeking each other out?” Ayana asked knowingly. “If you really didn’t like him, you would’ve gone out of your way to avoid him.”

“I did, but our families are friends and—”

“You were forced to work together. Yada, yada, yada,” Isabella said. “No one forced you to meet once a week in person. Or to take a road trip to Vermont together.”

Shit. They were right. I slumped against my seat as my friends burst into giggles at my stunned expression.

In hindsight, it was obvious. I hadn’t consciously been attracted to Sebastian, but I’d always gravitated toward him. He was often the first person I thought of when I won something and the last person I thought of before I went to sleep. Granted, that had been in the context of me 1) wanting to rub my victories in his face, and 2) devising new ways of beating him, but… I’d still thought about him. A lot.

“Fine,” I said over my friends’ laughter. “I was a little oblivious, but it wasn’t my fault! It’s hard to admit your feelings have changed when you’ve hated someone your whole life.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Isabella patted my shoulder. “You never hated him, but it’s okay. I’m glad you guys have finally seen the light.”

I made a face, but my mouth tugged up in a reluctant smile. It was hard to argue with the truth.

Sloane, Ayana, Vivian, Isabella, Alessandra, and I were catching up at a trendy new bowling alley downtown. We were taking a food break in between games, but we’d done more talking than eating over the past half hour—not that I was complaining. It was nice to sit back and gossip after the insane few weeks I’d had at work.

“So where is this going?” Alessandra asked. “Have you told your parents yet?”

They all knew about my engagement deadline, so it was a fair question.

“Not yet,” I admitted. “We’re waiting until after the launch event. If you could keep this a secret until then, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Her face was soft with sympathy. Vivian was the only one who might understand the familial pressure I was under because she’d been raised with similar expectations. That was how she’d ended up in an arranged marriage with Dante.

Our conversation shifted to Sloane’s latest client, but my mind lingered on the impending launch. It was in two months, which seemed both too close and too far away.

A pinch of anxiety flared in my gut. Was two months enough time to figure out what my endgame with Sebastian looked like? What was I going to say when my mother inevitably assumed our relationship announcement was the equivalent of an engagement announcement? Would she let us take it slow, or would she insist we get married as soon as possible?

If the launch bombed, and we went public as a couple, would people blame my failure on my love life? They’d probably say I got distracted by my boyfriend and wasn’t focused enough to operate at the same level I used to. Sebastian was the co-event lead, but that wouldn’t matter. Guys never faced the same type of judgment from the public. They could work and date, no problem, but when women did it, we suddenly had to choose.

Worse… what if they were right? Not about my capabilities or having to choose, but about the distraction. Old me would’ve never taken an afternoon off for sex the way we’d done last week.

I didn’t regret it, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t felt a little worried afterward. There were dozens of people lined up to take my spot at the head of the corporate marketing world. There were more who were eager to see me fail. If I took my foot off the gas for even a second…

Stop it. I shook off the familiar doubts attempting to wrap themselves around me. It was girls’ night; it wasn’t the time for another existential crisis.

When I tuned back into the conversation, my friends were talking about next year’s Legacy Ball. The ball was an ultra-exclusive event that took place in a different city every year. It hadn’t been held in New York since Vivian chaired the planning committee years ago.

“No way,” she said when Alessandra asked if she was in charge of the event again. “I think I still have a few gray hairs from the first time I planned it. God bless whoever’s in charge of next year’s ball, but I’ll be attending as a guest and only a guest this time around.”

“I can’t wait.” Ayana’s eyes sparkled. “It’ll be my first time attending. Vuk’s too. He never wanted to go before, but I convinced him it’d be fun. He says hi, by the way.”

We all stared at her.

“Okay, no, he didn’t,” she admitted sheepishly. “I said hi for him. But he does like you guys. He just… doesn’t express it.”

“Forget liking us. Are you really texting your boyfriend during girls’ night?” Isabella clucked her tongue. “Shame on—hey!” She squawked in protest when Vivian swiped her phone off the table.

“I miss you too, love,” she read aloud. “Poker with the guys is fun, but I’d rather—okay, I’m not reading the rest of this.” She put the phone back down, blushing, but she arched an eyebrow at Isabella. “What were you saying about texting boyfriends and husbands during girls’ night?”

“I had to ask him a question about bowling, and one thing led to another,” Isabella said over our renewed laughter. Her face was red. “It’s not like I’m the only one. Who here hasn’t texted their partner tonight? Raise your hand. And don’t lie because I will check.”

The rest of us exchanged guilty looks. In my defense, I’d only texted Sebastian between turns. I hadn’t messaged him since we took our food break.

“This is pathetic.” Sloane spoke up first. “I will not let us turn into those people who can’t enjoy a night out without their significant other.” She plunked her purse onto the table. “All cell phones in the bag. Come on.”

There were a few grumbles, but we did as she asked and left our table for another game.

“I hope Dante doesn’t show up with security,” Vivian said. “He tends to freak out when I don’t answer fast enough.” Her husband was notoriously overprotective, but the ruthless CEO had accumulated enough enemies over the course of his career to justify his paranoia.

“It’ll be fine,” Isabella said. “The guys get so into poker, I bet they’re not even thinking about us unless we text them.”

Sebastian

“Check,” Killian said, deferring his bet. He waited a beat before adding impatiently, “Young, it’s your turn.”

“Hmm?” Kai glanced up from his phone. “What?”

“It’s your turn.”

“Ah. Apologies.” The British CEO didn’t look sorry at all. “I had to reply to Isabella about something.”

“Was it more urgent than putting in your bet when there’s this much money at stake?” Killian asked pointedly. He nodded at the towering stacks of chips on the table.

“Yes,” Kai said. He smirked at Killian’s scoff of disgust, but he finally made his bet. I was next, and I matched his bet before I returned to texting under the table.

MAYA

Guess who’s winning at bowling?

Sloane?

MAYA

…

Don’t insult me like that again

I’m up by twenty, baby

P.S. Don’t tell Sloane I said that. She’s scary when she gets competitive

Like you don’t

MAYA

Me, competitive? Never

Don’t feel bad about it.

It’s one of my favorite things about you

“Laurent. Your turn,” Killian said.

“I already went.”

“It’s your turn again.” Killian sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth. He was hosting a poker night at his house, but I could tell he regretted it.

I quickly made my bet and checked my phone. No response from Maya yet.

“Markovic!” Killian’s frustration boiled over into a near shout.

I glanced up again to see Vuk also on his phone. He wore a faint smile, which meant he was texting Ayana. She was the only one with the power to mold his face into anything other than stoic boredom or an outright scowl.

Vuk ignored Killian and continued texting.

“That’s it.” Our host slammed his hands on the table, making everyone except the Serb jump. “This is supposed to be a guys’ night, but you’re all too busy texting your wives and girlfriends to play a proper game of poker. It’s pathetic.”

His proclamation was met by a round of unimpressed stares.

“Define ‘proper,’” Xavier drawled. He sat between Dominic and Dante, who eyed Xavier’s messy plate of fries, wings, and mashed potatoes with a grimace. The Italian had a notorious hang-up about different foods touching each other. “We’re playing, aren’t we?”

“I’ve had to remind every single one of you when it’s your turn. I feel like a damn kindergarten teacher,” Killian growled. “How is it possible you’re this fucking attached to your partners when you’ve been together for so long?”

“You don’t have a partner. You wouldn’t get it,” Dominic said.

“Leave me out of your generalization,” I added. “Maya and I have only been dating for a month. We’re still in our honeymoon phase.”

I’d told the guys about our relationship at the start of the night. Xavier’s triumphant “I knew it!” aside, they’d responded with the expected wisecracks and claps on the back. Dante warned me never to ask for a double date with him and Vivian unless I wanted to die, and that was that.

“Yeah, well, based on everyone’s behavior, no one ever gets out of their honeymoon phase,” Killian said, his tone sour. “Given how distracted you all are, we might as well scrap poker and join the girls at bowling.”

Silence fell as we all glanced at each other.

Disbelief bloomed across Killian’s face. “I was joking.”

“But what if you weren’t?” Xavier asked. “Remember that time we all played laser tag together? That was fun. We could have a similar group night tonight.”

“No,” Killian said. “Absolutely the fuck not.”

“I haven’t heard from Viv in a while.” Dante frowned. “It’s not like her. What if she’s in trouble?”

“I haven’t heard from Maya either.” She was probably too caught up in bowling to check my latest message, but I got a kick out of pushing Killian’s buttons. He was normally unfazed by everything, but he’d been strangely on edge lately. “Maybe we should check on them, just in case.”

“They could be in danger,” Dominic said. “If something happens to them, do you want their deaths on your conscience?”

“They’re bowling,” Killian said. “They’re not in danger unless someone drops a fucking bowling ball on their heads.”

Another silence fell.

Vuk didn’t contribute to the conversation, but he pushed his chair back and left without a word.

Dante was the next to leave, though he made sure to toss Xavier’s offending plate in the trash before he followed Vuk out the door.

“We’ll have a proper game another night,” Kai said as he made his exit.

“Sorry,” Xavier added cheerfully on his way out. “On the bright side, you get to keep all the winnings.”

Dominic patted Killian on the shoulder, and then… there were two.

I stood and grinned down at our stunned host. “You coming?”

Killian sighed, his expression resigned. He rose to his feet and shook his head. “I really need to get more single friends.”

CHAPTER 35

Maya

PUTTING OUR PHONES IN TIME OUT WAS THE BEST thing that could’ve happened to my score sheet. Without Sebastian to distract me, I bowled a perfect game—a rare enough occurrence that the manager sent us a free round of celebratory drinks.

One round turned into two, and two turned into three. By the time the guys showed up, my friends and I were so drunk, we greeted them like they were soldiers returning from war.

“Seb!” I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him, my cheeks aching from the force of my smile. “I’m so happy to see you! Did you win? Tell me you won.”

Sebastian laughed. “No one won. We left before the game ended, but I see you’re having a good time.” He raised an eyebrow at the collection of empty glasses at our table.

“The best. I bowled a perfect game.” I held up ten fingers. “Per. Fect. Game. First person to do so in…” I faltered, trying to remember what the manager said.

“Three years,” Sloane supplied. She was perched on the railing separating the food area from the bowling lanes. Xavier stood between her legs, his hands braced on her hips to keep her from falling.

I nodded. “What she said.”

“That’s my girl.” Sebastian kissed my forehead. “I didn’t expect anything less.”

Warmth trickled from my nape down to my toes. He looked good. He sounded good. He smelled good, too. I could snuggle into his chest and stay there all night, but first, I had a very important question to ask. “Have you ever bowled a perfect game?”

His chest rumbled with another laugh. “No, not yet.”

“Want to try? We can split into two teams! You and I will be the captains, obviously, and…” I trailed off again, trying to stitch my scattered thoughts together. Everything was so fuzzy.

God, I was really drunk.

“Let’s get you some water first.” A strong hand settled on the small of my back and guided me to the nearest table. “Then we can play.”

Twenty minutes and two full bottles of water later, my head cleared enough for me to think properly again. I blinked up at Sebastian, who observed me with amusement from across the table.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi, my angel. Feeling better?”

My heart fluttered.

My angel. Mon ange. He didn’t call me that often, but I melted every time he did. “Much better.” I tucked a hand beneath my thigh, suddenly shy. It was ridiculous, but this was our first outing as a couple with our friends, and I’d embarrassed myself by getting so drunk I had to be put in figurative time out.

The weight of nearly a dozen pairs of eyes bored into my skin. I looked up to see our friends watching us with giddy smiles (the girls) and expressions ranging from curiosity to amusement (the guys). The only one who wasn’t paying attention to us was Killian, who was frowning at his phone.

“You guys are so cute.” Ayana nudged her boyfriend. “Aren’t they cute?”

Vuk frowned. I took that as a yes.

Once we all sobered up enough to pick up a bowling ball again without dropping it, we split into two teams like I’d suggested. I was with Dominic, Vivian, Sloane, Xavier, and Kai; Sebastian got Vuk, Alessandra, Ayana, Isabella, and Dante.

Killian sat the game out. He parked himself at the bar and continued to glare at his phone like it’d personally offended him. His surliness was extremely out of character, but I forgot all about it as the game got underway.

Our teams had an equal number of strong and weak players. They balanced each other out, and we were tied by the start of the tenth frame. Ultimate victory came down to our last players—Vivian for us, Dante for them.

“Let’s go, Viv!” I cheered. “You can do it!”

She wasn’t one of our best bowlers, but she wasn’t the worst either. Plus she was going up against Dante, whom I suspected might throw his turn so his wife could win. That seemed like something he would do.

Sebastian came up beside me as a nervous-looking Vivian lined up her shot. “Let’s make another deal. Loser has to do whatever the other person says for a week.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear.

Tingles erupted on my skin, but I kept my tone aloof. “Don’t make deals you can’t win.”

His smile could’ve belonged to the devil himself. “Who says I can’t win?”

A second later, groans erupted from my side. Vivian’s ball had gone into the gutter.

Fuck.

“Sorry, Maya,” she said, her cheeks pink. “I tried.”

“It’s okay.” I ignored Sebastian’s grin and gave her a consoling hug. “You did your best. If Dante messes up, we’ll still be tied.”

I really thought he would mess up on purpose, but he rolled a perfect strike.

Double fuck.

Sebastian’s grin widened.

“Don’t say a word,” I warned while his team celebrated and my team sulked.

“I didn’t.” He held up his hands, his eyes sparkling with laughter. “But Vivian would’ve killed him if he lost on purpose, so I hope you weren’t counting on Dante to throw the game.”

“I wasn’t counting on it,” I grumbled. “But it would’ve been nice.”

“You would’ve hated it.”

“Um… no, I don’t think I would’ve.”

“It wouldn’t have been a real victory. You like winning fair and square.”

I sighed. Damn him for being right again. “I guess.”

“If it makes you feel better…” Sebastian dipped his head, his breath warm against my skin. “Secondary winners get a consolation kiss.”

My mouth twitched. “Secondary winners?”

“Sounds better than losers.” He shrugged. “I figured using that term wouldn’t endear you to me at this time.”

“You’d be right.” Some of my frustration at losing drained away. It was hard to be upset when he was so…him. “But I’ll take that consolation kiss any day now.”

His chuckle reverberated through me. His lips touched mine a second later, soft and sweet, but our kiss lasted only a heartbeat.

“Maya?” A familiar voice interrupted us, filled with shock.

I jerked back, my head snapping toward the newcomer. My jaw dropped. “Neha?”

“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this a secret for a month.” Neha crossed her arms, the picture of sisterly judgment. “Mom and Dad are going to flip. Does anyone else in our family know? Does Priya know? Does Nani know?”

“No! And you’re not going to tell them.” I looked around frantically like her words would somehow summon all three generations into the back corner of the bowling alley.

I was in deep shit. I shouldn’t have kissed Sebastian in public downtown, but this place was way too trendy for my family. I didn’t think I’d run into anyone who would blab to my parents.

Clearly, I’d been wrong.

Neha and I were currently standing by the restrooms, locked in a not-so-quiet battle of wills.

The positioning gave me an obstructed view of my friends and Sebastian, who kept glancing at us with a worried frown. He’d wanted to come with me, but I needed to talk to my sister alone. His presence would make things worse, not better.

“I can’t hide this from them,” she said. “If Mom and Dad find out I knew and didn’t tell them, they’ll kill me too.”

“They won’t kill anyone. They’ll be so over the moon I’m dating someone that they’ll probably throw us a party.”

“Oh, really?” Neha cocked an eyebrow. “Then why haven’t you told them?”

“Because,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I’m waiting until after the launch. You know how Mom is. If I tell her now, she’ll have me deep in wedding planning by next week. I can’t deal with that right now.”

Neha narrowed her eyes. She was here with some old college friends, and I silently cursed myself for forgetting that she used to be captain of her university’s bowling team. I should’ve known she’d check this new spot out, trendy or not.

If I had to have run into a sister, I would’ve preferred Priya. She would probably keep my secret for me, but Neha was as strait-laced as they came. This was the same girl who’d smoked marijuana once in college and confessed to our parents the next day. They’d taken away her credit card privileges for a month, but she said having a clean conscience was worth the punishment.

That was the type of goody-two-shoes I was dealing with here, and I was trying my best not to freak out.

My parents finding out early wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it would destroy all my carefully laid plans. If we stuck to my timeline, I knew what to expect. If we didn’t, anything could happen, and that type of uncertainty made my skin crawl.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Neha said. “I think you’re worried they won’t approve or that they’ll scare Sebastian away.”

I kept quiet.

“Or…” Her eyes narrowed further. “Maybe you’re not ready to tell them because you don’t know how you feel yet.”

I still didn’t respond.

“No, that’s not it.” She tapped a finger against her arm. Tap, tap, tap until she paused, and realization dawned. “You’re scared. This is your first real relationship in—”

“Stop.” I cut her off. “Don’t play therapist with me, okay? I’m asking you, sister to sister, to please keep this a secret until June. That’s only two months from now.”

Neha’s forehead creased. For a brief, shining moment, I thought she might agree, but then she shook her head, and all my hopes came crashing down.

“I’m sorry, but dragging it out won’t do anyone any good,” she said. “The longer you wait, the worse it’ll be. I know how Mom can be, but I know how Dad can be too. He hates when people keep secrets from him.”

Panic and frustration coiled in my gut.

I loved my sister, but sometimes, I wanted to strangle her. “Neha, please,” I said, but I knew it was a lost cause. I recognized the tilt of her chin and the firm set of her mouth. She wasn’t going to budge.

“We’re having dinner with the Laurents next week. Dad should be in a good mood,” Neha said. “You need to tell them then. If you don’t, I will. It’s for your own good. Trust me.”

CHAPTER 36

Sebastian

FUCKING NEHA.

Out of everyone we could’ve run into at bowling, we had to run into Maya’s rigid, uptight sister.

Maya had spent the past week panicking about tonight’s dinner at my parents’ house, but a strange calm enveloped me as I entered their brownstone.

In hindsight, hiding our relationship from her family had probably caused more issues than it’d prevented. Neal, in particular, hated when people lied to him, and that included lying by omission. Revealing that I’d secretly been dating his daughter behind his back for the past month and a half wasn’t going to win me any brownie points, but what was done was done.

Even if I could change the past—knowing we’d end up in this predicament if I didn’t—I wouldn’t have traded the past month of bliss for anything. Having Maya all to myself for those weeks was worth whatever recriminations her parents threw my way.

My only worry was how she’d handle it, but we’d deal with it together. I was also banking on her mother’s elation to calm some of her father’s inevitable anger.

However, my calm fizzled when I stepped into the dining room, where my parents were already seated. The Singhs weren’t here yet, but something was off. I couldn’t put my finger on it. It was a current in the air, a subtle shift in energy that made the hairs on my nape prickle and goosebumps run up and down my arms.

I hid my unease for the time being and greeted my parents.

“Sebastian!” My mother gave me a double air kiss. “I’m so happy to see you. You look wonderful.”

“Thanks, Maman.” My smile vanished when I greeted my father. “Papa.”

He inclined his head. “Sebastian.”

My mother chattered on about her upcoming spa vacation with Shilpa, Maya’s mom. They were going to some fancy new place in Switzerland.

I listened and asked the appropriate questions, but my sense of unease deepened. It wasn’t related to our conversation or even my father, who was busy with his phone. It was more like a warning tingle, similar to the way I could smell an impending storm or guess when a jump scare was about to pop up during a horror movie.

The Singhs arrived soon after. Maya came in behind her parents, and the knots in my gut loosened when she flashed me a quick, conspiratorial smile.

Besides Neha, everyone thought we barely tolerated each other, so we exchanged only a brief hello before we settled into our usual seating arrangement—my father and Neal at opposite ends of the table, the rest of us occupying the seats between them. It was a smaller affair tonight, consisting of myself, Maya, our parents, and her sisters. Her grandmother and her sister’s partners were conspicuously absent.

Maya and I had agreed to tell our families together after dinner. That meant we had two hours before the grand finale, give or take. Until then…

Maya’s foot grazed mine beneath the table. I tensed, electricity spiking in my blood. An image of her sprawled half naked on her breakfast table flashed through my mind, and I quickly took a gulp of water to hide the heat creeping over my face.

She continued eating without looking at me, but I detected a grin lurking at the corners of her mouth.

That little tease. She was going to pay for that later.

At least she seemed calmer today. She was almost playful. She must’ve come to the same conclusion I had—whatever was going to happen would happen regardless of how we felt about it. We might as well have some fun while we could.

Honestly, we should skip the rest of dinner altogether. I could grab her and kiss her right here, during the main course. How was that for an announcement? Then I could drag her back to my place and—

“Sebastian, dear, can you pass the potatoes?” my mother asked, chasing away what would’ve been a highly inappropriate fantasy for a family-and-friends dinner. She frowned at me. “Are you alright? You look a little flushed.”

“I’m fine.” I passed her the bowl of scalloped potatoes. “I was just thinking about dessert. I’d love to eat some strawberries later. Maybe with some chocolate syrup and honey.”

Maya choked on her drink. I tamped down a smirk as she got her coughing under control and glared at me.

Two could play this game.

A line of puzzlement formed between my mother’s brows. “I’ll tell Evita,” she said, naming their live-in chef. “We’ll see what she can do.”

“How are you feeling, by the way?” I asked. “How’s physical therapy?”

I’d been worried she would skip her doctor-mandated PT sessions after her car accident, but she’d been going every week. After months of therapy, her slight limp was gone, though she still complained about a few aches that flared up now and again.

“Fine. Boring.” She made a face. “Next week’s my last session. I need something fun as a reward. Maybe I’ll go with your aunt to Monaco—” She stopped short.

She wasn’t going anywhere with my aunt because my aunt was dead.

I swallowed the sudden bitter taste in my throat. “I can go with you. A weekend trip, like old times.”

“No, t’inquiète.” She covered up her mistake with a stiff smile. “I already have my Switzerland trip with Shilpa coming up. I don’t need to go to Monaco.”

Maya’s mother overheard her name, and they struck up a new conversation about their plans for the trip.

I returned to my meal, but the once-delicious food tasted like soggy paper. My mother hadn’t slipped up like that in months. It wasn’t a huge deal, but I worried it was a sign she might unravel again. Or… was that me being paranoid and projecting my own neuroses onto her? I had no way of knowing.

“Seb.” Maya’s voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear her. When I looked up, she was watching me, her expression soft with worry.

Are you okay? she mouthed.

I nodded. I’d told her about my mother’s struggles after my aunt’s death, but she didn’t know the full story. It wasn’t mine to tell, and part of me was embarrassed to voice my concerns in case I was reading too much into what was likely a normal grief process.

Dinner continued as usual. Besides Neha’s pointed stares, the atmosphere was light, but my earlier unease lingered.

It wasn’t until dessert rolled around that my intuition proved prescient.

“How was the tennis tournament at Valhalla last week?” Neal asked. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. My meetings in Chicago took longer than expected.”

“It was fine. Verver won. You should’ve seen the shock on everyone’s face.” My father laughed.

Neal didn’t join in. “Good to hear. What about afterward? How were your meetings?”

The Valhalla Club’s annual tennis tournament was really an excuse for members to hobnob and source intel from each other. It was more popular with the older crowd, and the “casual” drinks and dinners that people scheduled after the matches were the real draw.

My father shrugged. “They were fine. Nothing earth-shattering.”

“Really?” Neal leaned back. “So there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

A sharp current rippled through the air, and the hairs on my nape prickled again. Maya set her fork down, her eyes sliding between our fathers with consternation.

My father frowned. “Like what?”

“Like why you had dinner with Charles Whitaker.” Neal’s eyes flashed. Charles Whitaker was the CEO of Whitaker Farms, Singh Foods’ biggest competitor. “I had to hear about it from Greenley, of all people. You should’ve seen how delighted he was when he realized I didn’t know. Why the fuck would you accept Whitaker’s invite, and why did you keep the meeting a secret from me?”

The others’ conversations ground to a halt. Maya sucked in an audible breath while her sisters’ eyes widened to cartoonish proportions.

Neal rarely cursed. He considered profanity a failure of discipline, so his outburst spoke volumes about how deeply my father’s actions upset him.

My father bristled. He was the type to double down instead of show remorse, and his response was clipped. “It was one dinner. We had a casual chat. I didn’t keep it a secret from you because it wasn’t worth mentioning.”

“Come on, Michel. You’ve been in business long enough to know exactly how that meeting was going to play out.” Neal scoffed. “It wasn’t about the conversation. It was about the optics. You think it’s a coincidence that Whitaker asked to meet the same day I was out of town? We’re two months out from a major product drop, one that will overshadow his own, and he’s trying to stir up doubt. There are already whispers about why you’re meeting with my biggest competitor this close to launch. Rumors that you’re unhappy with our partnership and that you might jump ship to Whitaker Farms for your next collaboration. That’s what he wanted, and you played right into his hand. How can you not see that?”

“That’s ridiculous,” my father said. “Maybe Whitaker had ulterior motives, but if I’d said no, he would’ve found another way to get to me. People whisper all the time. If I made business decisions based on potential rumors, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I told you, it was one fucking dinner, and I don’t need your permission to say yes to any invitations. Not everything revolves around you and your company.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me about it?” Neal gestured at the table. “I didn’t say anything during dinner because I was waiting for you to bring it up. You didn’t. People only hide things when they feel guilty.”

I shifted in my seat, my stomach tight.

“Stop it,” Michel snapped. “I told you, it wasn’t important enough for me to mention. Now, can we enjoy our dessert in peace, or do we have to continue indulging your paranoia?”

“It’s not paranoia,” Neal snapped back. “He’s using you, and you can’t even see it!”

“Are you calling me naïve?” My father’s voice was incredulous.

“No, I’m calling you a traitor. This is not what friends do, Michel. Remember when I canceled my company’s contract with the Belmonts? It would’ve made us millions, but I backed out because they fucked you over. That is what friends do. I had your back, but it’s clear you don’t have mine.”

“Oh, fuck off!” My father exploded. “You’ve been holding that over my head for a decade, and I’m sick of it. If you think I’d stoop that low—if you think it’s okay to call me a traitor because of a stupid meal—then you should just leave. I will not have anyone insulting my character in my own house, much less someone who calls himself a friend.”

The ensuing silence was so thick, so barbed with anger, that I couldn’t breathe without it stinging my lungs.

Maya and I exchanged stricken glances. Her mother sat frozen, her face pale, while mine guzzled the rest of her wine like her life depended on it. My mother didn’t deal well with confrontation, and none of us had ever seen my father and Neal fight.

They’d been close friends for decades. They’d been each other’s best men at their respective weddings, and our families vacationed together every year. Seeing them clash like this was almost sacrilegious.

A dinner might seem like a foolish thing for them to fight over, but Neal was incredibly sensitive about Whitaker Farms’ increasing share of the market. Singh Foods had dominated the frozen foods world for decades, and he wasn’t dealing well with the prospect of being dethroned.

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t call us friends anymore,” Neal said, his voice cold. He threw his napkin down and shoved his chair back. “Shilpa, girls, let’s go. We’re leaving.”

“Neal—”

“Dad—”

Maya and her mother both spoke up, but he shut them down with a steely glare.

The rest of the Singhs quietly stood and followed Neal toward the exit. Shilpa murmured a soft “thank you for dinner” to my mother, who appeared dazed by the abrupt turn of events.

“In case it wasn’t clear, there will be no more communication between our families outside work,” Neal said. His mustache bristled with barely contained fury. “Whatever personal relationship we had ends here.”

“Fine,” my father replied, his tone equally cool. If it weren’t for the flush staining his cheeks, I wouldn’t have guessed their falling out affected him at all. “Then so be it.”

Neal’s nostrils flared. The Singhs left, but not before Maya sent a panicked glance my way. I tried to look reassuring; I was sure I failed.

So much for telling our families we were dating. We’d be lucky if our fathers ever spoke to each other again.

Then she was gone, and silence reigned once more.

My father tossed his own napkin on the table and stormed out without a word. My mother motioned for another glass of wine, and I stared at Maya’s empty chair, my insides churning.

What the fuck just happened?

CHAPTER 37

Maya

I THOUGHT MY FATHER AND MICHEL WOULD REALIZE the ridiculousness of their fight and reconcile within a day. A week, at most.

I was dead wrong.

Two weeks had passed since our disastrous dinner at the Laurents’ house, and our families were still locked in a cold war. Instead of dwindling, my father’s ire had ballooned to epic proportions during that time.

In his eyes, Michel’s refusal to apologize or acknowledge any wrongdoing was worse than his dinner with Charles Whitaker. It was an unforgivable betrayal, and he’d forbidden our entire family from interacting with any of the Laurents.

I got a small reprieve because I had to work with Sebastian on the launch, but my father was so unforgiving that we were too nervous to meet up outside of work. My father had eyes and ears everywhere—more so now that he had a reason to suspect we might rebel, considering he was the only one mad at the Laurents—so we communicated solely via texts and calls.

Even then, I had to be careful. Out of an abundance of caution, I’d changed Sebastian’s name in my phone in case a notification popped up at the wrong time.

My mother and I both tried reasoning with my father, to no avail.

“Yvonne and I are supposed to go to Switzerland soon. You can’t expect me to cancel when we’ve been planning this for months,” she argued. But my father didn’t bend, and she ended up canceling the trip.

She didn’t talk to him for days after, but it didn’t matter. Once my father made up his mind, there was almost no changing it. The same went for Michel.

It was like watching two grown men act like teenagers throwing temper tantrums. I would’ve pressed the issue harder, but I hadn’t seen my father this enraged since my uncle Raj cheated him out of twenty thousand dollars during a blackjack game gone wrong. I’d been a child then, but I distinctly remembered all hell breaking loose.

My father didn’t care about the money. It was the principle of the matter, and he hadn’t spoken to my uncle, his own brother, since. That’d been almost thirty years ago. If he found out I was breaking his No Contact rule, he might actually disown me.

Thankfully, my father’s anger wasn’t enough to overshadow his business sensibilities. We were careful to shield his falling-out with Michel from the press, and they begrudgingly showed up to the joint press conference Sebastian and I had scheduled ahead of next month’s launch.

It was held in a hotel ballroom in Midtown. Our fathers occupied the middle two seats while Sebastian and I sat on opposite ends of the table. For forty-five minutes, we smiled for the cameras and answered questions about the collaboration. My father and Michel even riffed off each other for a few jokes that made everyone laugh.

If I didn’t know better, I’d assume they were still the best of friends, but I sat close enough to sense the tension rolling off my father in waves.

I was also hyperaware of Sebastian’s presence three seats down from mine. I avoided looking at him for fear my longing would give us away, and our secret glances would be captured on video for the world to see.

But he was there, slipping beneath my skin and filling my lungs. I didn’t have to look at him to hear the smooth timbre of his voice or envision his wry but easy smile as he answered a particularly obvious question.

It was a special kind of torture to be this close to him and not be with him, but at least we could still interact under the guise of work.

Thank God for small blessings.

The press event ended, and I made sure to say bye to every reporter before they left. Ezra was also here, but I liked to connect with the media personally. It generated a lot of goodwill.

Soon, the room was nearly empty. I checked in with Ezra, but my skin tingled halfway through our debrief. I glanced over, my breath catching when I saw Sebastian watching me while he spoke with someone from Food & Wine.

The tingles sparked and intensified. The air between us grew taut, as if someone had strung a live wire between us, making it hum with everything we couldn’t say.

I ended my conversation with Ezra and moved toward Sebastian—I could use work as an excuse—but my father stopped me with a sharp look.

“The conference is over. Let’s go.” He didn’t acknowledge the Laurents. Michel was already halfway out the door, his movements purposeful, like my father didn’t exist.

“Dad, please.” Most of the reporters were gone, but I kept my voice low just in case. “I know you’re upset with Michel, but this can’t go on forever. You’ve been friends for decades. Don’t let Charles Whitaker, of all people, drive a wedge between you two.”

My father’s mouth tightened. “I told you, I’ve made up my mind. We’re not discussing this anymore.”

“But—”

“Stop.” He held up one hand. “This isn’t up for debate. Michel has had plenty of opportunities to admit he was wrong, but he chose not to. If he’s willing to throw away our friendship for the sake of pride and one dinner, then that friendship wasn’t worth much to begin with. It doesn’t matter how many years we’ve known each other. Once trust is lost, you can’t win it back.”

Michel wasn’t the only one who was letting his pride get in the way, but I was smart enough to keep that observation to myself.

“Let this be a lesson to you as well,” my father warned. “You and Sebastian have been working closely on the launch, but you know what they say. Like father, like son. You can’t trust him.”

I stiffened. “He’s nothing like his father,” I said. “Don’t take your anger out on him. Without Sebastian, we wouldn’t have a product line. He’s gone above and beyond for this project, and he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

A hint of suspicion crept into my father’s eyes. “Since when do you defend Sebastian Laurent? I had to twist your arm to get you to work with him.”

Shit. I shouldn’t have tipped my hand, but I’d let my impulses get the better of me.

My heart raced as I cobbled together an excuse. “I’m not defending him. I’m telling the truth. He’s annoying and arrogant, but he’s not Michel. I don’t like accusing people of things they haven’t done. That’s all.”

I was too afraid to look at Sebastian again, but the heat of his gaze scorched my cheek. He was standing less than a dozen feet away, yet he’d never felt so far.

“Perhaps, but it’s better to be safe than sorry,” my father said. “Once the launch is over, you are to delegate the rest of your collaboration duties to Ezra. You will not speak to anyone from the Laurent family, including Sebastian. That is an order. Are we clear?”

I swallowed the urge to argue some more. Trying to get through to him when he was like this would be harder than knocking down a brick wall with a toothpick. I was better off saving my energy for a future battle.

“Crystal,” I said.

Sebastian pushed me up against the side of a filing cabinet, his mouth desperate against mine as I hooked my legs around his waist. The old metal contraption rattled in protest, but I barely noticed.

“Right there. Right—God.” I moaned when he thrust inside me, his cock stretching me to the limit. He fisted my hair, his mouth trailing down my neck as he dragged his teeth over the sensitized skin.

We usually took things slower, but we were so wound up that we’d skipped the foreplay and gone straight to the main event. It didn’t matter. I was still dripping wet, my mind fracturing as he fucked me so hard that the cabinet shook with every brutal stroke.

This was the first time we’d had sex in two weeks, and it showed in the urgency of our movements. We didn’t even wait until our clothes were off. I’d unbuttoned his shirt, he’d shoved my skirt up around my waist and pushed my panties to the side, and—

I cried out when he hit my most sensitive spot. Lightning streaks of pleasure arced down my spine, and I instinctively clenched around him, making him groan.

“You feel so fucking good.” Sebastian tightened his already viselike grip on my hair. Tears sprang to my eyes at the electric mix of pain and pleasure. “Your pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? Do you get yourself off at night, thinking about what I’d do to you the next time I saw you?”

“Yes.” My nails dug into his shoulders. I was trembling, my orgasm edging closer and closer to the brink. “Yesyesyes. I… I…” He thrust into me again, and I lost the ability to form words.

“You what?” He released my hair to grasp my chin, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were dark and fierce with hunger. “What do you do, Maya?”

“I think of you,” I whimpered. “Only you.”

The hunger in his eyes flared into raw, primal need. He let go of my chin and gripped my hips with both hands, holding me steady as he slammed into me so hard, it knocked the breath out of my lungs.

Just like that, I came apart. My orgasm tipped over the edge, making me scream so loud he had to clamp a hand over my mouth to muffle the noise. It reminded me of our first time in the stairwell, which only made me come harder.

Sebastian cursed as he found his own release. His muscles went taut, and his thrusts became erratic as his cock twitched and pulsed inside me. His hand left my mouth, and I gasped in a lungful of air as we gradually came down from our dizzying highs.

“Fuck,” he panted. “That was…”

“Incredible.” I rested my head against the cabinet, trying to catch my breath. “But risky.”

We were in a cramped back office in the hotel’s administrative wing. I’d told my father I needed to wrap up some paperwork with the hotel, and I’d waited for him and Michel to leave before asking the event manager for a place where I could make a “quick but highly confidential call.” Sebastian had snuck in after I’d told him where to meet me.

We didn’t have much time before someone came looking for us, but I wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet.

“Risky, but worth it.” He kissed me again, his voice unbearably tender compared to the roughness of our sex. “I miss you so fucking much.”

My chest squeezed. “I miss you too.”

Sneaking around wasn’t the same as being together, and the longing in his eyes told me he felt the same.

Sebastian pulled out and gently unwound my legs from around his waist. He cleaned us both up with a handkerchief he kept in his pocket. His movements were slow and careful, like he was trying to drag this out as long as possible. Once he finished, he wrapped the handkerchief in a tissue and slipped it into his pocket. We couldn’t risk the office owner finding it in the trash later.

“It’s killing me not to see you every day,” he said quietly.

A hundred replies crowded my throat, but I swallowed them so I didn’t start tearing up. I didn’t want to make him feel worse, so I settled for a hoarse, “Me too.”

I didn’t tell him that I’d wanted to run to him earlier and burrow myself into his chest. We could take the next flight to Paris, London, anywhere but here, where we lived under a microscope. We could pretend we were normal lovers, free from the expectations of our families and their petty squabbles.

But we couldn’t.

This was our first truly private moment since our fathers’ falling out. Our shared space at Singh Foods HQ was right by my father’s office, so we were always on edge there, and video calls weren’t an adequate substitute for seeing him in person.

Sebastian pressed his forehead against mine, his breaths slowing into an even, steady rhythm as I ran my fingers leisurely through his hair and traced lazy circles on his back. I just wanted to feel him, to breathe him in and assure myself that he was real.

“You think our dads will ever pull their heads out of their asses?” he asked in French. He was fluent in English, but he reverted to his native language when he was particularly frustrated.

I laughed, the sound tinged with melancholy. “Maybe. Maybe not,” I said, also in French.

“The universe insists on fucking us over every time things are going well. I’m starting to take it personally.”

I didn’t laugh this time because he was right. From the mystery asshole who’d sabotaged his letter in boarding school to our families’ unprecedented feud, our relationship had been marked by obstacle after obstacle. After years of lost time, we were finally together, but we had to sneak around like teenagers.

A few months ago, I would’ve taken our troubles as a sign that we weren’t meant to be. But honestly? Fuck that.

Sebastian and I had made it through a lifetime of animosity and misunderstandings. We’d make it through this too.

Still, I winced at the prospect of choosing between him and my family. I didn’t want to wait another fifteen years before we could openly be together. That might sound like an exaggeration, but my father was notorious for holding long grudges.

“We can’t wait for them to reconcile on their own,” I said. “They need a little push.”

“Let me guess,” Sebastian said. “We’ll be doing the pushing?”

“You are so. Smart,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. I squealed with genuine laughter when he wrestled me to the ground and tickled me with a mock scowl.

Someone knocked on the door, and we froze, our laughter evaporating beneath a cloud of dread.

“Ms. Singh? Can I come in?”

Fuck. It was the event manager.

“Uh, one moment, please,” I called out, my voice a pitch higher than I would’ve liked.

I scrambled to my feet and fixed my hair and clothes while Sebastian squeezed himself between the wall and the farthest filing cabinet. It was the only feasible hiding place in the otherwise open office.

Once I made sure he was properly concealed, I opened the door to the event manager’s tight smile. I smiled back, my pulse pounding.

“Sorry about that. The call took longer than expected.” I slipped out of the room and shut the door firmly behind me. “Thanks so much for letting me use the office. It was, um, very private. Exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome.” The manager glanced at the closed door. “Shall I escort you to the lobby? The layout of this floor can be confusing.”

My smile felt stitched on. “Sure.”

I followed him through the maze of hallways to the elevator. I hoped Sebastian was able to get out without anyone seeing him. The administrative wing was pretty quiet, so he should be okay, but I wished we’d had the chance to say a proper goodbye. Who knew when our next non-work-related moment alone would be?

My chest tightened.

We couldn’t keep going like this. We had to find a way to restore our fathers’ friendship, preferably before we all died of old age.

I mentally added it to my to-do list. Other major items included: bridesmaid duties for Priya’s wedding, telling our families Sebastian and I were dating after our fathers (hopefully) made up, and, oh yeah, pulling off the biggest, buzziest launch in the food world next month.

No pressure or anything.

My mind was spinning, but as I stepped into the elevator, my panic crystallized into determination.

I’d get it all done. I had to.

CHAPTER 38

Maya

I ATTACKED THE MOST PRESSING ITEM ON MY TO-DO list the way I always did: with a comprehensive plan, complete with a backup plan and a backup plan for my backup plan. Anything to help my father and Michel rekindle their friendship and put us all out of our misery.

Unfortunately, every one of those plans ended in utter, abject failure.

When Sebastian and I bribed their assistants into scheduling them for a shared “VIP dinner,” they walked out immediately upon seeing each other at the restaurant.

When we sent them apology notes signed with the other’s name, they (correctly) sensed deception and tossed them in the trash.

When we engineered a “chance” encounter at the Valhalla Club, they… well, you get the idea.

Dealing with them was like dealing with children—two powerful, stubborn children who were used to getting their way and who would rather die than give up their pride.

This dragged on for two weeks, making it a full month since my father and Michel stopped talking. For once in my life, I was all out of ideas. I wanted to tear my hair out.

To make matters worse, Priya was starting to crack under the pressure of my mother’s Bridezilla-by-proxy tendencies. I’d had to talk her out of eloping twice, but I was worried she wouldn’t make it to her wedding without committing grisly murder.

The countdown to the launch event was now measured in weeks instead of months, which meant every waking minute was spent finalizing details and triaging last-minute issues. Sebastian and I hadn’t had a moment alone since our quickie in the hotel, and I was a giant ball of sexual frustration.

Basically, I was having one hell of a spring, with an emphasis on “hell.” The only things keeping me together were caffeine, adrenaline, and my nightly calls with Sebastian.

Then there was Neha. Given recent developments, she’d rescinded her earlier threat to tell my parents about Sebastian if I didn’t do so myself. Unfortunately, she’d replaced her threat with something worse.

“You have to break up with him,” she said at Priya’s wedding lehenga fitting. My mother had wanted her to wear a more traditional wedding saree, but Priya had put her foot down. She wanted a lehenga, specifically one designed by Vian (one name only), a famous Indian bridal designer.

My mother had relented, though she’d missed today’s fitting because Priya had “coincidentally” scheduled it for the same time as her immovable doctor’s appointment.

Neha and I were seated at the back of Vian’s atelier while he took Priya’s updated measurements and fussed over the draping. They were too distracted and too far away to hear us, but I kept an eye on them while I responded.

“Neha.” I kept my voice just above a whisper. “I’m not breaking up with him.”

“Maya, this is Dad we’re talking about. He still hasn’t forgiven Raj Uncle for that blackjack incident, and it’s been—”

“Over twenty years. I know, I know.” A headache blossomed at the base of my skull. “But Seb didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m not—”

“What do you think?” Priya called out. She spun so we could see the front of her lehenga. “Should we try a different draping style?”

“It’s perfect,” Neha and I said in unison.

I waited until Priya was busy with Vian again before I continued where I left off. “I’m not breaking up with him just because Dad and Michel are too stubborn to apologize.”

“I don’t understand why you’re being so hard-headed about this.” Neha sounded frustrated. “You didn’t even like him until a few months ago. You’ve spent most of your life actively despising him.”

“Despising is a strong word,” I said. “We were… frenemies.”

“You made a voodoo doll of him and stuck it with a pin every night until Diya found it and threw it away. She forced us to sage the entire house to get rid of the ‘dark magic energy.’ The house smelled like smoke for days.”

“Yes, well, I was fifteen and very upset that he got voted class president over me, okay? All because he hijacked the female vote by flirting with them. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, we like each other now.”

More than like. But I didn’t mention that to Neha. She’d freak out even more.

“Enough that you’re willing to risk Dad’s wrath for him?” She assessed me with serious dark eyes. “I want you to truly understand what defying his order to stay away from the Laurents would mean. This isn’t some parenting rule about getting good grades or coming home before curfew. He thinks Michel betrayed him, and there’s nothing he values more than loyalty—from his friends and his family. If he doesn’t forgive Michel—and there’s a strong chance he won’t—there will be major consequences when he finds out you’re dating Sebastian. He could demote you or fire you. He’ll make you choose between your family and your boyfriend, and if you choose the latter, he’ll never give you his blessing to marry Sebastian. He’ll see the choice as another betrayal, one that cuts even deeper because you’re his daughter. Your relationship with Dad will never be the same.”

A lump of concrete lodged in my throat. She wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know, but hearing her say it out loud drove my reality home with brutal clarity.

I’d been confident I could find a way to keep my family and Sebastian. Now… I wasn’t so sure.

Neha’s face softened with pity. “I’m not trying to scare you,” she said, her voice gentling. “But you’ve worked your ass off to get to where you are now, and family is family. Boyfriends come and go; blood is forever. So before you make any rash decisions, I want you to think very carefully about everything you might lose if you continue dating Sebastian. Are you willing to throw it all away for a relationship you’re not even sure will last?”

My headache spread from the base of my skull to the backs of my eyes. I was tempted to tell her she was wrong and that our relationship would last, but I was suddenly so, so tired.

Tired of arguing. Tired of fighting. Tired of trying to explain things to people who didn’t get it or didn’t want to get it.

I was tired of being me.

Priya saved me from having to answer when she asked us to come over and check the embroidery details.

We did as she asked, but Neha’s question echoed in my head the entire time.

Are you willing to throw all that away for a relationship you’re not even sure will last?

I touched the locket at my throat, my chest tight.

Deep down, I knew my answer.

And it scared the hell out of me.

Sebastian

I entered my father’s study without knocking.

The door to his home office was cracked open—unusual, but not unheard of—and the shades were half-drawn when I walked in. It smelled like smoke and leather.

He sat behind his desk, a cigar tucked between his fingers. Deep grooves lined his face as he puffed on the Cuban. He appeared to have aged a decade over the past few weeks, but his eyes were as steely as ever.

“This is a surprise,” he said. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work? The launch is in two weeks, and you have a lot left to do if you want to meet our contract terms.” He took another puff of his cigar. “Unless you’ve given up your foolish dreams of being a professional chef and are sticking to what you’re best at.”

“Don’t worry about the launch. You’ll get your event of the season.” I sank into the seat opposite his, my words projecting a confidence I didn’t quite feel. The stress from the launch and from hiding my relationship with Maya was taking its toll in the form of sleepless nights and occasional anxiety attacks, but I’d die before I admitted it to him. “I could ask you the same question. Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

His mouth twisted into a mirthless slant. “It’s amazing what you can get away with when you’re your own boss.” He placed his cigar in a crystal ashtray. “To what do I owe the honor? It’s not often you stop by without notice.”

“I came to check on Maman, but we also need to talk.” I paused. “She was looking forward to the Switzerland trip. She’s quite upset about it.”

My mother wasn’t taking our estrangement from the Singhs well. The housekeeper said she’d spent the past month alternating between crying, drinking, and buying exorbitantly priced items from the Sotheby’s auction website while binge-eating chocolate. She’d been purchasing a three-hundred-thousand-dollar emerald necklace when I checked on her earlier.

She insisted she was fine, but I suspected she was taking the estrangement especially hard because it represented another giant loss in her life. After my aunt, Maya’s mother was her closest friend.

I hated Neal for dividing us like this, and I hated my father for putting him in a position where he felt like that was necessary.

A crinkled formed between my father’s brows, but it vanished as quickly as it’d appeared. “Your mother will be fine. She has other friends.”

“That’s not the point,” I gritted out in French. “You know how hard Aunt Brigitte’s death hit her. Now she can’t even talk to her best friend because you’re too stubborn to apologize.” I tried to tamp down my rising anger. “Why did you do it? Why did you take that meeting with Charles Whitaker?”

If he hadn’t said yes to that goddamn dinner, we wouldn’t be in this predicament. He kept dismissing the meal as “nothing important,” but he had to have known it would get back to Neal. What I didn’t understand was why. What was his angle?

My father’s face tightened. “It was one fucking dinner,” he snapped, also in French. “Everyone needs to get over it.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘one fucking dinner’ in business. That’s the first thing you taught me.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. You have no idea what I sacrificed for—” He stopped, his lips thinning. He switched back to English. “Did you come to pester me about this boring topic again, or is there another reason you’re here?”

I stared at him, my gaze raking over the stress lines bracketing his mouth and the exhaustion lurking in his eyes. It was my first time really looking at him in a month. I didn’t know if he’d changed during that time or if I had, but he looked smaller. More tired.

I’d built him up to be this monster in my head, but he wasn’t. He was just another man.

The knowledge settled inside me, cold and eerily calm.

I wondered what he’d say if I told him about Maya. He either wouldn’t care, or he’d blame her for distracting me if the launch bombed. Either way, he didn’t get the privilege of seeing that part of my life.

He kept his secrets; I’d keep mine.

“No.” I stood, my expression neutral. “No other reason.”

CHAPTER 39

Maya

THE LAUNCH EVENT FELL ON A BEAUTIFUL FRIDAY night in Vermont. It wasn’t quite summer yet, but the weather in early June was clear and bright, and the air crackled with noticeable excitement as our guests spilled out of their cars and onto the welcome deck.

I was handling the front of house while Sebastian ran the kitchen. We’d invited two dozen of the country’s top food critics, journalists, and tastemakers, and I greeted each one personally. My nerves were a jumbled mess, but I didn’t let it show as I thanked them for coming and asked about their families or their latest vacations.

The food world was small, and everyone knew each other—even when they didn’t want to.

“Hollis, good to see you,” I said. A polite smile stitched across my face. “Thank you for coming.” I didn’t ask about his personal life because I didn’t know, and I didn’t care.

Sebastian and I had argued for days over whether to invite Hollis Miller, the controversial influencer whom I despised with the fire of a thousand suns. I’d conceded because Sebastian was right. Hollis was too big to ignore, and his presence would generate a lot of attention. The internet was already abuzz over whether we’d fall flat on our faces or prove his initial skepticism about our collaboration wrong.

Hollis smiled back, the sight unsettlingly charismatic compared to his aggressive online persona. “Happy to be here, but we’ll see whether you’ll still want to thank me after the event. My reviews are brutally honest.”

Ugh. I’d been right the first time. He was an asshole.

I discreetly pawned him off on Ezra and focused on the other guests. Once everyone was checked in, I went inside to make sure everything was running smoothly for cocktail hour.

My father and Michel were both here with a handful of other representatives from our companies, but they gave each other a wide berth. A professional photographer and videographer roved the room, capturing content for later. People seemed to be enjoying the hors d’oeuvres, which were all from our new frozen foods line.

So far, so good.

“Relax,” Ezra said when he caught me reorganizing the glasses so they lined up perfectly. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Fine isn’t good enough,” I said. “Everything needs to be extraordinary.”

I’d poured every ounce of my effort and creativity into this launch. We had a huge budget and the best resources at our disposal. If it failed, I wouldn’t have any excuses to fall back on; if it was mediocre, I wouldn’t have any excuses to fall back on. Anything less than dazzling would be a disappointment, and I did not disappoint. I didn’t have that luxury.

It wasn’t just about my father, the media, or the competitors who were desperate to take my place in the highest echelons of the marketing world.

It was about me. If I did this—if I proved myself beyond a doubt—then maybe I could finally rest. Maybe this was the accomplishment that would make me say, I’ve done it, and I deserve to be here. I’d reached the top of the mountain, and there were no more peaks to climb.

Maybe.

But first, I had to make sure the evening was flawless. It hadn’t escaped my notice that this was the original deadline Sebastian and I had set for ourselves. We were supposed to tell our families about us after tonight. Obviously, that wasn’t happening anymore, and I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved or frustrated.

I sent Ezra to mingle with the guests while I veered toward the kitchen. It was almost time for the main event, and I wanted to check in with Sebastian beforehand.

Despite the anxious knot in my chest, I couldn’t help but smile at people’s impressed murmurs over the main dining space.

We were a relatively small group, so we’d set up three long, rough-hewn tables that lent a more communal feel compared to a traditional round seating arrangement. Sunset drenched the trees outside in vivid oranges and golds, and the rustic chandeliers glowed with cozy warmth.

Sebastian and I had worked with the venue coordinator to ensure every detail was perfect, from the height of the centerpieces to the exact brand of alcohol used for the cocktails. After countless emails, one near-breakdown (me), and many pep talks (Sebastian), I was finally happy with the outcome.

The place settings? Exquisite.

The lighting? Flattering.

The kitchen? … Chaotic.

I pushed through the swinging door and was instantly greeted with an onslaught of noise and movement. Lids clanged, timers beeped, and shouts competed with the sizzle of hot pans. People rushed back and forth, carrying trays and other kitchen paraphernalia.

I found Sebastian in the middle of the mayhem. He was speaking with Margaux, his mentor, who’d agreed to help with service tonight. She greeted me, then excused herself to check on the appetizers when I joined them.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

Sebastian was dressed in chef whites with the sleeves rolled up. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his brow, and his posture was taut, his muscles coiled tight like he hadn’t taken a full breath all evening.

“Fine. Comme une merde,” he said, contradicting himself.

“I hear that’s how you know you’re on the right track.”

That earned me a quick smile, but it disappeared when his gaze snagged on the lasagna station. “Gus, that’s not ready yet! It needs thirty more seconds!”

The junior cook startled. He couldn’t have been over the age of twenty. “Sorry, chef!” He flushed, his shoulders tense. He scrambled back from the counter like he’d been burned.

I winced. Besides Margaux and a handful of seasoned staff that Sebastian himself picked out, the rest of the team came courtesy of the venue. It wasn’t ideal, but no restaurant in the Laurents’ portfolio could afford to lose more than one or two capable hands on a Friday night. Hopefully, the veterans could pick up the slack left by the less experienced staff.

“How’s the front of the house?” Sebastian asked me.

“Good.” I gave him a quick rundown of the night so far. “We got this. Don’t worry.”

Words I needed to hear myself.

His shoulders relaxed a smidge. He gave a short nod, but he got distracted again by something going on at the dessert station.

I left so I didn’t distract him any further. I believed in his capabilities, though our plan to mix the frozen foods with fresh dishes was highly risky.

Sebastian had selected six frozen foods recipes for tonight’s twelve-course tasting menu. That was the easy part. All he had to do was heat them up and make sure they were served at the exact right time and temperature for maximum enjoyment.

It was the other six courses that required the most care. It wasn’t about making them taste good—that was a given. It was about striking the right balance. The dishes had to impress the guests, but they couldn’t taste so good that they overshadowed the frozen food debuts. We were confident in our new product line, but we weren’t delusional. There was no world in which a frozen item would beat a fresh gourmet course. The trick was closing the taste gap enough to raise doubt as to which course fell into which camp without sacrificing obvious quality on either side.

I’d tasted the trial meal yesterday. I wasn’t a professional food critic, but I wouldn’t have been able to guess what was frozen and what wasn’t if I hadn’t known beforehand.

I rejoined the main party in the dining room. Ezra had already ushered everyone to their seats, and the first course came out soon after. They were mini quiches from the frozen foods line.

I watched the guests at my table like a hawk in between bites, trying to gauge their reaction.

“Delicious,” the food editor from Mode de Vie said. The critic from the New York Times nodded, and most of the other guests murmured their agreement. Hollis Miller chewed silently, his expression unreadable.

My nerves were so shot that I barely tasted the food, but I gradually relaxed as the night went on. Overall, the reception to each course was positive. By the time we got to the sixth dish, I’d unclenched enough to appreciate the rich, hearty flavors of the night’s star entrée, a melt-in-your-mouth lasagna that came in both meat and vegetarian options. It was so good that even Hollis’s eyebrows rose in approval.

We were halfway through the night, and we were crushing it. We just might pull this off after all.

I finished my pasta in record time and excused myself for a midway check-in with Sebastian. He hadn’t left the kitchen at all since prep started, and he must be dying for an update.

“Well?” he asked when he saw me.

My face broke out into a huge smile. “They love the food. I think they’re genuinely baffled as to which courses are reheated and which are freshly made. Your idea to make them guess was genius.”

Sebastian’s muscles loosened, and palpable relief crossed his face. “What can I say? Geniuses come up with genius ideas.”

“I’ll let you have it this time and this time only.”

He grinned. “We’ll see about that. I have a lot more genius ideas in the bank.”

I smiled back, happy to see his eyes regain some of their usual spark. We’d both needed this win, and victory was so close I could almost reach out and touch it. “We have six courses left, but unless something drastic happens, I really think we—”

A loud crash in the dining room interrupted me. It was followed by a scream and a swell of muffled commotion.

Everyone in the kitchen froze, their eyes wide. Margaux was the first to snap out of her trance. “What are you doing? Focus!” she barked. “Service isn’t over.”

The staff quickly resumed their duties while she shooed Sebastian and me toward the door. “Go. I’ll handle things back here.”

We didn’t waste time arguing. We rushed out of the kitchen and skidded to a halt at the edge of the dining room.

Sebastian’s face was the color of his chef whites. “What the fuck?”

I tried to speak, but nothing came out. I observed the pandemonium that’d erupted in the short time I’d been gone with silent horror.

The diner closest to us had vomited all over his plate. Chunks of regurgitated lasagna splattered across the table as he doubled over, his chest heaving. Another pushed back her chair and ran to the bathroom, her face green. The other guests were panicking and scrambling out of their seats until they, too, started throwing up.

No. No, no, no.

My breath shortened. The scene took on a fuzzy quality, like I was stuck in a nightmare with no escape route in sight. What the hell was going on?

Things had been perfect minutes ago. How did it all crash so fast, so spectacularly?

Maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe—

“Maya!” Ezra rushed over, his voice taut with stress.

His appearance yanked me out of my daze. This wasn’t a nightmare. This was real, and we needed damage control ASAP.

“What happened?” I demanded.

“I don’t know!” He gestured helplessly at the vomiting diners. The servers were trying to help them, but it wasn’t going well. We didn’t have enough staff for this. “Everything was fine until the editor from Mode de Vie said he was feeling nauseous. Then he threw up, and… Well, you see what happened next. It took less than two minutes.”

Fuck. Okay.

I forced a steadying breath through my nose and shoved my rising panic into a mental box.

I couldn’t freak out right now. Our number one priority was getting medical assistance. Once we made sure the guests’ symptoms weren’t the result of something worse than potential food poisoning (which would be bad enough), then I could freak out.

I sent Ezra to call the appropriate authorities and figure out logistics with the shell-shocked venue coordinator. Once he was gone, I turned to Sebastian so we could brainstorm an emergency game plan.

“Seb, we—” I stopped short.

He hadn’t moved the entire time Ezra and I had been talking. He stared at the guests, his skin ashen. Sweat beaded his upper lip, and his chest rose and fell with jagged breaths.

A bolt of panic tore through me. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

“No.” His voice was a shade above a whisper. He sounded distant and hollow, like a shadow of his former self. A small shudder ran through his frame, and realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

The diners getting sick? That was his worst nightmare coming true for the second time. First, Martin Wellgrew died at the Le Boudoir opening. Now, our launch had devolved into a medical emergency. Both times, he’d been in charge of the kitchen, and both times, the night had ended in disaster.

A raw ache spread through my chest.

I placed a hand on his arm. His skin was clammy to the touch. “We don’t know what happened yet,” I said. “Do not blame yourself.”

The easiest explanation was food poisoning, but a gut feeling told me that wasn’t it. Sebastian was meticulous about food safety; I refused to believe he’d let anything slip, even if some of the staff were less experienced than we would’ve liked. The whole thing reeked of fishiness, but I’d investigate later. I had more pressing matters to address.

“I’ll let everyone else know what happened.” Sebastian didn’t acknowledge my reassurances, but at least he was moving again. He turned, avoiding my eyes. “You handle the guests; I’ll handle the kitchen. We’ll connect later, once—” He swallowed hard. “Once everything calms down.”

“Okay,” I said softly.

My heart twisted again when he disappeared into the kitchen. I couldn’t imagine what he must be feeling right now, but losing myself to worry wouldn’t do either of us much good. We’d debrief after we got through tonight.

I forced my concern into the same box as my earlier panic and sprang into action.

For the next two hours, I worked with Ezra and the venue to clean up the mess, both literally and figuratively. Medical assistance arrived in record time. Their preliminary diagnosis was food poisoning, and they sent the severest cases to the hospital for IV fluids. Everyone else went back to their hotel for some much-needed rest and recovery. Michel got sick too, but my father, Hollis, and I had mysteriously been spared.

“This is what happens when you rely on a Laurent,” my father said, his lips white with fury. “They’ll ruin everything if you’re not careful.”

The Laurents had as much at stake as we did, but I couldn’t summon the strength to argue. I could only go through the motions with mechanical calm and watch helplessly as our beautiful, meticulously planned launch—the one we’d spent over nine months and countless sweat and tears perfecting—went up in flames around us.

CHAPTER 40

Sebastian

I POURED MY FIFTH GLASS OF WHISKEY AND SET IT ON the counter. The amber liquid gleamed beneath the dim lights.

My mouth watered, but I left it untouched, as I had the previous four glasses. They were lined up in a row like an army of enemy soldiers, waiting for me to break.

It would be so easy. One sip, and I’d feel better. One glass, and the endless nausea churning through my gut might go away. Five glasses? I’d sink into oblivion, my worries nothing but a distant memory.

So easy, a dangerous voice purred in my mind.

My reflection fractured in the crystal facets of the tumbler. He stared back at me, daring me to pick him up.

The drinks were a test I’d set up to torture myself, and I almost failed. I got close enough to brush my fingertips against the glass, but I caught myself in the nick of time.

I tore my hand away and closed my eyes, my jaw tight.

No. The rest of my life was falling apart, piece by miserable piece, and my impulse control was the only control I had left. If I gave that up, I’d have nothing. Be no one—although being no one might be better than being me at the moment.

It’d been five days since the catastrophic launch. The official cause of the guests’ sickness: food poisoning from the meat lasagna. Maya, Neal, and Hollis Miller had all selected the vegetarian option, which explained why they hadn’t fallen ill.

Thankfully, the guests all recovered with no long-term effects, but their subsequent reviews had been, understandably, scathing. They’d eviscerated me, the launch, everything. The coverage and resulting public backlash were so bad that we were on the brink of scrapping the entire line. Months of hard work and millions of dollars down the drain—because of me.

I sank onto the couch, shame igniting in my chest.

The launch disaster had further frozen the already icy relationship between my father and Neal. Both our companies were in full crisis mode, and when I’d talked to my mother on Sunday, she’d been distraught. She tried to hide it, but my family’s second fall from grace had turned her into an outcast amongst her so-called friends. Another major loss in her life—also because of me.

My fault.

My fault.

My fault.

The familiar mantra pounded through my head. Bile coated my tongue. I could weather the backlash myself, but I couldn’t stand it affecting other people too.

My family. The Singhs. Maya. They’d believed in me, or at least relied on me, and I’d let them down because I’d been delusional enough to think I could be a fucking chef.

So what if I liked cooking? So what if some people told me I was good at it? The universe wasn’t subtle, and I knew how to take a hint. Between the Le Boudoir incident and this latest catastrophe, I was done. Every time I ran a kitchen, tragedy struck.

Obviously, my deal with my father was null and void. I’d be lucky if the board didn’t force me out of the company altogether, though at this rate, it’d be safer for society if I never left the house again.

I tipped my head back and stared at the ceiling. I’d drawn the curtains so only a sliver of sunlight illuminated the den. The air reeked of whiskey, and the room was dark and depressed, just like me.

A part of me recognized I was wallowing in self-pity, but screw it. I was allowed to wallow after the absolute shit show that was the past week.

My phone buzzed with a new message. I ignored it the same way I’d ignored the dozens of other messages I’d gotten since Friday.

Margaux had left me five voicemails, and my friends had all reached out, but I didn’t feel like talking to any of them. I was too humiliated.

I couldn’t even bring myself to see Maya. She was the only person who might’ve made me feel better, but she had her own fires to extinguish. I’d fucked up, and I’d dragged her reputation through the mud with me.

She didn’t deserve that. I didn’t deserve her.

I didn’t know how long I sat there in the near-dark, staring at nothing. Minutes? Hours? It didn’t matter. My father had put me on “administrative leave” for optics reasons, which meant my deputy was handling crisis communications. I had nothing to do, so I could sit here for as long as I—

Someone rang the doorbell.

I didn’t move from my seat.

They rang the doorbell again, and when that didn’t work, they pounded on the door.

Jesus Christ. Why couldn’t people leave me alone? If I wanted company, I’d seek it out.

“Sebastian, it’s me.” Maya’s voice was muffled, but I heard her loud and clear. “Open the door.” Another knock. “I know you’re in there, so if you don’t answer, I will kick it down.”

The mental image of her kicking in my door, action movie-style, brought a small smile to my lips, but it disappeared as quickly as it’d surfaced.

Out of everyone in my life, I dreaded facing her the most. I didn’t want to look her in the eyes and see who I’d become—someone hollow and broken, my shiny facade ripped away to reveal the terrible mess of guts underneath.

I wasn’t Sebastian Laurent, the golden boy; I was Sebastian Laurent, the failure. No, I was something even worse—I was an imposter.

For most of our lives, Maya had seen me as her rival, someone worthy of beating. What must she think of me now?

The shame burned its way through my lungs and up my throat.

“Sebastian!” Her voice turned pleading. “Please open the door.”

Fuck. I couldn’t say no to her, not when she used that word. Please.

I roused myself from the couch and reluctantly made my way to the front door. I opened it, wincing at the unnatural brightness. The sunlight was piercing after days of being cooped up in a dark house.

Maya stood on the front step. She was wearing a silk blouse and tailored pants, a clear sign she’d come straight from the office. Her gold birthday locket glinted under the sun.

The sight of it brought an unexpected rush of emotion to my chest. It was a small thing, but it was a sign she hadn’t given up on me—yet.

“Hi,” she said, her voice soft, her expression even softer.

“Hi.” I swallowed past the knot clogging my throat and let her in.

She followed me silently to the den, where her eyes immediately fell on the drinks lining the bar. She picked one up and offered me another glass. “I’ll drink with you.”

I tensed. “I can’t.”

Instead of pushing the issue, Maya set the second glass down and raised a questioning brow. When I nodded, she downed her drink in one swallow.

“How bad is it?” I asked after she was done. “Be honest. Don’t sugarcoat it.”

I’d seen the headlines, but I’d successfully stopped myself from reading the comment sections or going down internet rabbit holes. I felt shitty enough without seeing how many strangers thought I was shit, too.

However, the morbid part of me needed to know. How deep was the hole I’d fallen into, and would I ever be able to dig myself out?

“It’s brutal,” Maya admitted. “There’s a leaked video of some of the guests throwing up. We scrubbed as much as we could, but it keeps popping up online. People are having a field day with it. Hollis Miller also uploaded a fifty-minute rant about food safety and why everyone should boycott both our companies.” Her eye twitched. “The bastard didn’t even get sick. I wished he had. He would’ve deserved it. But anyway, our stocks are… not great. The board is apoplectic. That’s the bad news.”

I snorted, my tone dry. “There’s good news?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Maya said. “The good news is, all storms pass. This one will too.”

I wished I had her confidence.

“Maybe. But some storms leave so much destruction, nothing can be salvaged,” I said. “You’ll be okay.” She has to be okay. “But this is my family’s second scandal. Remember when I said we barely survived the first crisis, and we might not survive a second?” My mouth twisted. “Well, here we are, sinking. Who would trust us now? Hell, I wouldn’t trust us now.”

“Sebastian…”

“No.” She reached for me, but I pulled away before she touched me. I didn’t deserve her comfort. “I’m the problem, Maya. It’s always been me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” I said with a bitter laugh. “Do you know why I won’t drink those?” I gestured at the remaining glasses on the bar.

She shook her head slowly, her expression stricken.

“I went on a bender after Wellgrew died,” I said. “My father’s team managed to keep it out of the press. They said I was on a ‘research trip’ to learn new cooking techniques, but in reality, I was drinking my way through Europe, trying to forget what happened. I ended up at a dive bar in Prague, where I got absolutely plastered. I mean, I was blackout fucking drunk. I got into it with someone, and I don’t remember what happened next. But I do remember waking up in jail. My knuckles were bruised to hell, and…” I exhaled, the sound shaky. “I’d nearly beaten the other guy to death. He was in the hospital for days. I couldn’t even tell you what we’d been arguing about. I don’t think it mattered. I had so much pent-up rage and frustration, mostly at myself, but I took it out on him.”

Maya didn’t flinch or interject. There was no judgment on her face. She simply watched me, her eyes bright with unshed emotion.

I wasn’t an angry drunk, and I held my liquor well in most cases, but… “I had to pretend I was okay for so long, and it was like something inside me just snapped. The other guy survived, thank God, but I’ve been terrified of losing control like that again. I stopped drinking for a while, but my therapist said alcohol wasn’t the trigger. I’ve been drinking my entire adult life, even blacked out a few times, but I’d never done anything remotely like that before. It was… internal. I was repressing too much. If I hadn’t broken in Prague, I would’ve done so elsewhere, with or without drinking. Even so, I have to be careful. I don’t trust myself anymore.”

I walked over and picked up one of the glasses. The smell of whiskey was so strong, I tasted it at the back of my throat. “I need this as proof,” I said. “I told myself that when everything goes to shit, I need to prove that I have the self-control not to snap again.” My tone was bleak. “It’s the only thing I have left.”

“That’s not true.” Maya gently took the drink from me and set it down. She stepped closer and brushed her fingers along my cheek, the featherlight touch anchoring me. “You have me.”

For how long?

“You shouldn’t have come here,” I said, my chest aching. The thought of losing her hurt more than anything else I’d faced this week. “Someone could’ve seen you.”

I might’ve already ruined her career. I didn’t want to be the reason she lost her family as well.

“I don’t care.” Maya’s voice was firm, her gaze unwavering. “We all make mistakes, Sebastian. Yours are no worse than any others.

“How can you say that when I fucked it all up for you?”

“You didn’t.” When I didn’t respond, she reached down to squeeze my hand. “Seb, what happened was not your fault.”

“They got food poisoning, Sal,” I said flatly. “I was responsible for the food. That’s the definition of ‘my fault.’”

Maya bit her lip. Her brows furrowed as if she were debating whether to respond.

The hairs on the back of my neck tingled with foreboding. “What?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you until I was sure…” She sounded wary, like she regretted broaching the subject in the first place.

“Sure about what?” The question came out sharper than I’d intended.

“I don’t think the food poisoning was because of anything you did,” Maya said. “I think we were sabotaged.”

CHAPTER 41

Maya

I COULD’VE HEARD A PIN DROP IN THE SILENCE.

Everything in Sebastian seemed to stall. A thousand emotions flashed across his face before it settled into cool neutrality.

“Explain.” His voice was calm, soft. Lethal.

This wasn’t how I’d planned to tell him. I’d wanted to gather concrete evidence first in case I was wrong, but when he’d told me his Prague story, and I saw how devastated he was, I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t let him think the food poisoning was his fault when there was a strong chance it wasn’t. In fact, it might not have been food poisoning at all.

“I hired someone to do a thorough sweep of the scene after the event,” I said. Unlike with my Pittsburgh hunch, I had a plausible excuse for hiring a professional instead of trying to play investigator myself. “The staff cleaned most of it up, but they missed a few things—including this.” I held out a piece of shiny silver foil. “My team found it under the fridge. Do you recognize that blue?”

His brows pulled together. He examined the foil and shook his head. “What is it?”

I pulled up something on my phone and showed it to him.

The foil itself wasn’t anything special. It was part of the packaging for hundreds of products. However, this particular piece had a tiny strip of blue at the edge where it’d been torn off. It was an incredibly distinctive, recognizable shade of blue that’d caused an uproar in the marketing world when a company trademarked it years ago. I’d seen it in dozens of articles about the legal battle over the trademark—and, more recently, in my parents’ medicine cabinet.

It matched the blue on the packaging of Aldolace Laxatives perfectly.

Sebastian put the pieces together immediately. “You think someone slipped laxatives into the food?”

“It would explain the guests’ symptoms,” I said. “Vomiting, diarrhea, high fever, and severe abdominal pain. A large enough dose of this stuff can mimic food poisoning so thoroughly that it’ll fool even professionals. Luckily for us, whoever did it was sloppy and left this behind.”

“If someone did it.”

“If,” I allowed. I wasn’t totally sure yet. The team I’d hired was still confirming whether the foil could, indeed, be traced back to laxatives. Even if it was, there were other explanations for its presence in the kitchen. It could’ve been for personal use, or someone from a previous event could’ve left it behind. Still, the timing and circumstances were suspicious.

Sebastian’s jaw tensed as he processed the implications. He didn’t say it, but I saw it in his eyes—a tiny spark of hope that I might be right, and he wasn’t to blame.

“Let’s say someone did sabotage us. It had to have been one of the kitchen staff,” he said. “That narrows the suspect pool down by quite a bit.”

“Yes, but there’s a small chance it could’ve been someone else,” I said. “There were people coming in and out all day, especially during prep.”

“Right.” His throat worked with a swallow. “When will you know for sure?”

“Hopefully within the day. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

He responded with a terse nod, but his tone softened a moment later. “How are you doing? The past few days couldn’t have been easy for you either.”

“I’ve been better, but I’m surviving.” I gave him a small smile. “I’d love some food though. I haven’t eaten all day.”

“No lasagna.”

I huffed out a laugh. At least he could joke about it. It was a tiny step in the right direction, but it was a step nonetheless. “No lasagna.”

We ended up ordering pizza.

We sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by two giant pies, an order of garlic knots, a chocolate lava cake, and a two-liter bottle of Coke poured into red plastic cups.

“The rumors are true,” I said, tearing off a piece of bread. “Grease and carbs make everything better.”

“Don’t forget sugar.”

“How could I? That’s my number-one stress reliever.”

Sebastian’s mouth curved. He seemed to be feeling better, though an air of melancholy still clung to him.

I’d tried to give him space over the past week. We’d debriefed on Friday night, after everyone else had left, but he’d refused to discuss anything other than logistics. I knew he must’ve been reeling from the launch, and I didn’t want to make him feel worse by pressuring him to talk about it before he was ready.

But it’d been five days, and he hadn’t answered any of my calls or a majority of my texts. I’d heard Michel put him on administrative leave, and I’d been worried enough to risk my father’s wrath by coming to see him.

I needed to make sure he was okay. I wouldn’t know what to do if he wasn’t.

Sebastian’s eyes searched my face. “Now that we’ve eaten, you can tell me the truth,” he said. “How are you really doing?”

I finished my garlic knot, chewing slowly so I’d have more time to formulate an answer.

The past week had been so hectic that I hadn’t had time to truly sit down and process. I’d hung on to my crisis plan with bloodied fingernails, letting my to-do items carry me through the days so I wouldn’t have to endure the torture of overthinking. It was only late at night that my repressed emotions found their way to me in bits and pieces—panic that the failed launch marked the end of my career, dread over what horrible new headline would hit us next, anxiety over whether people were mocking me behind my back.

I hated how much I cared what others thought, but I’d chased external validation my whole life.

If the food poisoning was Sebastian’s worst nightmare, the PR disaster was mine. If I let it, my mind would conjure a thousand scenarios where people were laughing at me.

Of course she failed. She sucks at her job. She just got to where she is because she’s rich.

I knew she couldn’t hack it.

Literally anyone else would’ve done a better job.

What a loser.

Once the spiral started, it was impossible to stop, so I let it run its course. But amidst the recent chaos, I also found something I’d never expected—freedom. When you hit rock bottom, the only place to look was up.

The worst thing imaginable had finally happened, and I was still standing. The crisis wasn’t over, but it had passed its peak (hopefully). The noise was getting quieter, and people were starting to disengage as other news scandals caught their attention.

Neither I nor my family would emerge unscathed. The scars from this experience would follow me forever, but they weren’t fatal. I’d imagined I would collapse under the weight of my failure if and when it happened, but I was still standing.

I told Sebastian all of this, hoping he’d understand. “Don’t get me wrong. I wish this never happened,” I said. “But a small part of me is almost glad it did? Not the people getting sick part, but the part where I realized that the monsters of my imagination are worse than reality.” I toyed with the pizza crust on my plate. “I put so much pressure on myself to excel because I was terrified of what might happen if I didn’t. It was a pride thing at first. I wanted to prove to myself and everyone around me that I was capable of making my own mark on the world. Of course, I also wanted to beat you.”

Sebastian’s mouth tipped again, and I allowed myself an answering smile before I continued. “Eventually, it got to a point where I defined myself by my achievements. Who would I be without all those medals and trophies holding me up? What would I do if I didn’t have some new goal to chase? I thought it would get better after I reached big milestones, but it got worse. Now, instead of proving myself as a newcomer, I have to prove that I haven’t lost my touch. So I kept setting bigger goals and telling myself that the next one would be it, you know. The Ultimate Thing that would make me feel complete. I wouldn’t have to prove myself anymore.”

The flames crackled in the electric fireplace. They weren’t real—it was June, too hot for a real fire—but their phantom warmth gave me the courage to continue.

“I thought the launch would be my Ultimate Thing, but after… what happened, I realized there is no Ultimate Thing. The goalposts will always keep changing if I let them.” I let out a sardonic laugh. “It’s funny that it took the biggest failure of my life to figure that out. I can’t even tell you how I did it. I was sitting in an emergency meeting, and it just… hit me. Total clarity. And now that the worst-case scenario has happened, it’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.” I wasn’t sure if that sounded insensitive, considering Sebastian’s own turmoil, but he’d asked for the truth. He wouldn’t want me to sugarcoat things for his sake. “I don’t have to wait for the other shoe to drop. I just have to survive, which I guess is its own kind of accomplishment.” I exhaled, a little embarrassed by my long ramble. “I don’t know if any of that made sense.”

“It did. All of it.” Sebastian’s expression sobered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I was so lost in my own self-loathing, and I should’ve… I shouldn’t have ignored your calls.”

“We both needed alone time to process. I knew you’d be there if I really needed you.”

“You have a lot of faith in me, Sal,” he said quietly. “Maybe more than I deserve.”

“I doubt that. You know me.” I shrugged. “I don’t give anyone anything they haven’t earned. No participation trophies here.”

His laugh made me smile again.

“I do have something for you though.” I retrieved a foil-wrapped candy from my purse and handed it to him.

Sebastian took it. His eyebrows hiked up. “A chocolate bonbon?”

“It’s one you gave me when the listeria crisis happened,” I said. “Chocolate doesn’t expire for a long time, so it’s safe to eat. I thought… it might make you feel better.”

He stared at the bonbon nestled in his palm, his expression unreadable. “You kept it this entire time?”

I blushed, suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t want to eat it, but it would’ve been a waste to throw—”

He cut me off with a fierce kiss.

I melted into him, my self-consciousness scattering as quickly as it’d emerged.

I’d been worried the fallout from the launch would tear us apart. Neither of us dealt well with failure, and we’d both invested a lot in the event. It would’ve been easy to cave to our personal demons instead of dealing with them together.

The longer I’d gone without hearing from him, the more I’d worried. But now that I was here, those fears evaporated like mist under the morning sun.

We were going to be okay.

Our moment was interrupted by an incoming call. I reluctantly broke away from Sebastian, and my stomach dropped when I checked the caller ID.

“Where are you?” my mother asked the second I picked up. “Dinner starts in ten minutes.”

Shit. I’d completely forgotten about our family dinner tonight. “I’m still at the office,” I lied. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I got caught up in work, and there’s a ton left to do. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight.”

I expected her to leave it at that. My mother hated talking about work these days, but she said, somewhat suspiciously, “Neha was just at the office. She didn’t see you.”

I held back a groan. Of course, Neha showed up the one day I left early. She was an exec in our finance department, and she usually worked from home. “We must’ve missed each other. It’s a big building.”

My mother harrumphed. “If your father can make it to dinner despite work, you can too.”

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated, genuinely apologetic. “By the time I get there, dinner will be over.” I glanced at Sebastian, whose brows had dipped into a sharp V. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise, but I have to go.”

She grumbled and muttered something about “the disrespectful generation,” but she let me off the hook after I promised to help her organize our next dinner.

“Was that your mom?” Sebastian asked, correctly guessing who’d been on the other end. “I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me.”

“I’ll be okay. I chose to be here. If I get in trouble, I can handle it.”

I’d much rather eat pizza with Sebastian on the floor than trudge through another strained family dinner. Neha was upset with me for not breaking up with Sebastian, my mother was upset with my father about the Laurents, my father was upset about, well, everything. It wasn’t exactly a recipe for fun.

“Maya…”

“Don’t. I want to be with you right now. No one else. This is the only place where I…” I swallowed, my voice hitching. “I can breathe.”

Sebastian’s frown softened. He set the bonbon down. “Come here.”

I obliged and climbed into his lap. He kissed me again, long and sweet enough to make my tension melt.

A storm continued to rage outside, but inside these four walls, I was safe.

My phone pinged, interrupting the moment.

I reluctantly broke away from Sebastian and checked my new text. I expected a work issue or a pointed message from Neha about my absence at dinner, but my stomach flipped when I read the sender’s name.

“What is it?” Sebastian asked.

“It’s the investigator I hired.” My heart thumped to a frantic beat. “They confirmed the foil is from Aldolace Laxatives’ packaging.”

His arms tensed around me. “Okay.” His calm, even voice was back, but I heard the first flicker of fury simmering beneath the surface. “So what now?”

“Now we have to link this”—I tapped my phone—“with evidence that someone tampered with the food.”

“Can your guy do it?”

I shook my head, my brain churning. The discovery raised more questions than it answered, but it confirmed the most important fact—we had a concrete enemy. And if we had a concrete enemy, we could beat them.

“We need someone more specialized and who can work fast,” I said. “We don’t want to draw this out.”

Any investigator worth their salt could uncover the saboteur given enough time, but time was a luxury we didn’t have. The urgency of our response was measured in hours and days, not months. If we waited too long to clear our names, our reputation and finances might’ve already crashed and burned beyond repair, regardless of the investigation’s outcome.

“You have a person in mind,” Sebastian surmised.

“Yes…” I dragged the word out, already knowing how he’d react to my suggestion. I’d brainstormed next steps for this very scenario, and I kept circling back to one name. “You know him. We both do. Working with him is our best bet, but you’re not going to like it.”

Sebastian’s forehead crinkled. When I tapped my phone again, realization dawned, and his mouth flattened into a straight line. “No.”

“He’ll get the job done. You know he’s the only one who can feasibly work with our timeline.”

“I also know you can’t trust him as far as you can throw him.” Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “There has to be another way.”

“If you have other options, I’m all ears.”

He remained silent, his scowl deepening.

I understood his reluctance. The person I had in mind didn’t always follow the letter of the law, to put it mildly. His morals were suspect, his motives even more so, but he was the best in the business. Several of our friends had used him in the past, and they’d all agreed he was a consummate professional—if he agreed to the job.

After a long pause, Sebastian sighed and nodded.

With his reluctant blessing, I set aside my own reservations and called Christian Harper.

CHAPTER 42

Sebastian

I MADE THE RESERVATION FOR FRIDAY NIGHT, SEVEN p.m., center table at the most exclusive steakhouse in Gramercy.

Two full weeks had passed since the launch event exploded in our faces. The media circus had died down a bit since then, but the restaurant still erupted into murmurs when my father and I walked in.

As expected, we were the first to arrive. We sat across from each other, our suits crisp, our expressions carefully neutral.

Neither of us spoke, but the air crackled with tangible anticipation.

The weight of the other diners’ scrutiny closed in on us as we waited for our guest to arrive. Their whispers crowded the air, forming a steady background hum that made my heart beat a little faster under my perfectly pressed shirt.

Even so, I took a calm sip of water and kept my posture relaxed. If we showed weakness, the predators would pounce.

Tonight was about taking back power. There was a reason I’d chosen this specific restaurant on this specific night at this specific time. The other diners didn’t know it yet, but they had pivotal roles in this play.

Our guest arrived eight minutes after seven. He didn’t apologize for his tardiness.

Making us wait was an obvious power play, but neither my father nor I mentioned it as we greeted him.

“I must admit, I was quite surprised when I received your dinner invitation.” Charles Whitaker smoothed the front of his tie as he took the seat across from me. “I didn’t think you’d want to be seen in public so soon after your recent… troubles. At this place, no less.”

He didn’t seem concerned about being seen with us himself, probably because it was damn nice to be the CEO of Whitaker Farms right now. Thanks to our recent scandal, Singh Foods’s stocks had plummeted, and Whitaker Farms’s had skyrocketed to the point that Charles was socially invincible.

Too bad for him, that wasn’t going to last.

“It’s been a challenging two weeks,” my father acknowledged, his expression affable. Only a handful of people in existence knew him well enough to detect the steel beneath his smile. “That’s one of the reasons we invited you here. We have a proposal for you.”

“Oh?” Charles looked intrigued. “What might that be?”

“There’s time for business later,” I interjected, just like our script called for. We had to hook Charles with the proposal so he didn’t leave early, but we couldn’t tip our hand yet. “Let’s order first. The wine here is exquisite, and I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

Luckily, Charles was too arrogant to question my flimsy excuse. He went along with my suggestion and ordered the most expensive items on the menu.

The most expensive items weren’t always the best, but people like Charles Whitaker cared more about appearances than quality. I bet he’d pay a fortune for an overpriced, trendy burger that tasted exactly like a five-dollar-one from a food cart.

We made idle conversation over appetizers. He tried to dig for intel on the Singhs and how they were handling their stock drop (as if we’d know), but we sidestepped his poorly concealed probes with polite deflections.

I wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off his face, but I had to wait until I got the official go-ahead.

Restlessness thrummed beneath my skin. I checked my phone discreetly every five minutes, and it paid off when I received the text I’d been waiting for during our main course.

Finally.

I slid a glance at my father, who picked up on my silent signal and nodded.

“Now that we have some food in our stomachs, I think it’s time to discuss business.” I picked up the leather folder waiting on the seat next to mine and slid it across the table.

Charles took it. He flipped it open lazily, body language oozing haughty curiosity, but his smirk soon vanished. He straightened, flipping faster and faster until he reached the last page. When he looked up again, his face was mottled with anger. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Satisfaction slithered through my veins at his shaking voice. Not so arrogant now, are you?

“Good question.” I nodded at the entrance. “I’ll let our partners explain.”

Maya and her father entered the dining room to wide eyes and open mouths. There was a brief lull in conversation as everyone watched, transfixed, while they took their seats at our table. Once they were settled, a fresh wave of whispers swept through the restaurant.

Maya sat next to me while Neal sat on the other side of Charles. He clapped a hand on his competitor’s back like they were old friends.

“Close your mouth,” he said. “It’s unbecoming to gape.”

Charles’s eyes flared with anger. He tossed the folder on the table and rose halfway as if to leave, but he seemed to remember that everyone was watching. He sank back down, his mouth tight.

“Perfect timing,” I told the Singhs. “Charles here was just asking me about the meaning of this.” I tapped a finger against the folder.

“I expected a better question from you, Charles. You know exactly what that is.” Neal tsked. “It’s your comeuppance.”

The folder was our smoking gun, so to speak. It’d been sealed and delivered by none other than Christian Harper himself, which meant the information was rock solid.

As promised, the billionaire CEO of Harper Security and infamous hacker had come through for us in record time. He’d tracked down every person who’d so much as stepped foot in the kitchen during or prior to the event, and he’d quickly identified the culprit—Gus, the venue-supplied junior cook whom I’d yelled at for almost botching the lasagna. It turned out he’d actually botched the lasagna, and he’d signed a confession admitting Whitaker Farms had paid off his gambling debts in exchange for him slipping laxatives into the food. The kitchen had been so chaotic that no one noticed his act of sabotage. Luckily for us, the young cook had been so flustered and inexperienced that he hadn’t properly covered his tracks, which was how Maya’s first investigator found the strip of foil under the fridge.

Christian took things a step further and turned up pages of evidence linking Whitaker Farms to a string of corporate sabotage over the years, including but not limited to Singh Foods’s listeria contamination scandal last summer. Maya had been right about the Pittsburgh factory but wrong about the person responsible. It hadn’t been the employee they’d fired; it’d been a security guard that Whitaker had bribed to sneak in and tamper with the food. They’d targeted Pittsburgh because that was where Singh Foods’ most lucrative products were manufactured.

I still didn’t trust Christian—his willingness to employ questionable methods was a disaster waiting to happen, and I was sure I didn’t want to know how he’d gotten Gus to confess so quickly—but I had to give credit where credit was due. If it weren’t for him, we’d be empty-handed, and Charles would’ve gotten away with his crimes.

“I actually pity you,” Neal told Charles. “Instead of engaging in fair play or simply creating a better product than us, you resorted to sabotage to gain a competitive edge. It’s pathetic.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean.” The other man made a valiant attempt at a bluff, but the beads of sweat forming on his upper lip gave him away. “That folder contains nothing but lies and fabrications. Technology these days—”

“Allows people to accomplish some extraordinary feats,” Maya said. Her smile was pure sugar. “It’s funny you should mention it. I heard that while you were enjoying your steak, someone allegedly hacked into your home computer. I wonder what they found.”

The color drained from Charles’s face. “That’s breaking and entering,” he hissed. “No court—”

“It’s not breaking and entering if your front door was unlocked—allegedly,” she said. “That’s the downside of having electronic locks. When the tech glitches, all sorts of bad stuff can happen.”

I hid a smile. Screw it. I was sending Harper a big, fat gift basket after this.

“Here’s our proposal.” Neal leaned back and steepled his fingers. “You will hold a press conference and personally admit to sabotaging both our launch and our lasagna line last summer. You will tell the media that you did this willingly and of your own free will, for no reason other than to bolster your own company. You will also resign as CEO of Whitaker Farms, effective immediately, and state that you will not accept any role in the food and restaurant industry for the duration of your lifetime. If you don’t, we’ll leak everything online and let the authorities and public tear you apart.”

Charles barked out a laugh. It was high and brittle, as if it were starved for oxygen. “Why would I do that? Whether I admit it or you leak it, the result will be the same.”

“No, it won’t,” Maya said. “Notice my father said everything. The documents in the folder are only the tip of the iceberg.”

“This is preposterous.” Charles trembled with outrage. “People lie. Documents can be forged. You—”

“Can they be forged if they were found on your personal computer?” I asked coolly. “Tax evasion. Money laundering. Consumer fraud. If those files are leaked, the consequences will make those for corporate sabotage look like child’s play. We’re letting you off easy with our proposal. Reject it, and you’ll find yourself facing jail time—or worse.”

I spotted the very moment Charles realized he’d been beaten. His shoulders sagged, and the defiance vanished from his eyes. “I suppose you have a deadline for this press conference in mind,” he clipped out.

“As soon as possible would be nice, but we’re not monsters,” my father said. “You have until the end of day on Monday to carry out our terms. That way, you can still enjoy the weekend. The weather’s supposed to be lovely.”

“Fine,” Charles spat. He shoved his chair back and stood. Apparently, he no longer cared about making a scene, but he paused to address Neal before he left. “You have no idea what it’s like,” he said, his voice bitter. “You have no idea how hard it is to always be second best. To try and try and still fall short. We became CEOs around the same time, and I had to watch you soar effortlessly while I played catch-up. It was humiliating.”

Neal’s face clouded. “You don’t know me or what I’ve gone through to get to where I am,” he said evenly. “Everyone faces obstacles. Everyone experiences failure. That isn’t an excuse to cheat because your ego can’t handle losing fairly.”

“Spare me your self-righteousness. At least I knew when to pivot. The regular methods weren’t working, so I employed more… creative tactics. And they worked. In another year or two, we would’ve beaten you as market leader.”

“You would’ve done so via fraud and sabotage.” Neal’s eyes flashed, but his voice was low and controlled. “That’s not real victory.”

“Winning is winning, no matter the means,” Charles said coldly. “That’s what you don’t get.”

“And yet, you haven’t won, have you?” I drawled. I’d had enough of Whitaker’s attempts at justification. He could shovel his bullshit until he was blue in the face, but when it came down to it, he was nothing more than a cheater and a sore loser. People like him didn’t deserve our respect or energy. “By the way, we forgot to mention that you’ll cover all costs and expenses for our second launch event since you sabotaged our first one. Thank you in advance for your contribution. I hear it’s a big one.”

Charles glared down at me, his eyes blazing with resentment. My bored interjection seemed to have taken the wind out of his sails. “Fine,” he spat again. He stormed off, leaving a buzz of excited speculation in his wake.

“That,” Neal said, “was incredibly satisfying.”

My father made a noise of agreement.

“Are we worried he’ll try to do something stupid over the weekend?” Maya asked.

“No. I have Harper keeping an eye on him until after the press conference,” I said. “Besides, we want to give people time to do their thing.”

This particular steakhouse wasn’t part of my family’s portfolio, but I’d chosen it because it was a notorious hotspot for journalists and other media power players on Friday nights. We were seated at the coveted center table, which was isolated enough from the other diners to ensure a private conversation. However, eating here also meant being in the spotlight.

That had been part of the plan as well. I’d wanted all eyes on us when we confronted Charles. The journalists here couldn’t resist a good story, and Charles Whitaker eating dinner with his disgraced competitors, only to storm off halfway through, must be a good story.

We didn’t have to leak anything to anyone; they’d uncover the truth themselves. We’d left some clues to help them along, but in the meantime, I was looking forward to Charles’s press conference. It was going to be a great show.

Normally, I wasn’t a vindictive person, but he deserved every bit of retribution thrown his way. When I thought about the launch—when I remembered how sick people had gotten and how I’d spiraled, thinking it was my fault—I was gripped by a fury so intense, I almost choked on it.

I drew a calming breath of air into my lungs and forced my fists to unclench as Neal motioned the server for a menu. He looked happier than I’d seen him in months. “Now that that’s over, I could use a bite to eat,” he said. “I’m famished.”

My father rolled his eyes. “It’s a steakhouse, Neal. What could you possibly eat here besides the potatoes?”

“The macaroni and cheese. The broccoli. The—”

“Oh, please. Side dishes? You’re going to eat a bunch of side dishes for dinner?”

Maya kicked me lightly under the table as our fathers continued to bicker. I inclined my head, acknowledging her unspoken exclamation.

They’re talking to each other again!

Our fathers were technically still fighting, but when we’d told them about Whitaker’s sabotage, they hadn’t hesitated to join forces to take him down.

That had been business. This? This sounded the banter between friends.

They appeared to have reached the same conclusion because their conversation abruptly ended. After a tense pause, Neal spoke again, his voice stiff. “Thank you for your help tonight, but it doesn’t change what you did. This was a temporary pause in our rift, nothing more.” He set his menu down without ordering and rose to leave.

To my surprise, my father stopped him. “Wait,” he said. “Sit down. There’s something I have to tell you.” He glanced at me. “All of you.”

Neal’s curiosity must’ve overtaken his pride because he sat back down without argument.

My father took a deliberate sip of his wine before he continued. “It’s time I shared the truth behind why I took that dinner with Whitaker,” he said. “It wasn’t because I was trying to network with him or have a foot in both boats, so to speak. It’s because he promised to tell me what really happened at Le Boudoir.”

My head snapped up. That was the last thing I’d expected him to say.

Neal and Maya looked equally befuddled.

Adrenaline surged in my veins, but I fought to keep my voice calm. “What do you mean, what really happened?”

My father flicked his eyes around the room. The other diners had returned to their meals, their interest in us gone now that Charles wasn’t here to pique their curiosity.

“Whitaker said he’d discovered the real cause behind Martin Wellgrew’s death,” he said. “I thought he was full of shit, but I also knew Wellgrew’s passing has weighed heavily on you all these years, so I agreed to one meal.” My father directed that statement toward me. “It was a trap. When I got there, he told me he’d only share what he found if I fed him insider information about Singh Foods. Everyone knows Neal and I are close friends, and he sought to exploit that relationship by using Le Boudoir as leverage. Obviously, I said no.” He glanced at Neal, who stiffened. “However, Whitaker dropped enough hints during our conversation to give me a lead. I hired my own investigator to look into the incident. It took a while. Wellgrew died years ago, and whoever killed him covered their tracks well. But eventually, my guy dug up the truth.”

Claws sank into my stomach. It was plunging into free fall, every shred of certainty I’d hung myself on crumbling like sandcastles in the tide.

“Martin Wellgrew didn’t die of anaphylactic shock from a peanut allergy,” my father said, his gaze steady on mine. “Someone poisoned him. Whatever they used mimicked anaphylactic shock to a tee. I couldn’t find the person responsible, but I know for a fact that it wasn’t you. You had nothing to do with his death. It wasn’t your fault.”

His assurance rang in my ears.

It wasn’t your fault.

If I weren’t sitting, I would’ve stumbled to my knees. The anxiety, the sleepless nights, the guilt that had plagued me for years—all the result of a lie.

My chest loosened, and a blinding wave of relief crashed over me.

I’d never been so fucking grateful to have been wrong.

“Oh.” I couldn’t summon a better response.

Maya reached for me, her eyes shining with concern. I shook my head, reminding her that our parents still didn’t know we were dating.

She pulled back, but her frown lingered until I gave her a reassuring nod.

I was fine. I just needed time to process.

This evening was turning out to be an even bigger mindfuck than I’d anticipated.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Neal demanded, his face etched with disbelief. “I would’ve understood. I wouldn’t have—dammit, Michel, I wouldn’t have accused you of betraying me if I’d known.”

“I had to make sure Whitaker wasn’t lying first.” My father’s gaze slid to me again. “I didn’t want to give anyone false hope in case he was. Plus, I was insulted you’d think I’d choose Whitaker over our friendship.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “The man can’t even properly pair wine with his steak. He asked for a chardonnay with his filet.”

Neal snorted. “I don’t eat steak, and even I know that’s a travesty.”

“Exactly!”

And just like that, the cold war between them was over.

Maya and I didn’t speak for most of dinner. We let our fathers catch up, their conversation meandering from business matters to bullshit about other Valhalla Club members. But every so often, I’d catch her eye, she’d smile, and that was enough—for now.

After dinner, my father and I parted ways with the Singhs. I asked him to walk with me to Madison Square Park, and we fell silent as the city’s energy pulsed around us.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why what?” The headlights of a passing cab swept across us, illuminating my father’s frown.

“Why did you almost ruin your friendship with Neal for me?”

He scoffed. “What a ridiculous question. You’re my son. I did what I had to do.”

“You could’ve gone about it in an easier way. If you’d told him the truth, he would’ve kept your secret. I wouldn’t have known.”

“I didn’t want to risk it.” He rolled his shoulders. “What’s done is done. There’s no use playing the what-if game.”

“I don’t get you.” I stopped to face him, frustration creeping up my neck. “One minute, you’re the father who’s sneering at my dreams of becoming a chef and trying to discourage me every chance you get. The next, you’re sacrificing a lifelong friendship to… what? Make me feel better about the one thing that might’ve convinced me not to be a chef?”

Dealing with my father was like living with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I never knew which version I was getting.

“People are complicated creatures,” he said with another shrug. “They can be many things at the same time.”

“Don’t feed me that cryptic bullshit.” My teeth ground together. I wanted to scream. “I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to me running a kitchen if you knew—if you suspected—Wellgrew’s death wasn’t my fault. I get that toiling in a restaurant isn’t the same as signing fucking papers in the C-suite, but you built your empire off restaurants. You, of all people, should respect the work that goes into it.”

“Of course I respect it! That’s exactly why I don’t want you there!” My father finally exploded. He glared at me, his nostrils flaring as he switched to French. “The food world is cutthroat. So is the corporate world, but you’ve proven you can handle it. You haven’t proven you can handle the pressure that comes with being a chef. I remember how devastated you were after Wellgrew’s death. I remember finding out my only son was in a fucking jail cell in Prague. One incident, and you spiraled so hard that I woke up every morning wondering if that was the day I’d get a phone call telling me you were dead.” His jaw locks into a sharp line. “I’m not saying you didn’t have a good reason for feeling the way you did, but that’s part of the job. What happens the next time someone gets sick at your restaurant or has an allergic reaction? Those instances are rare, but they happen. I couldn’t see you break again. The kitchen is unpredictable. But the office? It’s safe. I was trying to protect you.”

Our breaths sounded too loud in the sudden stillness. A car honked in the distance; a passing subway rumbled beneath a nearby station. It was nighttime, but the lights were bright, so bright it almost hurt my eyes to look at them.

I was reeling again, my mind trying to jam his explanation into a different jigsaw puzzle than the one I’d spent years building.

I hated that he made sense. I hated how perfectly his fears mirrored mine—the fear of accidentally hurting someone and not being tough enough to handle it. I thought I had thick skin, but what if I didn’t? What if I put myself out there and the experience flayed me alive?

The possibility kept me up at night, but it didn’t compare to my fear of being stuck in perpetual limbo. I didn’t want to go through the motions of life, merely existing. I wanted to feel. Perhaps I’d be the worst chef to hit the kitchen since kitchens were invented, but I wouldn’t know unless I tried.

“Maybe that’s true, but no one has ever made their mark on the world by playing it safe,” I said. “I’ll be the first to admit I didn’t handle Wellgrew’s death well, but that was a lesson I needed to learn. I can’t hide away in an office my entire life because I’m afraid of what’s outside. Even if I fail, I have to try. You have to let me try.”

I didn’t yell or curse him out. I stated the truth, and hopefully, that was enough.

My father’s nostrils flared again. Taut silence stretched between us, but then his jaw clenched, and I knew I’d won.

Maybe he was as tired of fighting as I was. Or maybe, just maybe, he heard me… and he understood.

“We’ll discuss after the second launch event,” he said, switching back to English. “I assume you’ll want a new contract with new terms.”

“No contract. I’ll take you at your word.”

It was my peace offering. It was also a big gamble on my part, but trust ran both ways.

Surprise and a touch of respect flickered across my father’s face before he shut it down. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “If you pull off the second launch, the terms from our original contract stand.”

“Deal.”

We shook on it.

Unlike the first time we negotiated this deal, my focus wasn’t on planning a flawless event to spite my father because it was never really about him.

I didn’t have to prove my worth to him.

I had to prove it to myself.

CHAPTER 43

Maya

OUR CONFRONTATION WITH CHARLES WHITAKER WAS the domino that tipped the rest over. Once we cornered him into confessing, everything else fell into place.

He kept his end of the bargain and admitted to his wrongdoings during a highly televised press conference the following Monday. He also resigned as CEO and fled New York, disgraced. In the wake of his confession, Whitaker Farms’s stock nosedived so hard, they were still picking pieces of its carcass off the ground.

Unfortunately for him, their stock crash was the least of his troubles. The journalists who’d witnessed our showdown at the steakhouse had spent the weekend sniffing around for dirt. One of them hit the jackpot soon after the press conference and published an exposé about Whitaker Farms’s food fraud practices, which included unapproved additives, mislabeling of origins, and false claims about their products’ organic status.

Once that story took off, the other media piled on, and the truth about his other crimes unraveled like a cheap sweater. It only took a month for all this to come to light.

The Whitaker saga was the biggest scandal to hit the business world in years. It also meant that both Singh Foods and the Laurent Restaurant Group were cleared of any previous suspicions regarding food safety.

That made it easier to plan our second launch. It was a much more intimate, no-frills affair held at the Vault’s private event space. We’d scheduled it for the end of July, nearly two months after our original launch.

Everyone we’d invited to our first launch RSVP’d yes to this one as well. Sebastian and I also invited our families, who were seated at their own section near the kitchen.

This time, there were no fancy place settings or sweeping views. It was all about the food.

“I have to admit, this wasn’t how I’d imagined your story playing out,” Hollis Miller said upon arrival. He didn’t say hi or acknowledge the greeter trying to hand him a welcome drink. “Good job. Guess you deserve your reputation as a marketing genius after all.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. “But in the spirit of brutal honesty—since that’s your catchphrase—I’d like to assure you that I do not care what you think of me personally. You’re a jerk, but you’re a jerk who gets a lot of views, which is the only reason you’re here.” I took the drink from the greeter and handed it to him. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Shock crossed his face before it dissolved into laughter. “I like you, Singh. Keep up the good work.” He took the drink and walked away.

What a dick.

At least he hadn’t taken offense at my jab. I’d couched it in a way that I knew he wouldn’t, but it had to be said.

Plus, as much as he irritated me, I appreciated that he hadn’t joined last month’s media pile-on. His video about our first launch had been surprisingly fair, though I guess it was easier to gloss over all the vomiting when you yourself hadn’t been a victim of it.

Once everyone was seated, Ezra gave me a thumbs-up from his spot near the kitchen.

The doors opened; dinner was served.

I held my breath the entire night—if it went off the rails, we wouldn’t get a third chance—but everything went flawlessly from start to finish. Sebastian had tweaked the menu so we didn’t serve the same courses as last time, and the reception was phenomenal. The guests enjoyed tonight’s menu even more than the first one (pre-laxatives).

Three hours later, they left, stuffed and satisfied, and I was weightless with relief.

We did it.

I didn’t know what the critics’ final reviews would say, but fuck it, we’d planned and executed this event in less than a month. That was worth celebrating, no matter what happened next.

The kitchen door swung open again, and Sebastian walked out, looking tired but hopeful. When I smiled, his face broke out into a relieved grin.

“You ready?” he asked.

I nodded, my cloud of bliss dissolving into nerves.

The night wasn’t over quite yet. We had one item left on our agenda. One more mountain to climb, and then we were home free—hopefully.

I’d asked our families to stay after the other guests left. Everyone was here—our parents, my grandmother, my sisters, my current and future brothers-in-law. I’d also invited Diya, who looked like an old-school film star in her all-black outfit and gold jewelry. We paid her extremely well, and she’d accumulated a large jewelry collection over the years.

Sebastian and I walked over to where they were seated. After the requisite greetings and congratulations, they fell silent, their faces expectant as I took a deep breath.

“Thank you all for coming. Your support means a lot to us,” I said. “I realize it’s been a long night, but before you leave, Sebastian and I have something to tell you.”

Neha’s eyebrow arched, the only other visible emotion in a sea of curiosity. She hadn’t pushed me to tell our parents about Sebastian after my father and Michel made up, but her silent disapproval had telegraphed loud and clear.

I wasn’t doing this for her, though. I was doing this for us.

I cleared my throat, anxiety filling my veins. I wasn’t so nervous about my father’s reaction anymore since he and Michel were thick as thieves again, but this was my first time officially introducing a boyfriend to my family. It was a huge deal.

Sebastian let me take the lead like we’d agreed. I’d had a whole speech planned out, but I scrapped it and went for the simple truth instead.

“Sebastian and I are dating,” I said. “We’ve been dating since March. We wanted to keep it a secret until after the launch so it wouldn’t distract from our work, but then the event turned into a disaster, and Dad and Michel were still fighting, so… we kept it a secret for a while longer. But now that everything’s calmed down, and you’re all here, we thought it would be the right time to tell you.”

It wasn’t my most eloquent speech, but it got the job done… I think?

My father frowned. My mother looked confused. Michel sat back and crossed his arms while my grandmother squeezed a wedge of lemon into her tea. Everyone remained silent, like they were waiting for more details.

“Um.” Sebastian and I exchanged befuddled glances. This was not how we’d imagined their reaction. Where was the shock? The crying? The happiness and/or anger? “That’s it,” I said. “That’s what we wanted to tell you.”

More silence.

I was starting to panic over whether they’d been body-snatched by pod people when Neha’s husband, of all people, spoke up first. “Cool,” he said.

“Wait.” Priya held up one hand. “You’re dating? Like dating dating?” She pointed to Sebastian with her other hand. “You and Sebastian, the boy you once made a voodoo doll of?”

Sebastian’s eyebrows winged up. He’d had no idea about the voodoo doll.

“I wish people would stop bringing that up,” I grumbled. “I was fifteen!”

Diya harrumphed. She’d never quite forgiven me for that stunt.

“It’s true that Seb and I haven’t always… seen eye to eye,” I said. “But we’re not teenagers anymore, and we got, um, closer while we were working on this launch. One thing led to another, and…” I shrugged, my skin burning hot enough to fry an egg on it.

I spared my family the details. I was sure no one wanted to know except for maybe Priya, the nosiest one in the bunch.

“Technically, I’ve liked her since we were teenagers,” Sebastian drawled. “I always knew we were meant to be together. It took her a while to reach the same conclusion, but she got there.” He grinned at my little huff of annoyance, but I melted when he wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed the top of my head.

That shook my mother out of her stupor.

“So this is real?” Her eyes darted between us. “You’ve really been dating since March?”

“Yes. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you earlier, but like I said, there were extenuating circumstances…” I trailed off when I spotted the tears glistening in her eyes. “Um, Mom? Are you—”

“Oh, Maya!” She barreled toward us and nearly knocked me over with the force of her hug. “I’m so thrilled! You have no idea. I was really worried you’d end up like your Meera Aunty, but my goodness, Sebastian Laurent. You were always so adorable together, even when you were fighting.” She pulled back, her eyes narrowing. “This is a real, exclusive relationship, right? Not one of those, what do you call it, situationships that your generation is so fond of?”

Where the hell had she learned the term “situationship”?

“It’s real,” I assured her.

“And exclusive,” Sebastian added, a tiny note of possessiveness in his voice. Warmth licked at my insides.

My mother started crying again. She hadn’t been this happy since her rose garden beat her frenemy Aisha’s for first place at the International Gardening Show.

Her unabashed display broke the tension, and everyone came up to speak with us and offer their congratulations. Sebastian’s parents were way more chill about us dating, though his mother did threaten to excommunicate him if he hurt me in any way. He laughed and promised that would never happen.

My father was the only one who remained seated. “Excuse me.” His mustache bristled with irritation. “You’ve been dating since March? So you were sneaking around while Michel and I were fighting? How—”

“Shut up, Neal,” my mother snapped in Hindi. “You are not going to ruin this moment for me. Now get over here and congratulate your daughter.”

He shut up and did as she asked.

I suspected he didn’t want my mother to ice him out again after the Laurent drama. Some battles were better left alone.

Once the excitement died down, I brought up the last issue on our agenda. “There’s one more thing,” I said. “I know you’re eager for me to get married, but Sebastian and I would like to go at our own pace. We’ve only been dating for a few months. We want to enjoy it without any, um, additional pressure.”

My mother was so over the moon about our news that she didn’t argue. “Of course. Take your time… as long as it’s not too much time. I’m not getting any younger, you know.” A devious smile snuck across her face. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell my gardening club. Those snide remarks Aisha made about you being an old maid—as if her boring son-in-law is some big catch—she’s going to eat her words…”

“What are the odds she secretly starts planning our wedding tomorrow?” Sebastian asked after my mother dragged Yvonne back to their table, no doubt to start plotting revenge against Aisha.

“Tomorrow? This is my mother we’re talking about. I bet she starts tonight.”

He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as Priya wandered up to us. “I’m happy for you, but I’m also so annoyed with you right now,” she said. “I was hoping Mom would get so distracted planning your wedding that she’d forget about mine. But no, you got her to hold off on your wedding prep.” She heaved a deep sigh.

“Sorry,” I said sympathetically. “If it makes you feel better, I’m sure she’ll be busy with the prep behind our backs.”

“Maybe,” Priya said morosely. My free-spirited sister was having issues with our mother’s extremely hands-on approach to her wedding. “Ben and I should’ve eloped. I wanted to, but Mom… anyway, enough about that.” She perked up again. “I can’t believe you two are together! What a shocker. I mean, I had no clue.”

“What can I say? We’re good at keeping secrets,” I deadpanned. Sebastian coughed out a laugh and quickly hid his grin with his fist.

Between her interrupting our first kiss and her being present for our lovers’ spat during Radhika’s wedding boat ride, Priya had received the most clues out of anyone in my family. But that was my sister for you—constantly lost in her own world.

I loved her anyway. Her obliviousness was part of her charm.

Neha approached us next.

Sebastian tensed—he hadn’t forgiven her for threatening me at the bowling alley—but I was curious about her reaction to our announcement.

“So.” Her gaze flicked between me and Sebastian. Her expression was unreadable. “I guess I have my answer.”

“No. I never answered because it was a false choice based on a flawed premise,” I said. “You were assuming I’d have to sacrifice everything for an uncertainty. It was an overly rigid way of viewing something that’s not so black and white.”

Are you willing to throw it all away for a relationship you’re not even sure will last?

I’d agonized over the answer for weeks, too afraid to commit to a side, but the launch crisis had imbued me with crystal-bright clarity.

When I thought about who I wanted to celebrate with, commiserate with, and spend my life with, there was only one answer.

It was Sebastian. It’d always been Sebastian.

He was my emotional anchor, my one constant in the chaos. He made me stronger, and more importantly, he made me happy.

I loved my family, but Neha’s question was a false choice because I wasn’t “throwing away” anything. My achievements would always be mine, and my family would always be my family, even if they were mad at me.

Even if Neha’s question hadn’t been hypothetical, and my father had iced me out because he was still feuding with the Laurents, I would’ve chosen Sebastian. I’d overcome enough obstacles to stop doubting myself. Whatever consequences came with that choice, I would’ve figured them out and found a way to land on my feet.

I always did.

Neha issued a small huff. “It’s just like you to pick apart a simple question.”

“It wasn’t that simple.” The question was; the underlying emotions weren’t.

The crease between her brows softened. “I know.” She pursed her lips, her expression hardening again. “I still think your decision to keep your relationship secret was foolish. There were a lot of external factors that worked out in your favor. If they hadn’t, we’d be having a very different conversation right now. But… I understand. Sort of. It’s just not the way I like to do things.”

“That’s because we’re different people,” I said gently. “You’re my sister. I love you, and I know you meant well. But sometimes, I’d appreciate it if you acted like my sister instead of the parental police. I’m not asking you to commit crimes for me; I’m just asking you to see things from my perspective and trust me to handle things on my own. I would do the same for you.”

A long bout of silence followed.

“Fair enough,” Neha acknowledged. It was the best concession I could hope to get out of her. “I can’t guarantee anything. I am the way that I am, but… I’ll try. I am glad things worked out for you, Maya—especially because I’ll no longer have to listen to Mom bang on about your love life.”

Laughter built in my throat. “That makes two of us.”

“I’ll leave you two to your celebrations. I need to go home soon anyway. I have an early morning tomorrow.” Neha inclined her head toward Sebastian. “Sebastian.”

“Neha,” he said, his tone neutral. Once she left, he glanced at me with open curiosity. “What answer were you guys talking about?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I said. “We have one more incoming.”

My grandmother beelined toward us, her face alight with glee. She addressed Sebastian first. “Finally,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “I was running out of jewelry to lose.”

Ha! I knew she’d been lying about her missing jewelry.

Sebastian grinned. “I doubt that, Mrs. Gupta,” he said easily. “You have the best jewelry collection in the country.”

She cackled. “I do, don’t I?” She patted me on the cheek, her eyes softening. “I told you, beti. It’s not always about new people and places. Sometimes, it’s about new perspectives.”

I smiled at the reminder of our post-birthday conversation. “How long have you known?”

“That you and Sebastian would eventually end up together?” She snorted. “Since you created that creepy voodoo doll of him. You don’t spend that much time thinking about someone unless you’re obsessed. Trust me. I was the same way with your grandfather before I married the idiot.”

My grandparents had been happily married for decades before my grandfather died of a heart attack three years ago. She didn’t say it, but I knew how much my grandmother missed him.

Diya called her away soon after. Once she was gone, Sebastian slid a side glance at me. “What’s this voodoo doll everyone keeps talking about?”

Heat crawled across my face and neck. “It’s not important.”

“Was it anatomically correct? Because I’d be offended if you made an ugly voodoo doll of me.”

“It was anatomically correct…and it was ugly.” I let out a squeal of laughter when he grabbed me and hauled me to him.

“You’ll pay for that later,” he growled.

“Is that a promise or a warning?”

“Don’t push me, Maya, or I’ll haul you into the kitchen and fuck you right on the counter where everyone can hear.”

Delicious heat pooled between my thighs. “A promise, then.”

Sebastian’s eyes darkened. I was definitely going to pay for teasing him in public later.

The perfect end to the perfect night.

I couldn’t wait.

CHAPTER 44

Sebastian

“IT’LL BE WEIRD NOT COMING HERE EVERY WEEK,” MAYA said wistfully as we cleared out our shared office. There hadn’t been much in the beginning, but we’d accumulated a surprising number of decorative items over the past few months. “It’s only been a year, but I feel like we’ve been working here forever.”

I closed the lid on a full cardboard box and set it aside. A sly smile tugged at my mouth. “You going to miss working with me, Sal?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I dislike changing my routine. That’s—” The rest of her sentence hitched on a gasp when I swept her up with one arm and tossed her on the table. A bunch of pens rolled off the edge and clattered to the ground.

“What was that?” I hovered over her, close enough to see her pupils dilate.

She licked her lips, her breath quickening. “I’ll miss working with you a little,” she relented.

“Better, but not great.” I slipped my hand beneath her skirt, my fingers easily finding her growing arousal. “Try again.”

Maya sighed, her eyes fluttering closed. “I’ll miss working with you a lot.”

“There you go.” I rubbed a thumb over her clit. Her silk underwear was so wet, it hardly served as a barrier at all. She squirmed, her back arching, her breaths turning into pants, but I pulled away right as her muscles tightened in anticipation. “Now let’s finish packing. We have dinner reservations at seven.”

Her eyes snapped open. She raised her head, her jaw dropping as she watched me retrieve the pens from the floor and toss them into an empty box with lazy nonchalance. “Seriously? You’re going to leave me like this?” she sputtered.

“We’re at work, Maya. What you want me to do is highly inappropriate. Honestly, what would HR say?” My chest rumbled with laughter when she tossed an unopened pack of Post-its at me.

“You are such a bastard.”

“Don’t worry, mon ange. I’ll make it up to you later.”

“You better,” she said, but her mouth twitched as she slid off the table and joined me in packing up. She was trying not to smile.

Maya always enjoyed a challenge. Easy things bored her.

We worked in companionable silence for a while.

It was the last day of August, and it marked a full year since our fathers dropped the collaboration on us. It was hard to believe that’d been only twelve months ago, considering how much had happened since then.

The reviews were in, and our second launch event had been a smashing success. The critics raved about the food, and when we debuted our collaborative frozen foods line—which we’d held off on doing until after the make-up launch—it’d sold out within a week. Both our companies’ stocks had soared, and we were already brainstorming strategies to scale up without compromising quality.

Maya and I didn’t need a shared office anymore after the second launch, but we’d become attached to the room, so we’d held on to it for as long as we could. However, Singh Foods needed it as office space for their new director of corporate partnerships, who was scheduled to start next week. We had until the end of the day to move out.

It was just as well. Soon, I wouldn’t need a corporate office at all since I was transitioning out of my role as chief marketing officer for the Laurent Restaurant Group.

My father had kept his word. Considering the success of the launch and the new product line, he’d given me his blessing to pursue a career as a professional chef.

I was still figuring out what that would look like, but I had time. I’d agreed to remain as CMO until the end of the year so my replacement could get up to speed. After that, I was on my own.

The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.

We’d almost finished packing when I received a call from the lobby. “That’s lunch,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I met the courier at the elevators and tipped him handsomely. I brought the takeout bags back to the office and spread the food out on the conference table.

Maya’s nose twitched. It was adorable. “Is that the ramen we had last year? I thought their takeout was a one-time thing.”

“Make it a two-time thing.” I pushed the vegetarian bowl toward her. “This is our last official work lunch together. I wanted to make it special.”

Her wistful expression returned. “This really is the end of an era, isn’t it?”

“Sure, but we’ve been through many ends of eras together. It’s never really the end.”

“True.” Maya dug into her noodles. “Have you decided what you’ll do about Margaux’s offer yet?”

I hesitated. “Not yet.”

Margaux had offered me the sous-chef position at Brasserie M. Working with her wouldn’t be easy—she was a tough boss—but it would be familiar. Comfortable.

But was I really throwing away a lifetime of certainty only to settle for comfortable?

Maya observed me, her gaze assessing. “Forget the chef aspect for a minute,” she said. “What do you want? I mean, really want. If you could snap your fingers and get anything your heart desired, no fine print included, what would you wish for?”

I didn’t overthink it; I just went with the first thoughts that came to mind, no matter how sappy they were. “Two things: to marry you and make you happy.” I paused, my next words slower to roll off my tongue. “And to open my own restaurant.”

Maya and I were taking it slow, but we both knew marriage was on the horizon. This story was always supposed to end with us together.

Owning a restaurant, though? I’d never admitted that to anyone, not even myself. When I said I wanted to run a kitchen, most people assumed I’d join an already-established business. I was untested as a professional chef, so trying to make that transition while starting a new restaurant from the ground up would be like trying to hike Mount Everest in flip-flops.

Plus, I was still grappling with some personal hang-ups. The revelation that I hadn’t been responsible for the launch’s food poisoning or Wellgrew’s death had lifted a weight off my shoulders, but it was hard to shed years of fear and guilt overnight. Running a restaurant also meant I’d be responsible for my customers and my staff. If I failed, they’d suffer too.

But I had to bet on myself and take that risk. I couldn’t let the past hold me hostage, not if I wanted to build something worth having.

Maya’s eyes went bright and soft. “Marry me, make me happy, and open your own restaurant,” she repeated. “So three things?”

I smiled. “Three things.”

“That better not have been your marriage proposal, Sebastian Laurent.”

I laughed, my chest loosening. God, I loved her so fucking much. “Do I look like someone who would half-ass a proposal like that? No, when I propose, you’ll know.”

I couldn’t wait for that day.

“Good.” She returned my smile, her expression turning pensive. “Your own restaurant. I can see it. Chez Laurent.”

“Sal.” I set my chopsticks down and leaned forward. “Please don’t tell me you think so little of me that you believe I’d name it something as trite as Chez Laurent. That’s a nickname for my personal kitchen, not the moniker for a Michelin-starred restaurant.”

“Sorry.” Her eyes gleamed with amusement. “So you want to open your own restaurant and get a Michelin star.”

“Or three.” I shrugged. “Shoot for the moon, land among the stars.”

“That type of thinking is for other people. You’re Sebastian Laurent. You’re three-star material.” She spoke with utmost confidence.

Warmth kindled in my chest. “What about you? What do you really want?”

“Besides what I already have? Nothing.” Maya laughed when I shot her a skeptical look. “I’m serious.”

“Nothing? Not even the Gastronomic Event of the Year Award or a Nobel Prize?”

“Well… they would be nice,” she acknowledged. “Winning a Nobel is a little delusional, but I swear, if we don’t make the shortlist for GEYA, it’s rigged. Another International Marketing Excellence Award would also be great. I’d be okay if I didn’t get it, though. Truly. I’m so proud of us for pulling off that second launch after… everything.” She gestured around us. “The odds were stacked against us, but we persevered. That’s success. And honestly, I don’t feel the constant need to prove myself anymore. I can’t think of anything I want that wouldn’t be for pure ego purposes.” Another, smaller smile. “I’m happy.”

I didn’t press for another answer after that because that was what I wanted most of all—for her to be happy.

We finished our meal, our conversation turning to lighter topics. Once we were done, I tossed the trash and locked the door.

“Speaking of happy, there’s one thing we still have to do,” I said.

Maya furrowed her brow, no doubt running through the extensive Last Day Checklist in her head. “What?”

“Christen the conference room.” I picked her up and set her on the edge of the table again. “We can’t leave without giving it a proper goodbye.”

“You said that would be inappropriate,” she accused.

“It would be.” I kissed my way down her neck. “Good thing I love inappropriate.”

“Someone might see…” Her half-hearted protests died when I pushed her skirt up and traced the edge of her underwear with my finger.

It was a summer Friday in August, and the office was basically empty. I’d be shocked if anyone cared enough to check on us.

“That’s part of the fun, mon ange.” I sank to my knees. “Now be a good girl and spread your legs so I can finish my lunch.”

My mouth was already watering, and when she obeyed, I dived in with single-minded intent. Her breathy moans filled the room as I ate her out on the conference table. My cock pulsed. I relished the way she whimpered and tugged on my hair almost as much as I did the juices flooding my tongue.

After a lifetime of dining in the world’s best restaurants, eating meals prepared by the world’s best chefs, she was still the most exquisite thing I’d ever tasted.

Maya soon came with a guttural cry. She was still shaking when I stood, hooked her legs over my shoulders, and drove into her.

“HR… would definitely… not approve of this,” she gasped in between thrusts. Her head fell back, her pussy spasming around me.

Pleasure burned a fiery trail down my spine. I was fucking her so hard the table creaked with every stroke.

Laughter spilled from my throat. “It’s a good thing we don’t work for the same company then.” I hooked her legs higher, nearly folding her in half. “Since you’re still speaking in full sentences, that means I’m not doing a good enough job.” I slammed into her again. “Let’s remedy that, shall we?”

It didn’t take long for her words to dissolve into unintelligible moans. An hour and multiple orgasms later, we lay on the carpet, our breaths ragged in the sudden silence.

I barely remembered when we moved from the table to the floor, but I was too sated to move. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows and spilled across us, warming my already-flushed skin.

Once our breathing returned to normal, Maya faced me. “This is going to sound random, but I’ve been thinking about what happened to your letter, and… I have a theory.”

A jolt of surprise zipped through me. I hadn’t thought about the letter mystery in months, but I waited, my curiosity piqued.

“You remember Neville Grafton, right?” she asked.

I cast my memory back to boarding school and conjured up an image of a tall, skinny kid with freckles and unruly dark hair. “Yeah, he was in Model UN with us. He threw up on Andy Kim during our Spain trip,” I said, remembering the offhand comment I’d made about him during her cousin’s wedding.

“Yes. You were going to tell me something before graduation, and he pulled you away.”

The memory resurfaced, murky with age but clear enough to crystallize into images. That’d been the day after I slipped the letter through the slats in her locker. I’d wanted to make sure Maya received it, but Neville had interrupted us before I got a chance to confirm with her. I didn’t remember his excuse, but I remembered his locker had been next to hers. I also remembered the instances I’d caught him staring at her, his face filled with longing—and the way he’d looked at me during graduation, like he wanted to shove me down the stairs.

I’d thought I was imagining it because he’d been a quiet kid, a little weird, but harmless. Perhaps I’d been wrong.

“At Radhikha’s wedding, you said he might’ve had a crush on me. You were right. But it was, um, kind of a big crush,” Maya said, blushing. “He asked me out a dozen times, but I always said no. It got to the point where I had to threaten a restraining order against him because he wouldn’t stop leaving me stuff in my locker. Poems, gifts, things like that. This was after Spain. The poems were one thing, but I couldn’t figure out how he was getting the larger items in there even after I changed the combination. I still don’t. But I think he must’ve seen you leave me that letter, and he intercepted it before I got it.”

“If that’s true, why would he have left it in your notebook?” I reasoned. “He would’ve gotten rid of it to make sure you never read it. And how did he get your signature for the response?”

“Signatures aren’t hard to forge if the person is committed enough. As for why he left it in my notebook…” Maya trailed off. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to figure it out, but the notebook was in my locker too. Maybe he read it on the spot and was going to toss it, but someone interrupted him, and he stashed it in the first place he could find.”

I frowned. “Maybe.” That sounded unlikely, but everything about the situation was unlikely.

“We can find out.” She propped herself up on her elbow, her face growing more animated. “If we ask Christian to—”

“No,” I said firmly. “Don’t get used to relying on Harper. It comes with a price.” His fees were exorbitant, but his real trade was in secrets and blackmail. He wasn’t someone you wanted to be in business with unless you were willing to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. Maya’s face fell, and I felt compelled to add, “Besides, I hear he and his wife just had a kid. He’s probably too busy to chase someone down over an old letter.”

According to the grapevine, his wife had given birth to a daughter. Dahlia Maura Harper. Cute name for what I was sure was a cute kid.

It humanized Christian a bit, but I was still reluctant to call upon him for anything except dire emergencies.

“You’re probably right,” Maya said reluctantly. “But don’t you want to know what happened?”

“If I can find out without using Harper, sure, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. I’m almost glad things unfolded the way they did.” My mouth quirked at her obvious surprise. “If you’d received my letter when you were supposed to, how would you have responded?”

She was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “In hindsight, I was… attracted to you, but I was so focused on our rivalry that I might have thought you were trying to play a horrible trick on me.”

“We would’ve fought…”

“And it would’ve blown up in our faces,” Maya finished. She sighed. “I hate that he thinks he got away with it.”

“If it was him.”

“Right. But if I see him at our fifteen-year reunion, I’m kicking his ass. He was a creep, letter or no letter.”

I laughed. “I’ll kick his ass with you.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I heard the smile in her voice.

We lay side by side and stared at the ceiling, our conversation petering out into comfortable silence. It smelled like dry-erase markers, lemon cleaner, and Maya’s perfume. The carpet was rough against my skin, and I saw the faint outline of the cats she’d doodled on the whiteboard last year.

This was the exact position we’d laid in last Halloween eve, minus the yoga mats. We’d had our first major breakthrough for the launch event that night, so this seemed like a fitting goodbye for the office.

Maya was right. It was the end of the era, but it was only the start for us—and I couldn’t wait to see what the next chapter looked like.

EPILOGUE

Sebastian

14 months later

THE SOFT OPENING OF MY RESTAURANT TOOK PLACE the following November. The trees were starting to shed their leaves, and a gust of late-fall air wafted through the door as my hand-selected group of guests arrived one by one or in groups.

“Darling, this place is gorgeous,” my mother said in French. She gave me a double air kiss and swept her gaze around the dining room. “I am so proud of you for opening the best restaurant in the city.”

“The restaurant technically isn’t open yet, Maman,” I said, amused. “You haven’t even tasted the food.”

“Please.” She scoffed. “I’m your mother. I don’t need to wait to know what I said is true. Isn’t that right, Michel?”

My father grunted. He took in his surroundings with a more critical eye, but his frown of concentration smoothed by the time his attention returned to me.

“Papa.”

“Sebastian.” He accepted a welcome drink from the hostess and eyed a group of newcomers. They included the editor-in-chief of a major food trade magazine and Christian Harper and his wife Stella, who was a famous fashion designer in her own right. I hadn’t employed Christian’s services since he helped us take down Whitaker, but he deserved a dinner invite. I wouldn’t have this restaurant if it weren’t for him. “Good turnout.”

“I’m lucky to have a supportive network,” I said.

The past fourteen months had been some of the hardest of my life. The food was only a fraction of what went into starting a restaurant. The rest was a nightmare of finances, permits, logistics, and arguments with suppliers and contractors. There were days I wanted to bang my head against the wall or outright quit, but Maya and my friends had carried me through it. Xavier had been particularly helpful, given his experience opening the Vault.

Now, after thirteen months of blood, sweat, and tears, the restaurant was complete. Tonight was for friends, family, and close associates; tomorrow, it would open to the public.

Cold sweat slicked my skin. Opening a restaurant was like tearing off a piece of my soul and offering it to strangers for their consumption and judgment. They might love it, they might hate it, or they might forget all about it.

But it was here. I’d done it, and no matter how the grand opening or subsequent weeks and months went, I was damn proud of myself for not giving up.

“It looks good,” my father said after a pause. “I know pulling this off wasn’t easy. I’m… proud of you.”

I wasn’t chasing his approval anymore, but it still felt good to hear him say it. “Merci, Papa.”

My mother beamed. “See? You were both so moody for no reason.” She patted my cheek. “We’ll let you go. I’m sure you have a lot to do. But I’ll see you and Maya for dinner next week, yes?”

“Of course.” I smiled as she dragged my father over to speak with Maya’s parents.

My mother’s emotional state had improved greatly over the past year. She was still prone to the occasional bout of melancholy, but that was a normal expression of grief. Losing your sister wasn’t something anyone truly got over. Most importantly, she was going to therapy, and her drinking had never edged into worrisome territory.

I really had been projecting my own fears and insecurities onto her. In a way, I’d underestimated her the way my father had underestimated me. She was a lot stronger than I’d given her credit for.

I spent the next half hour mingling with the guests. All my closest friends and family were here, along with a handful of important investors and tastemakers. Xavier and Sloane were deep in conversation with Margaux while Dante and Vivian conversed quietly with Christian and Stella.

I spoke briefly with Killian. To my surprise, he’d shown up without a date.

“How was Greece?” I asked.

“What?” He gave me a blank stare.

“Greece,” I repeated. “You were in Milos over the summer, right?”

“Right. It was fine. Beautiful.” He seemed oddly distracted, but he’d been acting weird for months.

His eyes flicked to the entrance. I followed his gaze to where a major real estate developer was checking his coat along with an unfamiliar redhead.

“I’m going to get another drink,” Killian said abruptly. “Talk later.” He skirted around a table toward the servers in the back, deliberately avoiding the coat check station.

Weird.

Chandler, the real estate developer, approached me to offer his congratulations. He wasn’t a huge player in the business world—there were developers who were ten times more powerful, like Alex Volkov of the Archer Group—but his company owned the building the restaurant was in. It was smart business to invite him.

We chatted briefly before he introduced the woman next to him. “This is Tate.”

That was it. No last name or explanation of who she was to him. She looked half his age and was quite attractive in an understated way, but I didn’t get couple vibes from them. In fact, he seemed annoyed she was there.

She smiled at me. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, and a lush mane of auburn hair spilled past her shoulders. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m excited to try your food. I’ve heard nothing but great things.”

“I hope it lives up to your expectations,” I said. She reminded me of a deer—a little skittish, but so gentle she automatically triggered my protective instincts.

“I’m sure it will.”

I was about to ask how she knew Chandler, but she’d stopped paying attention. She was staring at the back of the restaurant, where Killian lounged against the wall, nursing his drink and looking uncharacteristically broody.

He glanced over, his gaze narrowing. Tate blushed before her mouth hardened into a thin line. She averted her eyes, but her blush remained.

Oh, boy. I was tempted to warn her away from him—she seemed like a nice girl, and Killian ate nice girls alive—but Chandler was still standing there, oblivious to his date(?)’s distraction.

In the end, I minded my own business and excused myself.

I had other people to see.

I slipped through the crowd and into the supply closet. Maya was waiting for me, her shoulder propped against a shelf of dry goods.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

“I had to finish making the rounds. You know how it goes.” I gave her a soft kiss and breathed in the delicate scent of her perfume. “Everyone’s asking where you are. You excused yourself to use the restroom…” I checked the clock. “Half an hour ago.”

“I’ll tell them I was trying to wish my boyfriend good luck,” she teased, placing a hand on my chest. My heart thumped beneath her touch. “It’s here. You did it. Breathe.” Her words were soft.

“I am. I will.” I dragged in a lungful of air. “I should get back to the kitchen. Service starts soon.”

“I know.” Maya stood on tiptoes and kissed me again. “One kiss for good luck. One kiss to be collected after you knock it out of the park.”

“Are you withholding a kiss from me?”

“You need something to motivate you.”

I chuckled, my grin still in place as I left the supply closet and headed into the kitchen. Our interaction had been brief, but I’d needed it.

Without her—the beautiful, incredible, fucking brilliant woman who’d held me together through the lows and pushed me to highs I hadn’t thought I was capable of—I wouldn’t have survived the past thirteen months. Maya was my secret weapon. As long as I had her by my side, I could do anything.

My staff had the kitchen under control, but I still triple-checked everything myself. Everyone I loved was here tonight. If the food wasn’t perfect, and they got sick, I’d never forgive myself.

A familiar worm of anxiety scuttled through my chest before I quashed it. I forced a slow breath of air through my nose and exhaled. I didn’t think I’d ever truly shake the fear of hurting someone with my food, but the fear was no longer debilitating. That was the important part. It hovered at the back of my mind as a reminder, but it didn’t control me.

After another calming breath, I refocused on my inspection. I saved the most important dish for last: the scallops. The star of tonight’s menu.

I’d spent the past year tinkering with the recipe. I’d experimented with dozens of ingredients before I finally, almost by accident, stumbled upon the magic one.

I’d tested and retested the recipe so often I could whip it together in my sleep, but I had to taste it one last time. Just in case.

I picked up a scallop from the test plate, put it in my mouth, and chewed.

The bright pop of strawberry basil salsa paired beautifully with the savory seared scallops.

Perfect.

In hindsight, it was so simple. Strawberries provided the same acidity as the lemon beurre blanc sauce in my previous recipe, but their sweetness made the dish fresher and more dynamic. I would’ve never thought to pair them with scallops if it weren’t for Maya’s obsession with strawberries. We had so many cartons of them in our fridge that I was constantly using them in different recipes, and I’d inadvertently struck gold.

Thankfully, the diners seemed to agree. Service started soon after I finished my walkthrough. Judging by the exclamations and murmurs of appreciation throughout the night, the food was a huge hit.

“Do me a favor.” I handed my maître d’hôtel a folded note halfway through the night. “Give this to table eight.” That was Maya’s table.

She immediately understood. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”

I sank back into the rhythm of the kitchen. The controlled chaos felt familiar and almost comforting. The noise, the activity, the medley of smells—they were the marks of a kitchen that was alive. When service was in full swing, it was no longer tethered to reality. It was its own world, one where time compressed into tiny pockets of action and reaction. The sous-chef calling out orders. The sizzle of meat in a pan. The ping of a timer going off. Adrenaline and muscle memory took over, making the hours fly by at warp speed.

One minute, I was checking the scallops. Then I blinked, and service was over. My friends and family congratulated me and trickled out of the restaurant. Soon, Maya was the only person left seated in the dining room.

Her eyes sparkled as I sank into the chair opposite hers.

“Open your own restaurant, check. Blow everyone’s minds at the soft opening, check. Next on the list, a Michelin star,” she said. She paused. “Sorry. I meant three Michelin stars.”

I smiled, my body exhausted but my heart full. “You liked the food, then.”

“Is that a real question? Of course I did.” Her face shimmered with pride. “It was incredible. Congratulations, Seb. I know how hard you’ve worked for this, and I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I said. “Thank you for waiting. I know how much you love your dessert.”

My note had asked her to hold off on eating dessert so we could enjoy it together.

“Don’t thank me too much. I stole a piece of Neha’s pie when she wasn’t looking,” she said, making me laugh.

“You earned it. Consider that part of your reward for winning Gastronomic Event of the Year,” I said.

To Maya’s surprise and delight, our second launch received the prestigious honor at the most recent World Marketing Awards. She hadn’t thought we’d win since the event had been so simple, but we’d earned extra points for pulling it off in such a short period of time. Plus, we’d received special consideration for Whitaker’s sabotage of our first event.

“We earned it,” she corrected me.

“It was more you than me. I was only in charge of the food.”

“Right. Because that’s not important or anything.”

Another laugh escaped me.

We conversed lightly for a while, catching each other up on our nights before I motioned for the server to bring out our dessert.

My smile faded beneath a churn of nerves, but I tried not to let my anxiety show.

The restaurant wasn’t the only thing I’d spent the past year preparing. I’d agonized over how to do it and when, but after scrapping dozens of ideas, I’d opted for the simplest one. It was the one that meant the most. Hopefully, Maya agreed.

The server came out with the final course.

Instead of serving Maya the same deconstructed tarte tatin that everyone else got, I’d personally prepared a special surprise for her.

I watched, heart in my throat, as she took in the spread. Her gaze latched on to the final item, and I heard a sharp intake of breath. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up.

I’d waited long enough for this moment. It was time, and I couldn’t imagine a better setting than this table in this restaurant—the heart of the thing I loved second most after her. A small, tasteful arrangement of flowers perfumed the air, and candlelight flickered beneath a delicate oak beam carved with my restaurant’s name: Nouvelle Époque. New Era.

I kept my eyes fixed on Maya’s face as she stared at the item cradled in her palm. Her eyes were bright, and her chin wobbled like she was holding back tears.

My heart crashed against my ribcage. The silence was painful, the waiting even more so. Restlessness surged through me, urging me to look away so I wouldn’t have to endure any more torture.

But I couldn’t, and I didn’t have to look at the table to remember what I’d prepared for this course—or what, exactly, I’d included that had her looking so shell-shocked.

One slice of chocolate cake topped with strawberries imported from Korea.

One chocolate milkshake, thick enough to pass for ice cream.

And in her hand, one note with four simple words written on it:

Will you marry me?

Maya

I should’ve known Sebastian would plan the perfect proposal with the perfect ring—a breathtaking marquise-cut diamond that’d been passed down through the generations on his mother’s side of the family. He had, somewhat ironically and perhaps purposefully, proposed to me exactly two years after my family’s now-defunct engagement deadline.

When I’d recovered from my shock and looked up again, he’d already dropped to one knee, ring in hand.

It’d been the easiest yes of my life.

I told my family the next day, and I swore people in India could’ve heard my mother’s scream of joy. She was so ecstatic about my engagement that she only threw two fits after Priya eloped, just like my Meera Aunty predicted she would. She couldn’t take the wedding planning pressure anymore. However, she’d agreed to let my mother host a big reception for her in New York, which was the best compromise they could agree on.

That meant my mother poured all her energy into my wedding. I’d thought I would chafe at her micromanaging, but I discovered that I liked getting into the weeds of wedding planning. It was basically a giant to-do list, and I took great satisfaction in checking off every item.

Fifteen months later, Sebastian and I got married in two separate ceremonies. The first was a traditional church wedding followed by a reception at his family’s château in France. The second was a week of Indian festivities in Udaipur. Like Jaipur, where my cousin got married three years ago, Udaipur was located in the state of Rajasthan. However, its tranquil, picturesque beauty was a far cry from Jaipur’s lively hustle and bustle.

My father, determined to outdo Radhika’s wedding, had spared no expense in making the wedding the event of the century. Based on the guests’ impressed exclamations throughout the week, he’d succeeded. Honestly, I only cared about celebrating with my friends and family, but the spectacle made my parents happy, so I rolled with it.

Besides the food (which included my favorite gulab jamun) and actually marrying Sebastian, I’d been most excited about my wedding attire. I’d spent months working with the designer Vian, who’d custom-made an exquisite red and orange bridal lehenga for me. It was draped with two dupattas—one opulent and traditional, the other gauzier and more graceful—and it featured the most beautiful embroidery I’d ever seen. My grandmother had gifted me a gold-and-diamond heirloom necklace and earrings set, which I’d paired with my own haathphool and my mother’s elaborate maang tikka. My hands were etched with henna from the pre-wedding Mehndi ceremony, and I couldn’t stop staring at them.

This was it. I was married.

The reality of it took my breath away.

“I can’t believe all of my girls are married,” my mother said, her eyes misting over. “I never thought the day would come.”

“Please, Shilpa, you’ve been planning for this day since they were born.” My grandmother snorted. “Perhaps now you can stop moaning about your daughters’ marriage prospects and focus on tending to that garden of yours. It’s looking a little sad. If you’re not careful, Aisha will usurp your throne at the next International—oh, there she is. Let’s say hi.” She winked at me as she guided my mother toward her frenemy, who was hovering by the dessert bar with a grumpy expression.

I shot my grandmother a grateful smile. I loved my mother, but she’d go on all night if I let her.

We were nearing the end of the reception. We’d already finished all the toasts and official performances, so I could relax a bit and find Sebastian, whose friends had whisked him off for God knew what an hour ago.

My own friends were dancing near one of the main stages. Ayana beckoned for me to join them, but I smiled and shook my head.

I searched the crowd, my gaze skimming over my sisters, my cousins, and Meera Aunty, who was talking to a distinguished-looking older gentleman with a beard. I could’ve sworn she was blushing.

I spotted almost everyone in my extended family, but I didn’t see—

“Looking for someone, mon ange?” A smooth drawl came from behind me. It was laced with amusement.

I spun around, my insides unspooling when I saw Sebastian smiling down at me. For once, he’d tamed his hair into a relatively neat coif, though a thick lock had escaped sometime during the night. It flopped over his forehead, framing his sculpted cheekbones and warm amber eyes. He wore a custom cream sherwani that complemented the rich gold and orange of my bridal lehenga perfectly, and he looked so devastating that it took my breath away.

“Yes, actually. My husband seems to have disappeared. Any chance you know where he is?” I asked innocently.

My husband. I was getting used to the new term, but I liked it. A lot.

“He left you alone at your own reception?” He shook his head. “What an asshole.”

I bit back a laugh. “You said it. Not me.”

“If he was stupid enough to let you out of his sight for one second, he doesn’t deserve you—even if his friends threatened to toss him in the lake if he didn’t drink with them.”

“Is that what you were up to?” I teased, dropping our act.

“Unfortunately. I indulged them for one round, and then I came to find you. You’re better company. Much smarter and prettier, too. Not a lot of people can claim to be a Hall of Famer.”

I flushed with pleasure. I’d recently been inducted into the World Marketing Association’s Hall of Fame for my “extraordinary contributions to the field” over the years. Only active professionals who’d won awards in at least two of their categories (like the Gastronomic Event of the Year and International Marketing Excellence Award) were eligible. There were a host of other considerations, and I’d secretly hoped but never dared dream I’d get the distinction. As it stood, I was the youngest Hall of Fame inductee in their sixty-year history.

I didn’t crave external validation anymore. That said, it felt damn good to receive recognition for years’ worth of work and not just a specific win. It meant my accomplishments weren’t a fluke.

“A smooth talker and a smart man.” A thrill ran through me when Sebastian took my hand and guided me to the nearby dance floor. “I was getting a little lonely, but I guess you can make it up to me during our honeymoon in…” I trailed off expectantly.

A humoring smile pulled on his lips. “Nice try, Sal, but you’re the one who wanted it to be a surprise. You’re not getting a single spoiler out of me.”

I pouted, but he had a point.

I’d given Sebastian full permission to plan our honeymoon as he saw fit. I was usually the one who organized our trips because it was fun, and I was picky about certain things (like the thread count on the sheets and the brand of hair dryer in the hotel bathroom), but I’d been so swamped with the wedding that he’d offered to take over honeymoon planning duties.

It was so liberating not having to worry about the details that I’d asked him to keep the entire trip a surprise. He’d taken my wish and run with it, only sharing important details like the dates and what I should pack.

I had no idea where we were going. I just knew we’d be visiting five destinations over the course of a month, and that all five would involve a lot of food and sex. It sounded like heaven.

Sebastian didn’t say it, but I suspected the extravagant trip was also his way of thanking me for solving the letter mystery, once and for all. I’d respected his wishes and stayed away from Christian, but I’d tracked down Neville myself using our school’s alumni network. He was happily married now, and I’d told him he could remain happily married if he admitted the truth. Otherwise, I’d tell his wife about his creepy, stalkerish past.

He’d caved faster than a wet cardboard box. Long story short, he’d volunteered in the school’s administrative office and secretly gotten access to the master code for all student lockers. He’d been incredibly jealous of Sebastian, who was everything he wasn’t—popular, good-looking, a hit with the girls—and when he saw him leaving the letter in my locker, he’d intercepted it before I saw it. He’d read it on the spot, as I’d predicted, but when he saw me coming down the hall, he’d panicked and shoved it blindly back into the locker.

The forged response was his way of knocking Sebastian down a peg. He’d traced over my signature using my school documents from the admin office, and he’d pulled Sebastian away when he’d tried to talk to me before graduation because he’d been afraid Sebastian would ask me about the letter. He hadn’t wanted us to figure out what he’d done while we were still at school.

It was a stupid scheme carried out by a stupid teenager. I would’ve been more upset had things not turned out so well for Sebastian and me. As it stood, I chalked his actions up to the dumb recklessness of youth and moved on…after I called our school’s head of alumni relations. Most schools would’ve laughed at such a seemingly small, decades-old transgression, but ours took their reputation seriously—and the generous donations from both my family and the Laurents even more seriously. The alumni relations head had been so appalled that they’d blacklisted Neville from the school’s powerful alumni network.

When I told Sebastian, he said he’d make some calls of his own. He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask, but when I checked on Neville again, he was no longer the president of his company.

“Do you think Bobby can handle the pressure while you’re gone?” I asked now.

Bobby was Sebastian’s protégé. After learning so much under Margaux’s mentorship, Sebastian wanted to pay it forward, so he’d taken the twenty-five-year-old chef under his wing. Bobby was a little intense, but he was also enormously talented and dedicated to Nouvelle Époque. He worshiped Sebastian, who’d put him in charge of the restaurant while we were on our honeymoon.

“I’m sure he can. If not, Margaux will be there to guide him—though he’ll wish she wasn’t. She’s tougher than me,” Sebastian said. “Things should be fine, as long as… you know.”

Neither of us verbalized what we were secretly dreading—that a Michelin inspector would show up during his absence.

Despite Sebastian’s initial fears, Nouvelle Époque was a massive success. I’d always known it would be, but it was gratifying to see the critics and regular diners alike agree.

He’d earned his first Michelin star late last year, but now he had to keep that star and, hopefully, earn the remaining two. It was a never-ending cycle of stress and anticipation, and I didn’t take his willingness to step away from work for a full month so we could have a proper honeymoon for granted.

I’d told him a month was too long and that we could cut it down to a week, but he’d insisted.

“I didn’t wait this long to marry you only to skimp on the honeymoon,” was all he’d said when I brought it up.

“Don’t worry,” Sebastian said now as my brow creased. “I’ll get the full stars, one way or another. If not this year, then the next.”

“Three stars,” I mused. “You like to make it hard for yourself, don’t you?”

“What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.” He kissed me, his breath warm and soft against my lips. “And for you.”

I melted into his embrace. The rest of the world dissolved until there was only us, dancing and kissing beneath the swirling lights.

I wasn’t thinking about work or how early we had to wake up tomorrow. My mind wasn’t spinning theories about our honeymoon destinations or conjuring worst-case scenarios for what could happen at any point in the future.

I was fully present, right here in this moment. Our story had been a lifetime in the making, and for once, I let myself enjoy the ride instead of worrying about the ending.

The Ultimate Thing, that feeling of complete fulfillment that I’d been chasing?

This was it. And I’d never been happier.

He vowed to never fall in love… but some vows are meant to be broken.

Read King of Lust for Killian and Tate’s story.

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xo, Ana

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Discover Ana Huang’s Gods of the Game series with a sneak peek at the first book in the series

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CHAPTER 1

ASHER

I DIDN’T GET PERFORMANCE ANXIETY, BUT THERE WAS nothing like seventy thousand people watching you get fucked that really put a guy on edge.

Sweat dripped into my eyes as I received the ball from the left-winger. The crowd’s cheers reached a fever pitch, and a tiny prickle of trepidation snaked through my gut.

Usually, the fans’ enthusiasm revved me up. After all, I’d dreamed of moments like this growing up. Playing on a professional pitch, hearing thousands chant my name, being the one who took my team to glory.

Moments like this meant I’d made it and proved my critics wrong—which I had, many times over.

After all, I was Asher Fucking Donovan.

But today, in the last minute of the Premier League season final, I felt like just Asher, the newest and most controversial transfer to Blackcastle.

It was my first season with the team, the match was tied, and we were second on the league table behind Holchester United.

We needed a win to take home the championship, but so far, the match had been a clusterfuck of disasters.

An intercepted ball here, a missed penalty there. We were all over the place, and I could practically see the championship slipping through my fingers.

Frustration mounted as I tried to maneuver past the swarm of Holchester defenders. Bocci, Lyle, Kanu—I knew their tricks well, but they also knew mine.

That was the problem with playing against your old team; there was nowhere to hide.

With no way out, I passed the ball to another forward and tried to ignore the numbers ticking down on the clock.

Forty seconds.

Thirty-nine.

Thirty-eight.

The ball bounced between players until, through a stroke of equally good and bad luck, Vincent gained possession through a counterattack.

The cheers dulled to a low roar beneath the weight of my anticipation.

Seventeen.

Sixteen.

Fifteen.

I was in the perfect position to receive the ball. I had a clear shot at the goal, but I could see Vincent’s eyes searching the pitch for someone, anyone else to pass it to.

My pulse hammered in rhythm with the ticking clock.

Come on, you bastard.

There was no one else. I was the only player on our team who could feasibly score at this point. Vincent must’ve come to the same conclusion because, with a noticeable clench of his jaw, he finally kicked the ball to me.

The crowd’s excitement pitched high, but it was too late.

Vincent’s precious few seconds of hesitation gave Holchester an opening, and they stole the ball before I could connect with it.

A collective groan rippled over the pitch.

I blinked away the sweat and tried to focus, but my old team’s taunting stares and the blaze of bright lights disoriented me in a way I hadn’t felt since that match many moons ago.

Five.

An attempt to steal the ball back failed.

Four.

Flashes of news headlines and TV snippets blared in my head. Traitor. Judas. Sellout. Was I worth the record 250-million-pound transfer, or was I the most expensive mistake in Premier League history?

Three.

By some miracle, I got the ball on the second attempt.

Two.

No time to think.

One.

I kicked.

The ball went wide to the shrill of the final whistle, and the stadium fell so silent I could hear the rush of blood in my ears.

All around me, my team stood, stunned, while the Holchester players jumped and whooped in celebration.

It was over.

We’d lost.

My first season with Blackcastle—the one where everyone expected me to bring home a championship—was over, and we’d lost.

My surroundings blurred into a muffled stream of noise and movement, and I barely felt the soreness of my muscles or a teammate’s consoling slap on my back.

I barely felt anything at all.

No one spoke during our walk to the changing room, but the dread was palpable.

The only thing worse than losing a match was facing Coach afterward, and he barely gave us a chance to sit before he went off.

Frank Armstrong was a legend in the football world. As a player, he was famous for his string of hat tricks in the nineties; as a manager, he was famous for his innovative approach to leadership and his hair-trigger temper, the latter of which was on full display as he laid into us.

“Are those the standards you play with?” he demanded. “Are those the fucking standards? Because I’ll tell you, they’re nowhere near championship level. They are fucking shit!”

Lack of focus, terrible teamwork, no cohesion—he touched on all the issues that had plagued us since I transferred in mid-season, and it didn’t take a genius to know why.

Even as Coach berated us, heads swiveled between me and Vincent, who sat on the opposite side of the room.

Team dynamics had been fucked since I joined. Part of that was the natural consequence of incorporating a new member into a tight-knit club; a larger part boiled down to the fact that I, the league’s top scorer, and Vincent, the club’s star defender and captain, despised each other.

We played different positions, but our rivalry was infamous. He was the only true competition I had for press, status, and sponsorships—important things in our world—but the biggest source of our contention was what happened at the last World Cup.

The dive. The fight. The red card.

I tried not to think about it. If I did, I might punch him in the face, and I doubted Coach would appreciate me doing that in the middle of his rant about teamwork.

“DuBois! Donovan!”

My head snapped up at the sound of my name, and Vincent’s did the same.

Coach had apparently ended his speech because the rest of the team was shuffling off to change while he glared at us.

“My office. Now.”

We obeyed without argument. We weren’t stupid.

“Do you want to take a guess as to why I called the two of you, specifically, in here?” Coach didn’t wait for the door to fully close before launching into part two of his rant.

Vincent and I remained silent.

“I asked you a question.”

“Because we lost,” I said. My stomach tightened at the word lost.

Everyone hated losing, but today’s loss stung particularly hard for me when I knew there were people actively rooting for me to fuck up at Blackcastle—namely, Holchester United fans who hated me for transferring to their biggest rival.

I’d had plenty of naysayers growing up—teachers who thought I’d never amount to anything, football fans who thought I was a flash in the pan, press who dug for dirt in every aspect of my life—and I couldn’t stand proving my critics right.

“No. It’s not because we lost,” Coach snapped. “It’s because you two are the ones the rest of the team looks up to the most, but you’ve let your stupid rivalry affect your game. Worst of all, it’s affecting morale.”

We slunk lower in our seats beneath his glare.

“I knew there would be a transition period, but I thought you would get over it and work things out because you’re adults. However, it seems like I’m dealing with children because here we are, postseason, and we have nothing to show for it except a host of mistakes that could’ve been easily avoided if you’d learned how to bloody work together!” Coach’s voice rose with each word until it was loud enough to seep through the walls.

The muted chatter from the locker room noticeably died down, and a flush of shame crawled across my face.

Coach’s disappointment was almost as unbearable as losing the championship. I’d idolized him growing up, and the opportunity to work with him had been a major factor behind me handing in my transfer request.

This had not been how I’d envisioned ending our first season together.

Vincent shifted beside me. “Coach, I—”

“Don’t get me started with you.” Coach cut him off. “What the hell was that in the last twenty seconds? Donovan was right there. You should’ve passed him the bloody ball when you had the chance. See opening, pass ball. It’s football 101!”

Vincent’s mouth tightened. He couldn’t say what we all knew: he hadn’t passed the ball immediately because he hadn’t wanted me to score the winning goal. The press would’ve replayed that kick over and over, and I would’ve received all the glory that came with it. Vincent wouldn’t have been able to stand it.

Selfish prick. I didn’t dwell on whether I would’ve done the same had I been in his place.

Coach’s stare sharpened. He’d been a club manager long enough to figure out Vincent’s motivations without him verbalizing it.

“Since you want to act like children, I’ll treat you like children,” he said. “Normally, I leave offseason training up to the individual players, but not this summer. This summer, you’re both cross-training at the Royal Academy of Ballet. Together.”

“What?”

Vincent and I exploded at the same time.

My sense of self-preservation couldn’t override my shock at Coach’s edict. Clubs almost never dictated the specifics of how we spent our offseason. Players hailed from all over the world, which meant summer was their chance to go home, see their families, and train as they saw fit.

“I already spoke with RAB’s director. She’s on board,” Coach said. “I didn’t say anything before because I wanted to see if you two could pull it together by the last match and fucking win. You couldn’t, so you’ll be taking private lessons with the same instructor for the summer. She’s one of their best, and she has an intimate knowledge of football. You’ll be in good hands.”

I didn’t want to be in any fucking hands except my own. I had nothing against ballet. Though I’d never cross-trained using its techniques, I knew players who had, and they sang its praises for improving their strength, flexibility, and footwork techniques.

However, I’d already created my training plan. I didn’t need a stranger jumping in and telling me what to do.

Vincent straightened, his face taking on a ghostly pallor. “Don’t tell me she’s…”

“Your instructor will be Scarlett DuBois.” Coach offered a mirthless smile. “You’re welcome.”

DuBois? As in…

“Vincent’s sister?” I sputtered. “You’re joking. That’s a conflict of interest!”

I’d never seen or met Vincent’s sister, though I’d heard him talk about her. The two were close, which was just my luck. I didn’t need the DuBois siblings conspiring against me together.

“I don’t want to train with my sister,” Vincent said. “That’s not…no.”

“It’s a good thing neither of you has a say in the matter.” The volume of Coach’s voice dropped back to normal levels, though it was no less cutting. “The director assured me she’s the right person for the job and that she won’t let personal ties affect her work. I believe her. That means you two will train with Scarlett and you will take it seriously. And gentlemen?” He pinned us with a warning glare. “When you return, you’d better convince me you’re goddamn capable of working together instead of against each other, or you’ll be riding the bench. I don’t give a shit if you’re the captain or the top scorer on the team. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” we muttered.

Coach’s mind was made up. There was nothing we could do or say to get out of it, which meant I was stuck with the DuBois siblings for an entire fucking summer.

My jaw tightened.

I didn’t know much about Scarlett DuBois, but given she was related to Vincent, I knew one thing: I wasn’t going to like her.

At all.

Acknowledgments

When I first conceptualized this series, I was nervous about King of Gluttony because I wasn’t sure how to reimagine the sin of gluttony in a sexy and swoon-worthy way. But Sebastian Laurent? That man stole my heart from the moment he stepped onto the page. He’s one of my favorite MMCs and the perfect match for Maya, who I adore and relate to so much given my own perfectionist tendencies.

This couple is incredibly dear to my heart, and I may have shed a tear or two writing their love story. But of course, every book is a team effort, so I want to give a huge thank you to everyone who helped make King of Gluttony a reality:

To Becca—For the many brainstorms and Zoom calls that turned my random collection of ideas into a full-fledged story. You’re always there when I have questions or just need someone to vent to. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend and sounding board.

To Jess and Kate—My fabulous PAs who keep everything running smoothly in the background. I couldn’t do this without you!

To Brittney, Rebecca, Aishah, Amelie, Chelè, Malia, Tori, Sarah, and Salma—For your phenomenal feedback and support throughout the writing process. Thank you for being such amazing alpha and beta readers!

To Sonali, Aliya, Kia, and Julia—For your thoughtful insights into Indian culture and the food industry. I learned so much, and you helped make the story sing. I appreciate you!

To Britt and Aimee—For catching all the typos, errors, and inconsistencies that my exhausted brain overlooked. You are the best!

To Kimberly Brower and the Park, Fine, and Brower team—From celebrating the highs to navigating the lows, you’re always there for me. I can’t express how reassuring it’s been to have you guide me through this ever-changing and sometimes chaotic industry. Thank you for being my rock.

To Cat at TRC Designs—My cover designer soulmate! Thank you for another stunning cover, and sorry for blowing up your phone with a million texts… I swear I’ll try to keep the last-minute freak-outs to a minimum in the future.

To Christa, Madison, Gina, Elena, and the entire Bloom and Piatkus teams—We’re six books into this series, and I’m still in awe every time I see a copy in bookstores or the airport. Thank you for working so hard and for making dreams come true.

To Stephen, Chloe, and Jack—For being the best PR team I could ask for. You are rockstars!

Finally, to my readers and everyone who’s loved, shared, and hyped my work—I am so lucky to call you my community. Your enthusiasm for this book carried me through the deadline stress and late-night anxiety spirals (I told you I relate to Maya), and whether you’re a newer reader or you’ve been with me since the beginning, I’m beyond grateful to be on this journey with you.

Much love,

Ana

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Look out for the new King of Sin . . .

KING OF LUST

He vowed to never fall in love . . . but some vows are meant to be broken.

Continue your Kings of Sin journey with Killian and Tate’s story.

Coming soon from

Don’t miss the next God of the Game . . .

THE KEEPER

He can resist any woman in the world . . . except for the one he shouldn’t want.

Continue your Gods of the Game journey with Noah and Carina’s story.

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