The flight back to London felt like returning to reality after a dream.
Paris receded beneath the clouds, taking with it the magic of cobblestone streets and late-night walks and Sebastian's mouth on mine.
The cabin was quiet, most passengers dozing or buried in laptops, but I was acutely aware of the man beside me.
Sebastian sat close enough that our knees occasionally touched. Each contact sent electricity sparking through my veins.
We exchanged glances heavy with unspoken meaning—memories of tangled sheets and whispered confessions, questions neither of us seemed ready to voice.
Halfway through the flight, his hand moved casually to the armrest between us. His fingers found the back of my hand, resting there innocently, and began stroking my skin with featherlight touches.
He stared out the window the entire time, expression neutral, as if he wasn't setting every nerve in my body on fire.
I noticed. Of course I noticed.
I didn't remove my hand.
I didn't know what we were now. The word "relationship" felt too heavy, too defined for whatever existed between us. But "colleagues" was laughably inadequate after everything we'd shared.
I was afraid to ask, afraid that naming it would either solidify something I wasn't ready for or shatter something I wasn't ready to lose.
So I sat in silence, letting his fingers trace patterns on my skin, watching London grow closer through the clouds.
Reality hit the moment I walked into Pemberton Corp Monday morning.
Whispers followed me through the lobby. Coworkers glanced in my direction, then quickly looked away when I caught them staring.
Conversations halted mid-sentence as I approached, resuming in hushed tones after I passed.
My stomach dropped before I even understood why.
Sophie found me first. She materialized at my desk within minutes of my arrival, phone thrust toward my face, expression caught somewhere between concern and barely suppressed excitement.
"Have you seen this?" she demanded. "Please tell me you've already seen this and you have an explanation that doesn't involve what I think it involves."
I took her phone. An industry newsletter filled the screen—one of those gossipy publications that covered corporate events with the breathless enthusiasm usually reserved for celebrity weddings.
The headline read: Pemberton Corp Dazzles at Paris Launch.
Front and center, taking up half the page, was a photo.
Sebastian's arm wrapped around my waist. His lips pressed to my cheek. My face frozen in surprised delight, smile genuine and unguarded. We looked like a couple. We looked happy.
The caption read:
Pemberton Corp's dream team celebrates successful Paris launch. Head of Marketing Sebastian Cole and executive assistant Belle Ashworth share a moment at the company's triumphant European debut.
"Oh God." The words came out strangled. "Oh God, Sophie."
"So you didn't know." She reclaimed her phone, studying my face. "Belle, what happened in Paris? And don't you dare tell me 'nothing' because that photo is very much something."
"I can't—not here. Not now." I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to think. "Who's seen this?"
"Everyone. It's been circulating since yesterday. The marketing team has a betting pool on whether you two are secretly engaged."
"We're not—it was just…" I couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't explain what I didn't understand myself.
I found Sebastian in his office twenty minutes later, after composing myself enough to function. He sat behind his desk reviewing documents, perfectly calm, not a trace of concern on his face.
"You've seen the photo," I said, closing the door behind me.
"I have." He didn't look up. "Excellent lighting. The photographer knew what he was doing."
"Sebastian, everyone's seen it. The entire company is talking about us. There are betting pools."
"That’s the best part." Now he looked at me, grey eyes glinting with something infuriatingly close to satisfaction.
"This isn't funny. My professional reputation—"
"Is intact." He leaned back in his chair, maddeningly relaxed. "Relax, Ashworth. It's just a photo. Two colleagues celebrating a successful launch. There's nothing scandalous about it."
"Your lips are on my face!"
"A friendly gesture. Europeans do it all the time."
"We're not European!"
"We were in Europe." He smiled—that insufferable, knowing smile that made me want to strangle him.
"What is between us, Sebastian? Because I still don't know, and you seem to have made decisions for both of us without consulting me."
Before he could answer, raised voices echoed from the hallway. I recognized one of them immediately.
James.
I opened Sebastian's door just as James rounded the corner, his face flushed with barely contained fury. He spotted Sebastian behind me and his expression twisted into something ugly.
"How dare you?" James hissed, advancing toward us. "She's assigned to evaluate both of us until the decision is made. You had no right to take her to Paris, no right to use her for your own needs—"
"My needs?"
Sebastian stepped past me, positioning himself between James and the doorway. His laugh was cold, cutting.
"That's rich, coming from you. How's your wife, James? Does Victoria know about the storage room? About your desperate attempts to win back what you threw away?"
James's face contorted—shock, then rage, then something that looked terrifyingly like violence. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I? I've watched you chase Belle for weeks. Cornering her in empty rooms. Touching her when you think no one's looking. Tell me, does your father-in-law know his golden son-in-law is still panting after his ex-girlfriend?"
I rounded the corner fully just as James stepped forward, fists clenched, ready to swing.
"Enough."
Charles's voice cut through like ice, freezing everyone in place.
He stood in his office doorway, expression unreadable, authority radiating from every line of his body. Both Sebastian and James turned toward him, their conflict suspended mid-breath.
"This is a workplace, not a schoolyard."
Charles's tone was measured but deadly. "Whatever personal drama exists between you stays outside these walls. I will not have my CEO candidates brawling in the corridors like children. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir," Sebastian said stiffly.
"Perfectly clear," James managed through clenched teeth.
"Good. Return to your offices. Both of you. Now."
They dispersed without another word, James stalking toward the elevator, Sebastian retreating into his office with one unreadable glance in my direction.
Charles remained in his doorway. His eyes found mine.
The look he gave me sent goosebumps racing down my spine. Disappointment. Possessiveness. Quiet hurt that cut deeper than any anger could have.
He'd seen the photo. He knew what it meant—or thought he did.
I'd spent a weekend in his bed, let him give me a horse, let him believe we were building something real. And then I'd gone to Paris and let Sebastian kiss me for cameras.
I opened my mouth to explain—though what explanation could possibly suffice, I didn't know.
Charles turned and disappeared into his office, closing the door behind him with a soft click that felt like a verdict.
I stood alone in the empty hallway, the weight of everything pressing down on my chest.
I would have to make this right. Somehow. Eventually.
But first, I needed to face the truth I'd been avoiding since Paris.
I was trapped between three men—one who'd betrayed me, one who'd sheltered me, and one who was slowly dismantling every wall I'd built. Each of them wanted something from me.
Each of them stirred something different in my heart.
And I needed to decide.