The drive back to London was quiet but comfortable.
Motorway lights blurred past the windows as Sebastian navigated the late-night traffic. His left hand rested on my knee—warm, steady, grounding.
Neither of us spoke, but the silence felt different now. Softer. Full of things that didn't need words.
I watched the city lights approach on the horizon, thinking about everything he'd shared tonight.
The cramped streets of his childhood. The broken radiator and the bus stop dreams. The guilt that haunted him despite every success.
He'd shown me the parts of himself he kept hidden from everyone else. The vulnerability. The trust.
When we reached London, the familiar skyline rising around us, I realized I didn't want this night to end. Didn't want to go back to my empty flat and lie awake alone, replaying memories until dawn.
"Stay at mine tonight," I said before I could overthink it. "You shouldn't be alone. Not after everything."
Sebastian glanced at me, hands tightening briefly on the wheel. His expression was searching, uncertain in a way I'd rarely seen.
"Belle..."
"Just stay." I placed my hand over his on my knee. "No expectations. No complications. Just... don't be alone tonight."
He was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"Okay."
My flat felt smaller with Sebastian in it. He filled the space differently than I expected—not overwhelming it, but somehow making it feel more alive.
He looked around with quiet curiosity, taking in the books stacked on every surface, the photos on the mantle, the small touches that revealed who I was outside the office.
"It suits you," he said softly. "Warm. Organized. Full of hidden depths."
"Are you analyzing my flat or me?"
"Both." A ghost of his usual smirk. "I'm a multitasker."
We settled on my small sofa, closer than necessary, shoulders brushing. I'd made tea, a pathetic attempt at normalcy, but neither of us touched our cups. The atmosphere had shifted into something charged and fragile.
Sebastian's thumb found my wrist, tracing slow circles against my pulse point. The touch was featherlight, barely there, but it sent electricity racing through my veins.
Our eyes met.
He leaned in slowly, giving me time to pull away. Time to remember all the reasons this was complicated—Charles, the evaluation, the photo scandal, everything waiting for us back at the office.
I didn't pull away.
The kiss was different from Paris. Slower. Deeper. More intentional, like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth.
His hands slid beneath my blouse, palms warm against my back. Mine found his chest, his shoulders, tangled in his hair.
We didn't go further than this—hands exploring, mouths learning, bodies pressed close without crossing the final line. But it was intense. Consuming. Every touch said what words couldn't express.
I see you. I want you. I'm not going anywhere.
Afterward, we lay tangled together on the sofa, my head on his chest, his fingers trailing lazy patterns down my spine. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear—slower now, calmer.
"Thank you," he murmured into my hair. "For tonight. For coming with me. For this."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do, though." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "You're the first person who's ever made me feel like I don't have to pretend."
I tilted my head to look at him. In the dim light of my flat, with his walls completely down, he looked younger. More at peace than I'd ever seen him.
And I admitted the truth to myself, finally and completely.
Sebastian was the one. Not Charles with his steady kindness and country estates. Not James with his familiar touch and broken promises. Sebastian—difficult, brilliant, unexpectedly tender Sebastian.
The way he held me, the way he looked at me, the way he'd trusted me with his deepest vulnerabilities—this wasn't a game anymore. This was real.
We fell asleep on the sofa, wrapped around each other, and for the first time in weeks, I didn't dream of complications.
The next morning, Sebastian left early for the hospital. He kissed me goodbye at the door—soft, lingering, full of promise.
"I'll call you tonight," he said. "Let you know how she's doing."
"Give your mum my best. Even though she doesn't know I exist."
"She will." He smiled, and it transformed his entire face. "Soon."
I floated through my day on a cloud of unfamiliar happiness. The reports I'd neglected seemed less daunting. The office whispers rolled off my back. Even Victoria's threat felt distant, manageable, a problem for another day.
I wanted to share this feeling with someone. Wanted to process everything aloud, to hear someone confirm that yes, this was real, yes, I deserved this happiness.
I called Sophie.
We met at a coffee shop near the office—our usual spot, with the uncomfortable chairs and excellent pastries. Sophie was already there when I arrived, hands wrapped around a latte, expression strangely tense.
"You look happy," she said as I sat down. "Actually happy. What happened?"
"Sebastian."
Just saying his name made me smile.
"Sophie, I know it sounds crazy, but I think this might actually be something. Real something.”
Sophie's expression flickered, but I was too caught up to notice.
“He took me to Birmingham last night, showed me where he grew up, told me things he's never told anyone. And afterward, we went back to my flat, and we just... talked. And kissed. And it felt—"
"Belle, stop." Sophie's voice cracked.
I froze mid-sentence. "Sophie? What's wrong?"
"I have to tell you something." She couldn't meet my gaze. "Before you say anything else, I have to—God, I should have told you weeks ago, but I didn't know you two would become... I didn't think..."
"Tell me what?" Dread pooled in my stomach. "Sophie, you're scaring me."
"At the wedding." The words tumbled out, choked with tears. "The night you left, the night you found out about James, Sebastian and I... we hooked up."
The world stopped.
"It was nothing," Sophie rushed on, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"I was drunk, he was there, we both needed a distraction from everything. A one-night thing with a stranger. It meant nothing to either of us, I swear. This was before you two—"
"Stop." The word came out hollow. Empty.
"Belle, you have to understand."
I stood up. My chair scraped against the floor, loud in the sudden silence.
"Belle, wait!"
I walked out without a word. Through the coffee shop, past the counter, out into the cold London air. I didn't look back. Couldn't look back.
My best friend. The woman I'd trusted with everything—my heartbreak over James, my confusion about Charles, my growing feelings for Sebastian.
She'd listened to me talk about him for weeks, knowing the whole time that she'd slept with him.
And Sebastian. The man who'd held me last night, who'd shown me his childhood, who'd made me believe he was different.
He'd never mentioned it. Never thought it was worth telling me that he'd fucked my best friend the same night I discovered my boyfriend was marrying someone else.
Betrayal burned through my veins, hot and consuming.
I'd been a fool. Again. Always.