Sasha
Warm water cascaded down my body, steam curling in the air around me. I closed my eyes, letting the sensation relax me, hoping it would wash away not only the day’s tension but also the strange, confusing feelings that Sebastian had stirred in me lately.
I had every reason to hate him. After all, he had forced me into this marriage, a ridiculous, life-altering choice imposed on me for reasons he still refused to fully explain. And yet, despite it all, there was a part of me that was drawn to him in ways I couldn’t rationalise. His presence should’ve made my skin crawl, but instead, it did the opposite.
The most bewildering part? I felt safe with him.
I leaned my head back under the stream of water, trying to clear my thoughts. I had been holding onto my anger, my resentment, but cracks were forming, and his actions kept filling those cracks with confusion. The way he would look at me sometimes, his gaze softer than his cold demeanour usually allowed… It unsettled me, and yet, I found myself almost wanting to earn those looks, even if it meant being drawn deeper into his dark, unpredictable world.
With a sigh, I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. I wrapped it around myself, bracing myself to step back into our shared space. I expected him to be gone, likely back to his work, diving into whatever illegal or morally grey dealings kept his empire running. But when I opened the bathroom door, I stopped short.
There, laid out on the small dining table near the windows, was an array of dishes. Not just any dishes, my favourite ones, things I hadn’t even mentioned out loud since I arrived here. The smell of garlic and roasted herbs lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread, and I felt my stomach grumble in response.
Sebastian was standing at the window, his back to me, hands tucked into the pockets of his suit pants as he looked out over the city. I took a slow step forward, still clutching the towel tightly around me, barely processing that I was dripping wet and barefoot.
“Did you… do this?” The words left my mouth before I could second-guess them.
He turned around, his gaze sliding over me in an almost instinctive way, but he recovered quickly, his expression once again controlled, like he hadn’t just scanned every inch of me.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, his voice calm, almost too casual. “You skipped dinner last night.”
“I didn’t skip it,” I muttered, looking away. “I just… wasn’t hungry.”
Sebastian raised an eyebrow, and a faint smirk appeared on his lips. “Right. Because hunger is something you can simply turn on and off.” He took a step toward the table, pulling out a chair, a silent invitation. “Why don’t you sit?”
I shifted uncomfortably, still clutching my towel. “I… I need to get dressed.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” he replied, though his gaze stayed fixed on me, a hint of something unreadable lurking in those dark eyes.
I felt a blush creep up my cheeks as I turned back toward the bathroom to grab my robe. When I returned, I found him already seated across from my place, his gaze fixed on the view outside once more, giving me the space to sit without feeling like a specimen under a microscope.
I picked up a fork, eyeing him warily as I took my first bite. The food was amazing, warm and flavorful, and a sigh of contentment slipped past my lips before I could stop it. He was watching me again, and this time I couldn’t ignore it.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Because I wanted to,” he said simply. There was no edge to his voice, no mockery or cruelty. Just a simple statement.
I put my fork down, unable to ignore the weight of his gaze any longer. “You can’t just… buy forgiveness with food and nice gestures, Sebastian.”
He leaned back, his fingers tapping lightly on the table as he regarded me. “Who said anything about forgiveness?”
I felt my heart skip a beat, and the tension in the room grew thicker, heavy between us. “Then why?” I whispered, not trusting my voice.
His eyes softened-just for a moment, but it was enough to make my chest ache in ways I didn’t want to acknowledge. “Because I want you to feel… comfortable here.”
Comfortable. Such a simple word, and yet it held so much weight. I swallowed, my throat tight, not knowing how to respond. Every part of me wanted to push back, to remind him of the pain and confusion he’d caused, but sitting here, with the smell of my favourite dishes surrounding me and the warm, almost thoughtful look in his eyes… it was getting harder and harder to hold onto my anger.
As the meal continued, we fell into an unexpected silence. He didn’t push me to talk, and I didn’t feel pressured to say anything. It was as if we’d reached an unspoken truce for the moment, and I allowed myself to just… exist in it.
After a while, I felt his gaze on me again, heavier this time. I looked up, meeting his eyes, and there was something there that I couldn’t quite read. A vulnerability, maybe, or something darker, more intense.
“What?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t look away, his expression unapologetically focused, his gaze wandering over me in a way that left me feeling exposed and… breathless. “You look beautiful,” he said, the words low and rough, as if he hadn’t planned on saying them aloud.
A shiver ran down my spine. The sincerity in his voice, the unguarded way he was looking at me-it was enough to unravel the careful distance I’d tried to keep between us.
“Sebastian…” I didn’t know what I was going to say, but his name slipped from my lips before I could stop it. I wanted to accuse him, to tell him how unfair this was, how confusing his mixed signals were, but the look in his eyes held me captive.
“Yes, Sasha?” His voice was soft, almost gentle, and the way he said my name made my heart race.
I felt my pulse quicken as I searched for words, but nothing came. The silence between us felt heavy with everything unspoken, and I realised, with a pang of fear, that part of me wanted him to keep looking at me that way. That part of me wanted to believe the softness in his eyes was real.
“I… I don’t understand you,” I finally managed, my voice barely more than a whisper.
A small, almost sad smile curved his lips. “Maybe you’re not supposed to.”
He leaned forward, his gaze intense, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. The air between us felt charged, thick with tension I couldn’t name, and I found myself wishing he’d close the distance between us.