At the hospital.
Chester Sawyer and Donovan Sheridan were bored and playing video games.
They were both the type to sleep too much during the day, leaving them wide awake at night.
Donovan Sheridan was feeling down and venting his frustration on the game. He kept making mistakes, causing Chester Sawyer to frown. "Mr. Shaw, stop feeding them kills! Do you even know how to play?"
"And you've never fed anyone a kill?"
"That was a mistake!"
...
The match wasn't even over, but the two of them were already bickering endlessly over who was the worse player, driving their teammate to a complete meltdown:
'These two are the epitome of 'all addiction, no skill.' They both play like absolute garbage, yet they're so full of themselves...'
"Hey, Mr. Shaw..." Chester Sawyer scooted closer to Donovan Sheridan.
"What do you want now?"
"Are you and my uncle close?"
Donovan Sheridan raised an eyebrow. "What's this? You trying to get some intel on him?"
"I... I'm not!"
He turned his head away with a huff. He was just a kid, after all, and his feelings were written all over his face.
"Kid, there are two kinds of people in this world: normal people, and Sebastian Lockwood."
"Meaning my uncle is one of a kind?"
"It's more than that. He's... really something special."
Chester Sawyer looked at him. "Mr. Shaw, have you heard of a French writer named Camus?"
Donovan Sheridan frowned. 'What's this kid spouting now? It's the middle of the night. Don't tell me he wants to discuss literature and the meaning of life with me?'
"What are you trying to say?"
"Camus once said, 'All unique personalities are a sign of strength.'"
"..."
"Conclusion: My uncle is a very strong person!"
Donovan Sheridan was dumbfounded. For a moment, he found himself unable to argue with that logic.
Chester Sawyer, however, secretly cemented an idea in his mind:
'My uncle is a powerful guy. I definitely need to get on his good side!'
He took out his phone and sent a message to Sydney Sawyer:
Sis, this brother-in-law of mine is a total keeper. A blue-chip stock! You deserve him.
***
「Meanwhile」
Sydney Sawyer held her breath, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of his glasses. The gold wire frames were cool and firm to the touch, making her heart skip a beat.
But some urges, once they take root, can't help but grow, especially on a dark and blustery night like this—the perfect setting for... something.
"Uncle..." Sydney Sawyer called out softly. No response.
Timmy Lockwood, perched on a corner of the sofa, stared intently at her with wide, round cat eyes.
Her fingers touched his glasses again. Pinching the top and bottom of the frames between her thumb and middle finger, she gave a slight tug. 'It doesn't seem too hard to take them off,' she thought.
Sydney Sawyer was a bundle of nerves.
She had no idea where she'd found the nerve to actually go through with it, but she was slowly, gently lifting the glasses from his face. They were halfway off when, with a sharp BUZZ—BUZZ—, her phone vibrated.
The very next second, a hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.
He moved so fast that Sydney Sawyer was caught red-handed before she could even react.
'The kind of caught red-handed where they find the loot on you!'
Sebastian Lockwood opened his eyes, and the thin blanket covering him mostly slipped to the floor.
Caught completely off guard as her gaze met his, Sydney Sawyer's breath hitched.
With his glasses halfway off, she could see his eyes clearly...
They were stunning—the corners tilted up slightly, giving them a naturally flirtatious air. The sleepiness hadn't yet left them, lending him a lazy, seductive charm.
"Syd?"
He had just woken up, and his voice was deep and raspy, a sound so intimate it made her ears burn.
His hand was still clamped firmly around her wrist, and the heat of his palm against her skin felt like it was branding her, turning the flesh red.
"What are you doing?"
His very breath was hot as he spoke.
"I..."
Sydney Sawyer never thought she'd get caught the very first time she tried something mischievous. Mortified and flustered, her nerves were stretched to the breaking point.
Sebastian Lockwood didn't form words, just let out a questioning hum. The sound was low and husky, drawn out in a way that was both demanding and dangerously alluring.
"You were asleep, and I was worried you wouldn't be comfortable with your glasses on. Or that you might break them, so..." Despite her panic, Sydney Sawyer managed to come up with an excuse.
Sebastian Lockwood hummed. "Alright then, let's take them off—"
His hand was still clamped tightly around her wrist.
He applied a little pressure, guiding her hand to finish removing the glasses.
His features were already intense and commanding, but his glasses usually tempered that effect. Now, it was completely unleashed—a cool aloofness that kept the world at arm's length, an unhurried, untamed wildness, and above all...
A soul-stirring charisma.
He was like a wind unleashed, rustling through the forest, ready to burst into flame at the slightest spark.
"It really is more comfortable without my glasses," he remarked.
Sebastian Lockwood had genuinely been asleep, a fact that surprised even him. His family upbringing had not made him the kind of person who could fall asleep soundly just anywhere.
"That's good."
Sydney Sawyer gave a weak smile, all too aware that her wrist was still in his grasp.
He didn't let go, and she didn't move.
Her current position was incredibly awkward. Sebastian was leaning back against the sofa, perfectly comfortable, but she was bent over in a half-crouch. The shock of him waking up had made her legs feel like jelly; if she lost her balance now, she would fall right on top of him.
"I don't think I've ever seen you take your glasses off. Are you really nearsighted?"
Her heart was still pounding from her foiled mischief, so Sydney Sawyer was desperate to change the subject.
Sebastian Lockwood chuckled. "It's not too bad. You don't have to worry. With or without glasses..."
"I can see you perfectly clearly."
He stared at her, his gaze profound.
THUMP. Sydney Sawyer felt her heart give a violent lurch.
From Sebastian Lockwood's angle, looking up slightly, he had a clear view of her face—flushed and warm, a picture of flustered meekness.
His gaze darkened. In the soft, dim light, his Adam's apple bobbed noticeably...
'I want to kiss her.'
To Sydney Sawyer, he seemed to be leaning closer and closer.
She could even see her own flustered, helpless reflection in his dark pupils.
He leaned in until his breath ghosted across the lenses she was still holding, fogging them with a thin layer of white mist that ebbed and flowed with every breath he took.
Sydney's heart began to race, and her legs grew so weak she could barely hold herself up.
'He... he's...'
'What is he going to do?'