Three years ago…
Elizabeth
The next morning, I stepped out of my apartment, my arms aching from the weight of several fancy paper bags. I made my way toward the elevator, careful not to drop anything.
I'd already booked a ride — my driver was waiting downstairs.
Today's mission: deliver all the dresses, bags, and shoes I'd finished making yesterday.
I hadn't gotten enough sleep last night because of this task, but as the saying goes — the road to making money is not easy.
Several stops awaited me: different destinations, different doorsteps — and even a waybill drop at the airport. Some of my customers lived abroad, so that meant shipping directly from there.
I pressed the elevator button. The doors slid open.
And there he was.
Sebastian.
I froze, then spun on my heels, hurrying down the hallway. His footsteps followed — faster than mine.
What does he want? Who else could he possibly be here to see if not me?
His long strides overtook my shorter ones, and before I could reach my apartment door, his hand caught my wrist.
I yanked free, glaring. "What is it again?"
"Hi," he said with a slight frown. "Why were you running when you saw me?"
"I don't want to talk to you, that's why I'm running." The words flew from my lips like a slap.
He rolled his eyes, sighing. "You still hate me, right?"
"Sebastian…" I set the bags on the floor and pressed my palms together. "Please, for God's sake, leave me alone. Stop stalking me. I've forgiven you already. Just… go live your life and let me breathe."
His gaze dropped to my outfit, then to the paper bags. "You're going out?" he asked, trying to change the subject.
I picked up the bags again. "Yes. Deliveries to customers. And please — don't follow me."
I heard him walking behind me. "Can I at least give you a ride?"
"No." My voice was firm, my pace quicker.
"I can drop you anywhere you want, even if it takes all day."
Ha! When did he sign up to be my chauffeur?
"Sebastian, leave me alone. Leave. Me. Alone!" I emphasized each word through clenched teeth. "I already booked a ride and he's waiting for me downstairs. I don't need your help."
"Who? That guy downstairs?" His brow furrowed. "He looks like some bad boy. I don't trust him. He's no different from Luca."
I stopped and turned, eyes narrowed. "Tell me you didn't scare him off. Because I'll hate you even more if you did."
He raised his hands briefly. "Of course not. I don't want you ripping my throat out." Then, without asking again, he bent down and took the bags from me. "These are heavy. Let me help."
I resisted at first, but he insisted — and I let him.
At the elevator, he pressed the button and waited for me to step in first.
Something about him felt… different. This wasn't the Sebastian I knew — the sharp-edged, toxic man. He looked softer now, inside and out.
But when we got downstairs, I noticed the grumpy set of his jaw. His eyes were locked on my driver.
Was he… jealous?
He strode up to the small black car, pulled out his wallet, and said to the driver, "Hey, I know your type — old men who can't keep their legs crossed around young, beautiful women." He tossed some cash at him. "That's for wasting your miserable time. Now, get lost."
The car shot away like a startled animal.
"I didn't like how you treated that old man, Sebastian," I said when he came back. "He had no intention of flirting with me in the first place."
"With the look in his eyes, I could tell." He grabbed the bags again and headed toward his green Porsche.
I trailed after him. "Oh really? And how would you know, Mr. Know-it-all?"
He dumped the bags into the trunk and turned to me. "I'm a man, Elizabeth. I know how it feels when I see a pretty woman… like you."
That stopped me. My brows knitted. "Excuse me?"
"Yes?" he asked, tilting his head.
"Aren't you the one flirting with me now?" My arms crossed.
"So?" He closed the trunk with a casual thud. "I admire pretty things when I see them."
"Really?" I scoffed. "Then tell me, Mr. Man, how do you feel when you admire these pretty things? Since you're such an expert at acknowledging them."
His gaze swept over me slowly, deliberately, before he stepped closer. My pulse skipped.
I edged back, but his hands caught my waist.
I gasped.
On my waist.
No man had ever dared touch me there — it was my holy ground.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears, my body tense and trembling. When his grip tightened, a shiver ran down my spine.
His eyes darkened, locking on mine like they could strip me bare.
And in that deep, husky voice of his, he murmured, "Trust me, you don't want to know what it feels like whenever I see you."
I swallowed, my breath shaky, as his gaze dipped to my lips.
Why was he looking at me like that — like he could consume me whole if I tried to pull away?
His eyes lifted back to mine. He held my chin gently, his voice almost a whisper. "There's only one man in your life now, Elizabeth."
Who?
Please, God, don't let him kiss me — because I'd melt into nothing if he did.
Our faces were inches apart. My mind screamed too close. People like him and people like me… we didn't match.
His breath fanned over my lashes as he added, "And that man will kill any pest that crosses his line with his woman."
I managed to whisper, "Who is that man, Sebastian?"
"…You'll soon find out," he said, stepping away toward the driver's seat.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and climbed into the car, my mind echoing his words.
You'll soon find out.