Heartbreak Express

I stood in front of the floor-length mirror in Sebastian's room his shirt long gone from earlier today, replaced by a delicate slip of a dress in pearl-rose. Mini, strappy, low-backed. The kind of dress that fluttered like a secret and made his jaw tighten the second I stepped out of the closet.

"You're doing that on purpose," he muttered behind me, voice a velvet murmur that skimmed down my spine.

I met his eyes in the glass and smirked. "What? Breathing?"

He stepped in closer. "Existing."

Sebastian wore black. Of course he did. Tailored like a sin, every line of him sharp and smooth turtleneck under a double-breasted wool coat, sleek trousers that didn't just fit but belonged on him. The only softness was the caramel leather bracelet at his wrist the one with my initials hidden inside and the smirk at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in and kissed my bare shoulder.

His hands found my waist, firm and slow, and I stilled under his touch. In the mirror, we looked like a moment suspended, timeless. I could feel his breath on my neck, warm and steady. "You look like a miracle," he murmured. "And I plan to spend the rest of the night sinning around it."

I laughed but my pulse fluttered like the hem of my dress because somehow, he made me feel like something rare like something found and claimed.

His lips brushed my neck just once, just enough to leave a mark I wouldn't see but felt. "Ready, love?"

"For what?" I asked, turning in his arms, cheek brushing his.

He raised a brow, eyes full of quiet fire. "To fall in love with me all over again."

Then he took my hand, led me upstairs and we were greeted by the most unreal rooftop.

Soft fairy lights strung across architectural beams like constellations woven by hand, lanterns flickered low, casting golden pools of warmth across the slate floor, plush pillows, velvet blankets, and a low table for two sat beneath a heated canopy, where a candlelit dinner was set New York bistro-style, every detail aching with memory.

I froze. "Is this...?"

"Remind you of anything?" he said softly behind me. "A little piece of the city you left behind."

I turned slowly, eyes sweeping across it all. "You remembered the bistro lighting."

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, fingertips brushing skin. "I flew in the chef, too," he added like it wasn't absurdly perfect.

My breath hitched. "Sebastian... I never told you I missed New York."

He smiled gentle, knowing. "I know, but sometimes... even if you don't miss a place, it's still nice to feel remembered."

The tears came suddenly, soft and stinging. I blinked them back, but he saw of course he saw, he always did.

Then, because time was generous tonight and the stars were holding their breath for us, we sat, we ate, slowly, luxuriously... every bite was a memory being rewritten. He poured champagne like it was moonlight carefully and I swear, the way he looked at me across the candlelit table made my breath stutter.

"Tell me something you've never told anyone," I said, voice soft as silk, fingers dancing around the stem of my glass. "Not even me."

He leaned back in his chair, lips curved in that quiet, lopsided smile that always undid me, his eyes were half-lidded, like I was the only thing in his atmosphere.

"I noticed you," he said, voice low. "Before I ever knew you worked with Whitmore & Beckett."

I looked up, startled. "Wait, what?"