I never thought that the one thing able to lift me up would be the same thing that could break me down.
I never stopped to consider that my own Achilles heel would enable me to touch heaven even while living through hell.
It’s been a few weeks since the charity event at Senator Weaver’s house.
A few weeks since I hit rock bottom, burned, and rose from the ashes.
I don’t know why I broke down that night. Could be because of the physical torment or the psychological pain. Could be because Sebastian made me so happy, then rejected me so cruelly afterward.
Could be all of those combined.
I didn’t even feel it when I fell to the floor and let the thing that festered inside me out in the open.
It was a moment of weakness, but I moved past it.
Or I pretended to, anyway.
My affair with Sebastian is a different story altogether.
Every other day, I’ve gone to his apartment, where he ambushes and fucks me. He comes up with different ways to catch me off guard and it never gets old. Not the waiting time or the thrill that comes with it. Not the adrenaline rush or the sinking into the unknown.
The moment he grabs me, I fight, I really do, but it’s always useless. Not only because he overpowers me, but also because I love it when he does.
I love it when he pushes me down and uses me so thoroughly, as if he can’t get enough of me. Or when he takes me roughly and unapologetically, whispering dirty words to me.
“You’re such a filthy girl, aren’t you, my slut?”
“Look how your greedy cunt wants more of my dick.”
“Open your legs wider, let me see my pussy.”
“No touching yourself or I’ll come all over your face.”
“Feel that? Feel how you stretch around me, inviting me in?”
“Does your husband smell me on you when he touches you? Does he see my dried cum between your legs and in your every pore? Does he notice the marks I leave on your tits and ass or do you hide them?”
It should turn me off, should give me the courage to finally say the safe word, but I don’t.
I can’t.
Because those words, no matter how wrong they are, turn me ablaze with a wildfire.
And Sebastian is the reason behind the flames. He’s the damn volcano.
Every evening, I say this time will be the last. That I’ll bid him farewell and voice that damn word.
Every night, I come prepared for the end and armed with the will that kept me going for seven years.
But every time he touches me, every time he calls my name and fucks me like he hates me yet still wants me, I forget all about it.
I tell myself that we’re safe and no one will find out about us. Akira thinks I’m busy with the fashion house and Father couldn’t care less as long as he has his deal with my husband.
Ren has been watching me close lately, but Akira keeps him busy, annoyed, and agitated, so he can’t possibly be following me.
Besides, if that asshole had found out about me and Sebastian, he would’ve told my father and I would have already seen the consequences of my actions. Kai, however, is a mystery. I’m not naive to think he’s in the dark about this entire situation since he’s in the know about everything. However, he seems to be turning a blind eye. He didn’t even ask me to stay away from Sebastian as he did when I first got back here.
So, for now, I choose to be in this temporary phase for as long as I can.
Even if I’m well aware that it won’t last.
Even if I know it will hurt like a mother when it all ends.
Stopping in front of Sebastian’s door, I remove my wedding band and slide it into my bag.
I’ve been doing it since we started our screwed-up relationship. Not that Sebastian commented on it. He’s never once told me to leave Akira, even when he taunts me about him sexually.
But then again, we’d have to have actual conversations for that to happen. All we do is fuck, then I gather my clothes and leave without a word.
I stopped trying to seek affection from him after he brutally rejected me that night. Now, we’re just two hollow souls using each other.
And despite the emptiness of it sometimes, it’s still better than nothing.
I tap in his apartment’s code. He gave it to me so he could ambush me upon my entrance. Some days, he waits until I’m a few steps inside before he takes me. Others, he drags me to the shower and fucks me under the stream of water.
My spine tingles with anticipation of what he’ll do today.
He changes his methods often enough that I have no clue what he has in store for me. It’s part of the thrill and the reason why no one could ever replace him.
Sebastian is the only one who knows my needs and can satisfy them without my having to voice them.
I come to a halt inside the door of the apartment when I notice the lights are on.
In all of the times I’ve been coming here, it’s usually pitch-black, like in some horror movie.
His apartment is really empty. Aside from a TV, there’s absolutely nothing.
A female voice comes from the direction of his bedroom and I freeze, an acid-like sensation rising to my throat.
Please don’t tell me Aspen is here.
I’ve seen him with her at the countless social events Akira and I have been attending. She’s often happily on Sebastian’s arm, and even though I’m not sure whether they’re in a relationship or not, I know there’s something going on.
I’ve felt bad for the times that Sebastian has grabbed me and dragged me into a secluded place so he could fuck me. Sometimes, I feel like such a bitch for being the other woman.
But other times, when I recall that all of this is temporary, I just embrace that bitch and take what I need from him.
Just like he takes everything from me.
Finding Aspen in his apartment is a different story, though.
The wisest option would be to leave, but my legs subconsciously carry me in the direction of his bedroom.
Sebastian’s voice filters through the hall, its baritone a direct stimulation to my ears. The fact that he could use it to talk dirty to someone else turns my blood green with envy.
I stop in the doorway of the bedroom, ready to spoil their fun and be an actual jerk.
But it’s not Aspen I find perched on Sebastian’s bed.
It’s a familiar face I saw at Weaver & Shaw that day. His assistant.
She confiscates a bottle of whisky from Sebastian and forces him back to lie on the bed. He’s dressed in a plain white T-shirt that hugs his chest muscles and gray sweatpants. His chaotic hair appears to be half-damp as it falls across his forehead.
He’s pale, his lips dry and his face worn out. He wasn’t that way two days ago.
“You need to rest,” his assistant says in a reproachable tone.
Sebastian’s gaze strays toward me as if he’s known I was there all along. I swallow thickly, fighting the need to fidget. I’m twenty-eight, but I still feel like that starstruck teenager I was ten years ago when I first saw him.
Will this feeling ever go away?
His assistant, Candice, follows his field of vision and smiles. She flips her braided hair back. “You didn’t tell me you’d be having someone take care of you.”
“I don’t,” he croaks.
“Well, now you do.” She places the bottle on the nightstand. “Take care of this big baby.”
“Me?” I look to either side of me, making sure she’s not actually talking to someone else.
“Who else is here, girl?” She grabs her purse and addresses Sebastian. “Don’t even think about showing your sickly face at the office tomorrow.”
“Don’t go…” he whispers, and he sounds sick—feverish, even.
“Some of us have kids to take care of.” She steps to me and whispers, “Don’t let him drink when he’s sick.”
“What happened?” I ask in a low voice.
“He showed up to work like he’s a survivor of the zombie apocalypse shows my youngest loves to watch. The doctor said he’s come down with a nasty cold and that his temperature should be monitored. He doesn’t get colds often, but when he does, they turn him into a corpse. His meds are on the nightstand and I’m 1 on his speed dial if you need anything. But please don’t. I want some action with my man tonight and that won’t be happening if my demanding boss calls.”
I smile. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”
“Thank you. I owe you one.”
She leaves before I can ask her about food or what else I should be doing.
Sebastian is reaching for the bottle of whiskey, even though his arm seems to lack energy. I jog to it and grab it.
He groans, remaining in what looks like an uncomfortable leaning position. “Give it.”
“Candice said no drinking when you’re sick.”
“Candice doesn’t tell me what to do.”
“Forget about Candice. You shouldn’t be drinking when you’re sick.”
“Are you a fucking doctor?”
“One doesn’t need to be a doctor to be logical.”
“Thanks for your unnecessary opinion. Now give me that.”
“No.”
“The bottle, Naomi.”
“I said no.” I keep it behind me as he groans again, losing his balance and falling on his back.
Sebastian stares at me through thick lashes that shadow his light, enthralling eyes, but even those lack life today. “Since when are you the alcohol police?”
“Since you’re sick.”
“Why the fuck would you care?” He closes his eyes. “Leave…”
His lips twist and his chest rises and falls at an alarming pace. I wait a few seconds to make sure he’s asleep before I touch his forehead. It’s hot and slightly damp. He definitely has a fever.
I put the bottle of whisky away and place my bag on the foot of the bed. Then I go to the bathroom, wet a washrag, and return.
After putting it on his forehead, I pause. This brings back awful memories from when I struggled to keep him alive back in that damn cell. There were moments where I thought about what could’ve happened back then and all the wrong ways it could’ve ended.
My hand trembles as I slowly release him, not wanting to let the negativity slip back in. I read the directions on the medicine, which state it needs to be taken after eating.
Before I go to the kitchen to see what’s there, I adjust the rag on his forehead.
A strong hand wraps around my wrist and hauls me back on the mattress. Jeez. Sebastian’s strong for someone so sick. His thumb strokes the sensitive flesh of my wrist and I gulp as his eyes slowly open. They’re clear, albeit dark. “Nao…”
My breath hitches at hearing my nickname from his lips. God. No one has called me that since Mom’s death. Even Mio calls me big sister and Kai prefers Ojou-sama to my actual name.
“Yeah?” I try to control my breathing and fail.
“Why are you still here?” His voice is low, husky, and tired.
“Because you’re sick.”
“Why now? Why not seven years ago when I was shot and in the hospital?”
“Sebastian…”
“I need to know the reason. Tell me why I meant so little to you that you left me over the fucking phone.”
“You’re feverish, just rest.” I try to pull my hand away, but he grips it hard and slams my palm against his chest.
His wild heartbeat makes my lips part. “Hear that? That’s the sound of my fucking heart ever since you returned. Because no matter how much I tell the fucker you betrayed it, he doesn’t understand. Make him fucking understand.”
Tears sting my eyes as the weight of his words settle in. “I…didn’t betray you.”
“The seven years I spent without you while you were on another man’s arm would testify otherwise.”
“I didn’t…”
“Then what was it? Did you have sex with that fucker, Ren, and didn’t want to face me? Did you really think so little of me? That I would toss you aside because you fucked another man to fucking save me? If anything, I would’ve been indebted to you.”
“I don’t want you indebted to me.” I pause for shallow, torturous seconds. “And I never had sex with Ren.”
I can at least tell him that much.
His thick brows draw together over his darkened eyes. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It never happened. I managed to leave without doing that.”
The line deepens in his forehead. “Then why the fuck did you make me believe that for all this time? The last image of you I have in my head is you being raped for my sake. Being traumatized for me! Did you enjoy tormenting me and coming over in my nightmares abused and bloodied?”
“Of course not!”
“Then why? Tell me why you did it? Why you left me?”
“I just…wanted to,” I mutter in a helpless attempt to have him drop the subject.
“Wanted to? I suppose you happened to marry Akira after you promised yourself to me because you also wanted to? Did you love him after you confessed your fake feelings to me, or was it before?”
“They were never fake.”
“Shut the fuck up and get the fuck out. I don’t even want to look at your face anymore.”
He throws my hand away and turns to his side, giving me his back.
I swallow the burn of his words and stand up. I don’t leave, though, because no matter how much he hates me, I don’t hate him.
Never did. Not even when he hurt me.
I’m at the door when his tired voice filters after me.
“I wish I’d never met you. I wish you’d never returned.”
I’m starting to wish that, too.
I always thought we were two unique pieces that fit together perfectly, but maybe we’ve been forcibly jamming ourselves into molds that don’t fit us.
Two wrongs don’t make a right.
And we’re too deviant and forbidden to ever be right.
