Chapter 3

Nancy's POV

"Boring."

Sebastian tossed the project file onto the glass conference table.

"Excuse me?" I gripped my pen hard enough to turn my knuckles white.

"You heard me, Nancy." He leaned back in the leather chair, one arm draped over the back, looking like a king on a throne he hadn't bothered to earn. "The 'Midnight Bloom' concept. It’s too niche. Too artistic. It lacks... commercial viability."

"It lacks a mass-market soul, you mean," I shot back. "Lumière isn't about selling generic floral water to teenagers at the mall. It's about storytelling. This scent captures the essence of urban isolation."

"Urban isolation doesn't pay the rent," Sebastian drawled. "People want to feel desirable, not lonely. This proposal is a vanity project. Fix it, or scrap it."

The entire conference room held its breath. My team looked at me, terrified. They knew who he was—the new money, the acquirer, the predator. But I knew him as the boy who used to mock my second-hand school uniform.

"We are not scrapping it," I said, standing up. "And I don't recall asking for a marketing lesson from someone who thinks 'Eau de Money' is a personality trait."

"Careful, Ms. Cole," Sebastian’s voice dropped, silky and dangerous. "I'm not your childhood playmate today. I'm the man signing your paychecks."

"Then sign them," I snapped. "And let the people with actual talent do the work."

He stood up slowly, towering over the table.

"Talent is useless without discipline," he said, walking around the table toward me. "And you, Nancy, have always been too emotional for your own good."

"I am not—"

A wave of nausea hit me like a physical blow.

The smell of his cologne—cedarwood and leather—mixed with the stale coffee in the room. My stomach lurched violently.

The room spun.

"Nancy?" Margot whispered from beside me.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, eyes watering. I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe.

"Excuse me," I choked out.

I turned and ran.

I barely made it to the restroom before my empty stomach convulsed. I gripped the sink, dry heaving until my throat burned.

Get it together, Nancy.

I splashed freezing water on my face. My reflection looked pale, haunted.

Pregnant.

The word echoed in the tiled room. Pregnant by the man who just humiliated me in front of my entire staff.

I took a deep breath, straightened my blazer, and forced a mask of calm back onto my face.

I wouldn't let him see me weak. Never.

I pushed the door open.

And froze.

Sebastian was leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, staring directly at the bathroom door. He wasn't smirking anymore. His jaw was tight.

"You're sick," he said. It wasn't a question.

"I'm fine," I lied, stepping around him. "Bad fish."

He moved faster than I expected, blocking my path.

"You don't eat fish," he said quietly. "You hate the texture."

My heart hammered against my ribs. He knew me too well. He knew every quirk, every habit.

"People change, Sebastian."

"Not you." He took a step closer. His gaze dropped, sweeping over my pale face.

Without thinking, my hand flew to my stomach. A protective, instinctive gesture.

His eyes narrowed. Sharp. Calculating.

"What are you hiding, Nancy?"

"Nothing!" I backed up, hitting the wall. "Get out of my way."

"You looked like you were going to faint in there," he pressed, his voice low and rough. "If you're sick, you shouldn't be here. Go home."

"I don't take orders from you."

"I'm trying to help you!"

"I don't want your help!" I shouted, my control snapping. "I just want you to leave me alone!"

"Is everything alright here?"

A smooth, warm voice broke the standoff.

We both turned.

Stephen Petrov was walking down the hallwa. He had a gentle smile.

He was a partner of my company, uh, seemed to have a good impression of me.

"Stephen," I breathed, relief washing over me.

He stepped between us, acting as a human shield. He didn't look at Sebastian; his focus was entirely on me.

"Nancy, you look pale," Stephen said softly. He reached out, his hand gently cupping my elbow to steady me. "Are you okay? Do you need some water?"

The contrast was jarring. Sebastian was fire and ice, demanding and sharp. Stephen was warm earth, safe and steady.

"I... I'm just a little under the weather," I managed, leaning slightly into his support. "Stephen, I'm so sorry about the meeting..."

"Forget the meeting," Stephen said, his thumb brushing my sleeve soothingly. "Your health comes first. Let me take you to your office. You should sit down."

I felt a gaze burning into the side of my face.

I looked up.

Sebastian was staring at Stephen’s hand on my arm. His eyes were pitch black. Cold. Murderous.

If looks could kill, Stephen would be a pile of ash on the carpet.

"She's fine," Sebastian said, his voice like grinding gravel. "She was just leaving."

Stephen finally looked at him. He didn't flinch. He just smiled, polite and unbothered.

"Mr. Rhodes," Stephen nodded. "I think Nancy is capable of deciding what she needs. Come on, Nancy."

He guided me away.

My heart was racing for a different reason now. Fear.

I risked a glance back.

Sebastian hadn't moved. He stood alone in the sterile hallway, watching us. He looked abandoned. He looked furious.

As we passed him, he didn't try to stop us. But just as I thought I was safe, his voice drifted to my ear. Low. Intimate. A promise, not a threat.

"Our business isn't finished, Nancy."

I shuddered.

He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over my neck, making the hairs stand up.

"And," he whispered, "stay away from Petrov."