Chapter 12

Sebastian’s POV 

I had spent the last three days thinking about how to destroy Xavier Cross after the night at Eclat. It was not one of my proudest moments, but I couldn’t help it.

Every time I closed my eyes, I remembered him punching me my jaw. I wanted badly to punch him back. No. I wanted to do much worse than that.

Unfortunately, I had more pressing problems at home.

“Are you even listening to me?”

I looked up from my phone to find Camille standing in front of my desk with her arms crossed.

“What?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I have been talking to you for the past ten minutes, Sebastian.”

“And I have been trying to work, Camille.”

“Since when did work become more important than me? Huh?”

I stared at her. Was she being serious right now? Since she had started making my life miserable, I had spent more time avoiding her than doing anything else.

Ever since the night at Éclat, she had complained about my late nights, my unanswered calls, and the fact that I no longer gave her the attention she wanted.

She had even asked me three times whether I was still seeing Celeste. I wasn’t seeing Celeste. I couldn’t even get her to have a proper conversation with me.

But apparently, that wasn’t enough to satisfy Camille.

“I’m busy,” I told her, returning my attention to my phone.

She snatched it from my hand.

I slowly raised my head. “Give it back, Camille.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on with you. You have barely spoken to me since you saw that bitch, Celeste. You spend hours in your office, and when you come home, you act as if I don’t exist.”

“Perhaps because I need some peace and quiet.”

Her mouth fell wide open.

For a moment, I thought she might slap me. Instead, she laughed bitterly. “So this is about Celeste?”

I said nothing.

“Unbelievable.” She shook her head. “After everything she did to you, you are still thinking about her?”

My jaw tightened and I felt the pain where Xavier had hit me.

“Please leave me in peace, Camille.”

She stared at me in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Her expression hardened before she turned and stormed out of my study. I barely had time to breathe before my phone rang. It was Tristan.

I answered immediately. “If you’re calling to ask about the report, send it to my email.”

“I’m not calling about the report.” He paused. “I think you should sit down.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“I found something you need to see.”

“What is it?”

“Are you home?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m on my way.” He ended the call before I could ask another question.

I stared at my phone for a moment, wondering what could possibly be so important that Tristan had to come over to the house.

Twenty minutes later, he walked into my study looking unusually serious.

“What’s going on?” I asked as he approached.

He slid a file across the table toward me. “I came across something while reviewing documents from the charity foundation’s recent partnership with Éclat. I wasn’t looking for it, but when I saw the name, I thought you should know.”

I opened the file. The first page contained a photograph of Celeste. The second showed a little girl with dark hair and bright eyes. My fingers stopped moving. I knew that child.

I had seen her with Celeste outside Éclat weeks ago. The girlhad been standing beside her, holding her hand and talking excitedly about something.

I remembered how Celeste had smiled at her, how the little girl had leaned against her without a care in the world. But at the time, I had assumed she was probably a child of a friend or somerelative.

But now, I was looking at her photograph beside Celeste’s name.Amanda Laurent. Age: Six. I read the name again.

“Why are you showing me this?” I looked up at Tristan.

He leaned back in his chair. “Because I remembered something you said about Celeste having a child. I did a little digging, and it turns out the little girl is her daughter.”

The room suddenly felt suffocating. “Her daughter?”

“Yes.”

I looked down at the picture again. Amanda had dark hair which fell around her cheeks, and her eyes were large enough to catch my attention even in a picture.

Something about her face bothered me. I couldn’t explain it at first. Then I studied the shape of her face. My stomach tightened. I had seen similar features like that before. And it was every morning when I looked in the mirror.

“How old is she?” I asked, although the answer was already in front of me.

“Six.” Tristan answered.

“When was she born?”

Tristan hesitated before answering. “According to the information I found, she was born a few months after your divorce.”

I stopped breathing for a moment. A few months after thedivorce. Six years ago, Celeste had stood in front of me with the divorce papers I’d handed in her hands. She had looked really hurt, even though she tried to hide it.

And she never begged for me to change my mind. She simply signed the papers and walked away. I still remembered how pale she had looked that day. How she had pressed her lips together as if she were fighting back tears.

I had assumed she was devastated because of our marriage ending. What if there had been another reason?

“Sebastian?” Tristan’s voice sounded distant.

I placed the photograph on the desk, but my hand was shaking.

“Are you sure about the date?” I asked to make sure there was no mistake. 

“Yes. I checked it twice.”

I stared at Amanda’s face. Could she be mine? The thought struck me so hard that I had to grip the edge of the desk. No. It couldn’t be. Celeste would have told me if she had been pregnant. Wouldn’t she?