Chapter 6 – The Consequence of Disobedience

The morning after the gala, I woke to the sound of footsteps — measured, deliberate — pacing the length of the penthouse.

Sebastian didn’t pace. He moved like the city belonged to him, every stride purposeful, direct. So the sound was wrong. It meant something had already gone off-balance.

I sat up in bed, pulling the sheet around me. “What’s wrong?”

He stopped near the window, still in the dark suit he’d left in the night before. His tie hung loose around his neck, his hair slightly mussed. The look suited him far too well.

“Where were you between nine and nine-fifteen last night?” His voice was calm. That was worse than shouting.

“At the gala?” I blinked. “I was talking to—”

“Carter Jennings,” he said flatly.

My stomach dropped.

“I didn’t seek him out,” I said, swinging my legs off the bed. “He approached me at the bar.”

“You were smiling.”

I stared at him. “I was being polite.”

He took a slow step toward me, his gaze locked on mine. “Polite looks a lot like invitation when you’re wearing that dress.”

My grip on the sheet tightened. “So I should’ve what? Scowled? Caused a scene?”

He stopped just in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You should’ve remembered the rules.”

I swallowed hard. “You mean your rules.”

“They’re the only ones that matter to you now.” His tone didn’t waver. “You don’t smile at other men. You don’t give them your time. And you sure as hell don’t let them think they have a chance.”

I lifted my chin. “And if I do?”

His eyes darkened — not with anger, but with something hotter, heavier. 

“Then I remind you who you belong to.”

For a heartbeat, the room felt smaller. The sheet slipped slightly from my shoulder, and his gaze followed the movement like a predator tracking prey.

He didn’t touch me immediately. He just stood there, letting the air between us thicken until my pulse was racing loud enough for both of us to hear.

“You think I’m jealous,” he said finally. “I’m not. Jealousy is for men who can lose. I don’t lose, Ocean."

“Then what is this?” 

My voice came out softer than I meant it to.

“Possession.” 

His hand finally moved — slow, deliberate — to lift the sheet back over my shoulder, as if he were covering me from an invisible threat. But his fingers lingered, sliding against my skin just long enough to make my breath hitch.

The tension broke only when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, read whatever message had come through, and swore under his breath.

“Business,” he said. “We’ll finish this tonight.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a threat.

The day stretched long after he left. I tried reading, cleaning, even standing on the balcony to watch the city below, but the echo of his words — We’ll finish this tonight — kept pulling me back into the same loop.

By the time the sun dipped low, painting the skyline in molten gold, I’d convinced myself he wouldn’t follow through. Men like Sebastian got distracted. Their priorities shifted with deals and deadlines.

I was wrong.

When the elevator opened that night, the energy in the room shifted instantly. Sebastian stepped out, jacket already discarded, tie in his hand. His gaze found me across the space like a lock on a target.

“You’ve had all day to think about it,” he said, crossing the room. “Have you?”

“Yes.” My voice caught halfway.

“And?”

“I think…” My breath faltered as he closed the last of the distance. “…you overreacted.”

His hand was at my jaw in an instant, tilting my head up. “Careful.”

For a long moment, he just looked at me — like he was deciding whether to let me have that last word or take it from me.

Finally, he said, “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. But I decide what’s worth reacting to.”

“That’s not fair.”

His mouth curved, but there was no humor in it. “I didn’t marry you to be fair.”

The rest of the night blurred into something heated and wordless, where the only language was proximity and touch — never crossing the line into what couldn’t be undone, but circling it, daring it, tempting it.

By the time he finally stepped back, I wasn’t sure if he’d punished me or pulled me deeper into whatever dangerous game we were playing.

And maybe it didn’t matter.

Because part of me — the part I didn’t want to admit existed — didn’t want to win.

I wanted him.