Chapter 2: Sebastian’s Mansion

“What is this place?” She asked, looking around.

“This is my home. You will be safe here.”

His voice was firm, almost like an order. There was no question there, no room for negotiation. Sebastian Sterling didn’t ask—he declared.

Karen walked through the double doors and stopped, completely still.

The place looked like something out of an architecture magazine she used to flip through during slow hours at the front desk. Marble covered the floor, so polished it reflected the lights from the crystal chandelier above. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, revealing Las Vegas below—a constellation of golden and neon lights that seemed unreal from that height. A fireplace burned on the opposite wall, the flames dancing softly despite the sweltering September heat outside.

Everything was expensive. Impeccable. And completely, frighteningly cold.

Karen hugged herself, feeling tiny in that space. The blue dress she had chosen so carefully—which had looked so beautiful in the store, so special—now seemed cheap and out of place. She didn’t belong there. She didn’t belong anywhere, really.

A butler appeared out of nowhere, silent as a ghost. He was older, with gray hair, an upright posture, and a neutral expression. He took Sebastian’s jacket without a word, disappearing as quietly as he had appeared.

Sebastian didn’t even look at him. He didn’t even thank him. With an impatient tug, he loosened his tie and went to the bar. He picked up a bottle of whiskey—probably worth more than a month’s rent for Karen—and poured two fingers into a crystal glass.

Karen watched his every move. The way he held the glass, how the amber liquid caught the light, how he drank slowly, without urgency. As if he hadn’t just rescued a stranger on the run.

“I need to go home,” Karen said, hating how her voice faltered. She sounded like a child asking permission.

Sebastian turned to face her, and Karen felt the weight of that gray gaze—calculating, measuring, judging.

“It’ll be the first place he looks for you.”

Simple. Obvious. And completely true.

Karen opened her mouth, then closed it.

“I... I’ll call the police then.”

The laugh that escaped Sebastian was short and devoid of humor. He took a long sip of whiskey before responding.

“Sure. Tell them that Sterling’s heir wanted to steal your kidney.” He tilted his head, his eyes never leaving her face. “It’ll sound perfectly believable. I’m sure they’ll put the handcuffs on him right away.”

The sarcasm was so thick Karen could almost touch it. And worse—he was right. Who was she? An eighteen-year-old orphan, fresh out of the system, working the front desk at a hotel. And Peter? A Sterling. Rich, powerful, connected. He probably had half the Vegas police force in his pocket.

Karen cringed, feeling tears threaten again. No, she wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of this man, who looked at her as if she were a complicated equation he was trying to solve.

Sebastian set the glass on the coffee table with a soft thud. He took a step closer, and Karen had to fight the urge to back away. His presence intimidated her.

“I’m offering you help,” he said, his voice lower now, almost gentle. Almost. “But if you want to leave, the door is over there. After all, you were the one who broke into my car.”

He nodded toward the entrance where they had arrived.

Karen looked at the door. Then at Sebastian. Then at the window, at Vegas below—the city of illusions, where she had thought she would find something better. Where she had believed Peter. Where she had been foolish enough to think that someone could love her.

She didn’t move. She was afraid to stay, but she was even more afraid to leave.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and tense. Then Karen found her voice again, smaller than before, but still there.

“Who’s Lindsay?”

Something flashed across Sebastian’s face—so quickly that she almost missed it. Anger, perhaps. Or disgust.

“His girlfriend.” His tone was dry, factual. “She has health problems. She’s dying.”

Karen felt the ground disappear beneath her feet. The world tilted sideways for a moment.

“He... he said he loved me.”

The words came out broken, pathetic. She knew that. But she couldn’t hold them back.

Sebastian looked at her over the glass he had picked up again, and there was something in his eyes—something between pity and irony, as if he had seen this story a thousand times before and knew exactly how it would end.

“You had to take blood tests when you started working at the hotel, didn’t you?”

Karen blinked, confused by the change of subject.

“Yes, complete tests. The manager said it was standard procedure for all new employees.”

A quick laugh escaped him—no humor, just bitter disbelief.

“How stupid.”

“What?” Karen frowned.

Sebastian set his glass down on the table and moved closer. Not invading her space, but close enough that she had to lift her chin to meet his gaze. Close enough to smell the scent of expensive cologne mixed with whiskey.

“You thought it was the company taking care of you, didn’t you?” He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “That the hotel was being responsible. Making sure all employees were healthy and safe.”

“I...” Karen hadn’t thought much about it at the time. She was desperate for a job, any job. “Yes. I do.”

“Actually,” Sebastian continued, his voice taking on a sharp, cutting quality, “it was my dear brother’s way of finding someone compatible with Lindsay.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full—full of horror, of understanding, of all the little pieces fitting together into a sick puzzle that Karen didn’t know she was putting together.

The tests. Peter’s sudden interest. The dinners, the conversations, the kindness that seemed too good to be true.

Because it was.

“He... tested all the employees?” Her voice came out hoarse.

“Probably. Or at least the ones who fit the right profile.” Sebastian returned to the bar, pouring himself more whiskey. “Young, healthy, no family to ask too many questions. An orphan would be perfect, don’t you think?”

Each word was a stab in her chest. Each truth, a deeper cut.

Karen looked away, her eyes watering. She hated herself for it—for the weakness, for the tears, for being so incredibly stupid. She hugged herself as if to protect herself, and in that moment Sebastian noticed she had a birthmark on her right shoulder. A star.

He smiled discreetly, but she didn’t notice.

“So... he never loved me.”

It wasn’t a question. She already knew the answer. But she needed to hear it out loud. She needed it to be real.

Sebastian didn’t answer right away. He just poured a second glass—this time for her—and placed it on the coffee table.

“Welcome to the real world,” he said, his voice low but not without kindness. A strange, twisted kindness from someone who was clearly not used to offering it.

Karen took the glass with trembling hands and took a sip. The liquid burned her throat, making her cough. But the pain was welcome. At least she felt something other than the growing emptiness in her chest.

She looked at Sebastian—really looked at him this time. His shoulders were tense even though he seemed relaxed. The way he held the glass, with his fingers clenched too tightly. His jaw was clenched.

And the tattoo on his wrist, partially visible now that he had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

900

“When did you leave Saint Mary’s?” Karen asked, desperately needing to talk about anything other than Peter. Other than her own stupidity.

For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he lowered his glass.

“It’s been a while.” His voice had changed—lower, rougher. “I lived there from age three to twelve. It’s been eighteen years since I left that place.”

She knew that place. The gray walls, the cold hallways, the narrow beds lined up in rows. The way the silence seemed to swallow everything at night.

“So you were lucky to be adopted?”

“Lucky? No, my biological father found me.” The words came out fast, almost cut off. “Or rather, he decided to claim me.”

There was something bitter there. Something unsaid, but obvious between the lines.

“Is that man Peter’s father too?” Karen ventured.

“Yes.” Sebastian took another sip. “Marcus Sterling. Casino magnate, admired philanthropist, exemplary family man.” The sarcasm dripped from every word. “With a legitimate wife and a legitimate son. And a bastard hidden away in an orphanage.”

Bastard. The words hung in the air between them.

Karen understood them. The coldness. Anger that was barely restrained. The way he had said he hated Peter. They weren’t just brothers—they were brothers divided by legitimacy, by acceptance, by years of accumulated resentment.

“He brought you home,” she said softly.

Sebastian laughed.

“He brought me home,” Sebastian replied, but his voice was empty. I was given his name. He put me in the best schools. And he made it very clear to me that I would never really be a Sterling. Not like Peter.”

Karen looked down at her own glass, at the golden liquid reflecting the light from the fireplace.

“At least you had a father,” she said, and immediately regretted it. That was mean. Childish.

But Sebastian didn’t seem offended. Just tired.

“Sometimes,” he said quietly, “having a father who doesn’t want you is worse than not having one at all.”

And Karen understood.

She had always wondered about her parents—who they were, why they had left her, if they thought about her. But Sebastian knew exactly who his father was. And he knew it wasn’t enough. It never would be.

“Why are you helping me?” The question came out before she could stop it.

Sebastian studied her for a long moment. Then he set his empty glass on the table and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Because,” he said finally, “I know my brother. I know what he’s capable of when he wants something.” He paused. “And because no one helped me when I needed it.”

The brutal honesty of it hit Karen in the chest.

They stood there, two orphans in a room too expensive for either of them, separated by marble and crystal but connected by something deeper. Something that no amount of money could buy or erase.

“You can stay here tonight, in the guest room,” Sebastian said, his voice returning to that commanding tone. “Tomorrow, we’ll decide what to do.”

Karen agreed; she was too exhausted to argue.

But as he led her to a room that was larger than her entire apartment, one question kept echoing in her mind:

What did Sebastian Sterling get out of this? Because she had learned a lesson that night.

No one helped for free.

Not even other orphans.