Chapter 45: The Devil at Your Door (Literally)

6:03 a.m.

Sunday.

Los Angeles.

The city was quiet, humming in the early hush like it was still half-asleep. The sun had barely started stretching over the hills, and most people with any self-respect were still wrapped in duvets and dreams.

Katherine Brown was one of them.

She was sprawled diagonally across her bed like a human starfish, hair a mess, one leg dangling off the mattress, wearing an ancient T-shirt that said “I paused my game to be here.” Her phone was on silent. Her brain was off-duty. Life was fine.

Until — ding-dong.

Her brows furrowed in her sleep.

Ding-dong.

Again. Sharper. Louder.

She groaned. Rolled over. Slammed a pillow on her face.

DING. DONG.

Longer this time. And definitely angry.

Katherine sat up like someone just yelled “fire.” She blinked at the clock.

6:03 a.m.

“Oh god,” she muttered. “If this is another delivery guy who can’t read ‘Do not ring doorbell before 9,’ I’m suing.”

Barefoot and disoriented, she shuffled to the door, hair pointing in ten directions, mascara smudged from yesterday, and opened it without checking the peephole.

Mistake.

Because there, standing tall and furious and somehow still hot after a red-eye flight, was Sebastian Mason.

In a black suit jacket. No tie. Wrinkled shirt. Unshaven jaw. Eyes like thunderclouds.

He didn’t say a word.

Neither did she.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“You… you’re supposed to be in New York.”

Still no words from him.

Just one sharp inhale. His eyes traveled down her — oversized shirt, messy hair, bare legs — and then right back to her face. Burning.

“I was.”

She blinked.

“What, did you teleport?”

“Private jet.”

Her eyes widened.

Of course.

He stepped closer. Into her apartment. She moved back on instinct.

“You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I was asleep.”

“And your text messages.”

“Still asleep.”

“And the three missed FaceTime calls?”

She winced.

“Very asleep.”

Sebastian stared at her like he was doing math in his head. Calculating exactly how many minutes of fury he’d spent imagining this moment. Then…

“You don’t get to make decisions like that, Katherine.”

Her breath caught.

“I know.”

“You don’t get to quit. Not without talking to me.”

“I wasn’t quitting you, I was quitting HR Hell Queen Jenkins —”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Beat.

He moved even closer. Now chest to chest. Her back hit the wall.

“You don’t run from things that scare you, Kat. You never have.”

She bit her lip.

“This was different.”

“No. It was you trying to protect me. Again.”

Pause.

Then his voice dropped.

“But who’s going to protect you if I’m not there?”

Katherine couldn’t breathe.

“Sebastian…”

He lifted a hand, tucked a messy strand of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t ever shut me out again.”

Her nod was barely a whisper.

Then he leaned in, kissed her forehead, and murmured like a promise:

“Now get dressed. We’re going to breakfast. And then — we’re fixing this. Together.”

And just like that…

The devil stopped being angry.

And became her ally again.

---

The aroma of toasted sourdough and freshly brewed coffee began to fill the small apartment, while Katherine tried — and failed — to act normal.

Sebastian sat at the tiny round kitchen table in a chair that clearly hated tall men. One leg crossed over the other, coffee in hand, expression unreadable. He watched her butter a piece of toast with the intensity of someone watching a hostage situation unfold.

She could feel it.

The gaze.

Laser-focused.

“You’re glaring,” she mumbled, still not turning around.

“I’m looking.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Not when you're guilty.”

Her hand froze mid-butter.

Damn it.

Sebastian stood up, walked slowly across the room… and then stopped in the hallway.

Where he saw it.

The suitcase.

Half open.

Stuffed with clothes like it had been packed in panic.

A pile of shoes by the door. Makeup in a tote. A passport lying casually on top.

He turned his head, very slowly, like a villain in a spy film who just discovered the traitor.

Then looked at her.

She turned to face him, toast still in hand, and tried a sheepish smile.

“So… uh… funny story —”

“Were you running?” he asked, quiet. Too quiet.

“I wasn’t running. I was just… preemptively relocating. In case HR nuked my life.”

He arched a brow.

“Preemptively relocating?”

“Yeah. Like… emotionally responsible adulting.”

He said nothing. Just looked. And that was worse than shouting.

She sighed, lowered the toast like a white flag.

“Okay fine. Yes. I thought I was done. I didn’t want to wake up to a formal email saying I was out and have to pretend I didn’t care. So, yeah, I packed. I planned to leave quietly and save face.”

Sebastian took a breath. Walked toward her.

“You were really gonna leave me. Again.”

His voice wasn’t angry.

It was disappointed. And somehow… more devastating.

“Not you,” she said quickly. “I thought if I disappeared, it’d make your life easier. No headlines. No internal gossip. No HR mess.”

“You are the mess, Katherine.”

She blinked.

“Wow, thanks —”

“You are the chaos I like waking up to. The voice that ruins my meetings. The laugh that makes people turn around. You’re loud, unpredictable, and wildly unprofessional.”

Beat.

He stepped closer.

“And I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

Her eyes stung. She hated crying. Especially in front of him. But there it was. The annoying, hot, exhausting truth of it all.

She lowered her head.

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything. Just reached out, cupped her chin, and lifted her gaze to meet his.

“Don’t ever pack your damn suitcase again without telling me.”

She sniffled.

“Can I still keep my passport, though? It’s really cute.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, leaned down, and kissed her — toast and all.

“Breakfast. Now. And after that, we’re going to clean up this emotional crime scene you call an apartment.”

She laughed through her tears.

And for the first time in two days… she felt like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t about to lose everything after all.

---

“You finished your toast?” Sebastian asked, still standing way too close for her heart rate to behave.

Katherine held up the last bite like a medal of survival.

“Yes, sir. Toast status: complete.”

“Good. Because we’re leaving in fifteen.”

She froze mid-chew.

“Leaving where?”

Sebastian casually took another sip of coffee. His face was unreadable, but the dangerous glint in his eyes was back. The one that usually meant “I’m about to cause corporate chaos.”

“We have a brunch.”

“Brunch?” she repeated, unsure if she misheard. “Like… with food?”

“And photographers.”

Now she definitely choked.

“Photographers?! You said brunch!”

He shrugged.

“Brunch can be strategic.”

“Sebastian, I’m wearing your T-shirt and yesterday’s eyeliner. I’m not ready to be in public —”

“You’ve never looked better.”

“I look like I escaped from a rom-com with bad lighting!”

He walked over, gently took the plate from her hand, set it down, then leaned in with that maddening calm of his.

“We’re doing this officially. No more hiding. No more gossip. No more speculation.”

Her heart did a cartwheel.

“Wait… officially?”

“Yes.”

“As in —”

“As in you’ll be introduced, by me, as the woman I’m with. Not a rumor. Not a scandal. Not a whispered HR headache. You. Katherine Brown.”

She blinked.

“Like… in public?”

“Yes.”

“In Los Angeles?”

“Yes.”

“In front of people?”

“I really worry about you sometimes.”

“But what if I trip and fall and make a fool of myself and ruin your strategic brunch?”

He smirked.

“Then at least I’ll have a good excuse to catch you.”

She groaned, dragging her hands over her face.

“This is madness.”

“It’s Sunday,” he replied simply, already pulling out his phone. “Madness resumes on Monday.”

A pause.

She looked at him, eyes narrowing.

“Wait… Is this why you didn’t yell at me earlier?”

“What?”

“You knew you were gonna make it official. So you didn’t need to yell. You already had your dramatic power move lined up.”

He looked entirely too smug.

“You’re catching on.”

She threw a napkin at him.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He walked past her to the door.

“Get dressed. You’ve got about twelve minutes before the car gets here.”

She stared after him, utterly stunned.

She was going to brunch.

With Sebastian Mason.

As his official partner.

In front of the city.

And press.

And brunch people with tiny sunglasses and trust funds.

And somehow…

It felt terrifying.

And thrilling.

And kind of beautiful.

She exhaled.

“Twelve minutes? You better hope there’s a miracle in my closet…”

---

Katherine hadn’t blinked in a full thirty seconds.

Mostly because she was busy processing the image in the mirror.

Or rather — the image beside her.

Sebastian Mason, in a black tailored suit that looked carved from sin itself, crisp white shirt open just enough to hint at the collarbone she had kissed approximately six times in her dreams.

And zero tie.

He didn’t need one.

He was the tie. The standard. The tension.

And next to him… her.

Katherine Brown. Wearing the only thing that remotely passed for high-fashion in her wardrobe: a black satin romper with feathered detail at the chest, sheer tights, and heels that screamed “please don’t trip, girl.”

"I look like a very expensive crow," she mumbled under her breath, clutching her tiny pink purse like it could protect her from public humiliation.

Sebastian gave her a side glance.

"You look like my date."

She nearly tripped before even stepping outside.

---

They arrived five minutes late.

Which was still early by L.A. standards.

The brunch was at a private rooftop garden in West Hollywood. Glass tables, citrus trees in golden pots, people with sunglasses more expensive than Katherine’s rent. And cameras. So many cameras.

She gripped his arm.

He didn’t flinch.

Of course not.

Sebastian Mason walked like the city belonged to him.

Which, in some twisted way, it kind of did.

"Why is everyone staring?" she whispered through clenched teeth, plastering a shaky smile across her face.

"Because they didn’t expect me to bring someone."

"Oh good," she hissed. "Let’s give them a full-blown scandal brunch."

He stopped briefly, turned to her, and leaned in with maddening calm.

"It’s not a scandal if I’m proud of it."

She blinked.

Something in her chest burst into sparklers.

But before she could react, they were ushered toward a table — their table — right in the center, because of course it was. And that’s when she saw them:

The Women.

Perfect hair, perfect nails, perfect everything.

And all of them staring at Sebastian like he was a seven-course meal with chocolate ganache and no calories.

Katherine’s inner monologue screamed:

Do not hiss at anyone.

Do not bare your teeth like a feral possum.

Smile. Pretend you’re sophisticated.

Dear God, are my tights showing a run?!

Meanwhile, Sebastian was already greeting people like a diplomatic CEO who hadn’t just knocked on his girlfriend’s apartment door at 6 a.m. in a fit of possessive rage.

He was… calm.

Collected.

Deadly attractive.

And hers.

Which made it worse.

Because every woman in a five-mile radius was currently fantasizing about dragging him to a corner suite and —

"Katherine," he murmured beside her, leaning close so only she could hear, "you’re squeezing my arm like you want to amputate it."

"Sorry," she whispered. "Reflex. You’re hot and they know it."

He smirked.

"Good."

"Good?!"

He pulled out her chair, kissed her cheek — in front of everyone — and said with devastating ease:

"Let them watch."

---