chapter 33.

THEA

The elevator doors slide shut behind me with a soft hiss, and the silence inside is suffocating.

My pulse is still thrumming from Ezra’s touch, but it’s the name—his name—that echoes loudest now.

Sebastian.

My fingers tighten around my phone, knuckles white. I don’t even realize I’m clenching it until the corner digs into my palm.

Why now?

Why here?

The elevator hums to life, gliding down, but my mind is racing in every direction but forward. Images flash behind my eyes like cruel, fragmented film reels:

Sebastian, laughing with Finn in the living room.

Sebastian, standing over me during another late-night argument when Finn was asleep.

Sebastian, intertwined with the nanny on the couch.

My stomach churns.

I press my back to the mirrored wall, exhaling sharply.

I should be past this. I am past this.

But one name, one unexpected visit, and suddenly I’m twenty-seven and fractured all over again—only this time, the pieces are sharper. They cut.

He cheated.

He chose to cheat.

And when he was caught, he didn’t beg. Didn’t explain. He just watched me break like it wasn’t his fault. Like my success had somehow asked for it.

“Career-driven,” he’d spat once, after slamming the front door behind him while being a househusband. “You want a promotion? Marry your damn job, then.”

I did.

And it still wasn’t enough.

Since I was young, I believed that if I just worked hard enough, I'd earn rest. That one day, after all the effort and late nights, I could finally exhale.

I thought a promotion would mean peace. That the higher I climbed, the less I’d have to carry.

But I was wrong.

All it did was raise the bar. My success became a moving target—every time I reached it, it sprinted further ahead.

So I ran harder. Worked longer. Gave more.

And yet, rest never came.

I thought love worked the same way. That if I poured myself into someone—gave them all the soft, sacred parts of me—they’d give it back. That effort, loyalty, and sacrifice would mean something. Earn something.

But people don’t work like promotions.

Love, I’ve learned, doesn’t always come back. Sometimes it just drains you.

And by the time you realize it, you’re already empty.

Love isn't a transaction. It's not a reward for loyalty.

And to love… you don't have to empty yourself. You shouldn't have to bleed just to feel wanted. But I did. 

I bled and they still left. 

And now, I'm learning that keeping something for yourself isn't selfish. It's survival.

Don't lose you.

The elevator dings.

I snap out of the memory just in time for the doors to open—only to find the devil himself waiting.

Sebastian Calloway.

He’s standing there, leaning against the receptionist’s stand like nothing’s changed. Like the world didn’t end between us.

Still tall. Still charming in that lazy, effortless way that once made my heart stutter. Only now it makes my stomach twist.

Finn is not here.

His eyes meet mine, and for a second, I see a flicker of something—uncertainty? But I don’t care.

Not anymore.

I step out, spine straight, chin high. As I approach him, my heels click against the marble like a war drum.

He opens his mouth to speak.

“Don’t,” I cut in coldly, holding up a hand, not giving a shit that there are people present. “Not yet.”

If he wants to talk, he’ll do it on my terms.

He let's put a tired sigh, combing his fingers through his hair. That's when I finally took a good look at him.

He looks… haggard. Dark eyebags frame his lower lid, his hair looks like it'd been long since he last had a cut.

Well, what do I expect since I was the one that mostly pays for his cuts.

I say nothing, face blank as I walk past him to the waiting lounge. I sit and cross my legs, spine straight.

He sighs again as he settles before me.

“See, Th—”

“Shhh.” I hiss, interrupting him. “You'll speak when spoken to, okay?”

He nods, almost ashamed.

I let the silence drag on before finally speaking, not because I don't like the silence, but because him being in my face annoys me. So, we should get this shit over with.

“Why are you here?”

“I…” He gulps, eyes holding mine.

I want to glance away but I don't.

“Finn is sick.” He says in a low voice.

The world stops.

“The doctors said he needs a blood transfusion and… your blood matches with his but…” He gulps again. “I'm not even able to afford his hospital fees or get a blood donor.”

For a moment, I just stare at him.

The sounds of the world fade—the chatter, the phones ringing at the front desk, the humming elevator. Gone.

All I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears.

Finn is sick.

My baby.

The one I carried for nine months.

The one I gave up sleep, food, and dreams for.

The one I swore I'd protect—even from myself.

And now he’s lying in a hospital bed while I was too busy trying to outrun the wreckage of his father.

A sharp breath escapes me.

I hate him. God, I want to hate him for being the tie that binds me to this man. For being the reason I still wake up with a hollow ache. For being the one thread I can’t sever no matter how deep the betrayal runs.

But I can’t. I can’t hate my son.

Even after everything.

Even after his innocent words made me feel like a stranger in my own home.

Even after he clung to her more than me.

Because motherhood is a losing game.

And I’m losing.

Losing my pride.

Losing my strength.

Losing myself.

Why do I still care?

Why didn’t I give up on him the way I gave up on his father?

“Take me to him,” I whisper. Then louder, breath catching in my throat—

“Take me to him!”

I shoot to my feet, hysterical now, unable to mask it. The walls I've built crack open, and I don't care who sees the ruin spilling out.

“If anything happens to him, I swear to God—”

My voice breaks, trembling with a fury I can’t contain. “I’ll never forgive you.”

He jumps up, fumbling for his phone. “The cab’s waiting. Come on.”

And I follow, half-running, because if I stop to think—

I’ll fall apart.