chapter 39

THEA

Exactly thirty-seven minutes later, Ezra's car pulls up beside mine.

It’s sleek, black, tinted windows, and arrogant—just like the man behind the wheel.

He doesn’t step out right away. No, of course not. He waits a beat, like he knows I’m watching. Like he knows my nerves are already frayed and he wants to pull one more thread loose. Then the door opens, and he unfolds from the car like sin in a three-piece suit.

I swear the air shifts.

My pulse jumps as he walks toward me, each step slow and measured, like this is a goddamn runway and he’s modeling for the Devil’s own collection. 

His dark coat flares with the wind, his shirt perfectly pressed, tie loosened just enough to draw attention to the line of his throat. His hair’s pushed back, mouth set in that signature smirk I’ve come to recognize as both a warning and a promise.

My thighs clench.

Dammit.

This is not the time.

“You’re late,” I mutter as I press the button to lower the window, trying for annoyed and landing somewhere between breathless and completely undone.

Ezra stops beside me, towering, his pale blue eyes appearing warm with the sun.

“Technically, I’m twenty seven minutes early,” he says smoothly. “But don’t worry, sugarplum—I’ll still let you punish me.”

My stomach flips.

I look away, hoping he doesn’t see the heat crawling up my neck. His scent hits me—expensive cologne, spicy, and something dark beneath it that has no right smelling that good. Something that makes my knees feel like they belong to someone else.

Focus, Thea.

“Sebastian’s already inside,” I say, trying to sound in control. My voice is tight. “The hearing starts soon.”

He doesn’t look at the building. He looks at me.

“I want to see him.”

I blink. “What?”

“I want to see… Sebastian,” he repeats, casual like he’s asking for a coffee. “Before the hearing.”

My stomach knots. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Let’s call it… curiosity.”

Curiosity? What the hell does that mean?

Annoyance spikes sharp in my chest. “You said you’d help me. Support me.”

“And I will.”

“Then why the hell are you asking to see him?”

His chuckles, but he says nothing.

I don’t have time for riddles or games. With a frustrated breath, I yank my phone out and dial Sebastian. I don’t want to, but Ezra just stands there—silent, sure, impossible to move.

When Sebastian answers, I don’t bother with pleasantries.

“I need to see you outside,” I say flatly. “Now.”

He says something smug, but I hang up before he can finish. My hands are shaking. From stress, not Ezra. Definitely not Ezra.

We wait in silence.

Except it’s not really silence, not with the way the air buzzes between us. Thick. Tense. Charged.

He’s not even touching me, and yet every nerve ending in my body feels lit. Like he’s already in my bloodstream. Like he’s watching me undress without moving a muscle.

I keep my gaze fixed on the steering wheel, refusing to meet his. If I do, I’ll forget why I’m here. I’ll forget Finn. I’ll forget everything but that mouth, that heat, that damned smirk.

“You look good when you’re angry,” Ezra murmurs, voice low enough to skate along my skin.

I take a shaky breath and don’t respond. Can’t.

Then, I see him approaching.

Sebastian.

Ezra straightens, eyes gleaming.

I don't want to be here.

I open the door and step out. “Should I excuse you?”

He nods. “Preferably.”

I don't wait as I tuck my hands into the pockets of my pants and trot off, heels clicking against the floor.

When I'm far away from hearing distance, I stop and lean against a car, watching them from afar.

Guess what? Ignorance is bliss. What you don't know can't kill you.

They talk. At least their posture says so since they were standing before each other.

.

.

The moment Sebastian says the words—“I’m giving up custody. Finn should stay with Thea.”—the air leaves my lungs.

I blink at him like I’ve misheard.

The judge looks just as surprised. Even his lawyer.

But Sebastian is calm. Collected. Like he hadn’t spent days dragging me through courtrooms and character assassinations. Like this wasn’t the very thing he said he’d die before giving me.

I should say something. I should respond.

But the words don’t come. They’re lodged somewhere between disbelief and relief, between thank God and what’s the catch?

When it’s all done—papers signed, court adjourned—I’m still in a daze. It feels like I’m floating. Like nothing is real.

I don’t remember walking to the car. My heels click against the pavement, too fast, but I don’t care. My chest is tight with something almost foreign: happiness.

Ezra’s car is still there.

And so is Ezra—leaning against the hood like a page ripped from a magazine, hands in his pockets, sunglasses on, looking like he owns the street.

For a second—just a second—I forget myself. My body moves on instinct. My feet carry me toward him like I’m about to hug him.

I catch myself just in time.

Jesus, Thea. Get a grip.

He straightens as I approach, lips already twitching with some smug comment I don’t want to hear. I don’t give him the chance.

“I’m going shopping,” I blurt.

His brows rise over the edge of his glasses. “For victory champagne?”

“For Finn,” I snap. “He’s coming home tomorrow. I need to fix his new room.”

Ezra steps away from the car. “I’ll come with you.”

No hesitation. No question. Just that low, confident tone that says he’s already made up his mind.

My heartbeat trips. My skin’s still humming from the adrenaline of the hearing, from the raw, giddy joy sitting just under my ribs. And him—he’s dangerous in this state. With that smile, that presence, that way he looks at me like he knows I’m weak for him.

If he comes with me…

I don’t trust myself not to kiss him.

Or worse.

“No,” I say sharply.

He blinks.

I fold my arms, tilt my chin, and make my voice razor-sharp. “This isn’t a date. It’s not your victory lap. Don’t follow me like some overgrown puppy. I can handle shopping for my own son.”

His mouth twitches again in amusement.

Then he slips on that infuriatingly calm smile and steps back.

“Don’t forget our deal,” he says, voice smooth. “See you at work, sugarplum.”

Then he gets into the car and drives away like I didn’t just feel his absence before he even left, like I wasn't about to say Thank you but I remembered even if I do, I still have to pay him.

Afterall, it's like a business deal. A transaction.

And I stand there, alone in the parking lot, trying to swallow the taste of regret.

I want him to come. But then, if he comes, it'll be like we are shopping for our son. The paparazzi will take some pictures and make a mountain out of a molehill.

And this conflicting emotions in me will want to swallow me whole. And I want him to be gone too. 

I…

Okay this sucks.