Chapter 9

He cuts through the bar like he’s parting water and people just move. That’s what money does I guess. Buys you space even when you’re not asking for it.

He’s still in his work clothes, still perfectly pressed even though it’s past ten at night.

The music hasn’t stopped but our entire table has gone dead silent and I can feel everyone staring at us waiting to see what’s about to happen.

I set my wine glass down real slow and tilt my head at him like I’m trying to place where I know him from.

“Are you following me, Mr. Hawthorne?”

The “Mr.” is petty. I know it’s petty. But I want him to feel a fraction of the distance I felt standing outside Arabella’s hospital room watching him.

“No.” The word comes out stiff, I’ve insulted him by suggesting he’d care enough to follow me anywhere.

I take a long sip of wine and let myself smile. “Good. Then you have absolutely no right to interfere with how I spend my Saturday night.”

His jaw locks up so tight I can actually see the muscle ticking beneath his skin.

“We’re still married, Dahlia.”

“Not for long. And legally speaking, we’re separated, which means you get exactly zero say in what I do or who I do it with.” I set my glass down and lean back in my chair. “So unless you’re here for the wine, which I highly recommend by the way, you should probably leave.”

There are three men standing behind him in suits and they’re all staring at me like I’ve just announced I’m from Mars. They didn’t know his mysterious wife was me. Didn’t know we were getting divorced. Probably didn’t even know he was married at all.

A tall Asian among them, probably around Sebastian’s age steps forward with his hands up.

I recognize him as Tristan Dane of an old money tech dynasty from the charity galas I used to attend.

“Hey, no need for things to get tense here.” His smile is the kind that’s been practiced in mirrors. “We actually came because we heard the wine was excellent. Miles here”—he gestures to another guy—“has been trying to get a reservation for weeks. This isn’t about… whatever this is.”

“Well then.” I pick up my glass again and gesture toward the bar. “This is a public place. You should enjoy yourselves.”

I turn back to our table without looking at Sebastian again and the dismissal is so complete one of the models makes this choked sound that might be a laugh he’s trying to swallow.

Sienna’s eyes meet mine immediately and I can read every question in them—are you okay, should I stab him with my dinner knife, do you need an exit—which is why I love her.

“Deal me in,” I say to Kai who’s been shuffling cards like his life depends on it.

One of the models—I think his name is Matthew, or maybe Michael, after the fourth introduction I stopped retaining information—leans in close to explain the rules.

I nod like I’m paying attention but I can feel Sebastian’s eyes burning into the back of my head from across the room. He’s taken a table with his friends but he hasn’t sat down yet and I know without looking that he’s still watching.

I lose the first round spectacularly, which means I have to take a shot, and when I throw it back the burn makes me grimace and while everyone cheers.

“You lost,” Sienna announces with too much glee. “You have to dance.”

“I am not dancing.”

“Those are the rules, Dahl. You agreed to the rules.”

I look at Kai for backup but he just grins and shrugs like this is out of his hands, and then one of the guys—I really need to start learning their names—is pulling me to my feet toward the small open area in front of the bar that I guess counts as a dance floor.

I stumble a little because my heels and alcohol don’t mix well but he catches me easy.

His hands settle on my waist and I lean into it instead and let him guide me through a lazy spin and he says something I can’t hear over the music

I’m mid-spin when my wrist gets grabbed and I’m yanked sideways so hard I lose my balance and would’ve fallen if Sebastian wasn’t holding me up.

The dark-haired guy stumbles back with his hands up in that universal I-don’t-want-trouble gesture. His eyes are wide and confused flicking between me and Sebastian trying to figure out what just happened.

“Whoa man, we were just—”

“Let her go.”

Kai’s voice cuts through the music and suddenly he’s there, stepping between us, his shoulders squared.

Sebastian doesn’t release my wrist. His grip isn’t painful but it’s firm enough that I can feel each finger pressed into my skin. “This is between me and my wife.”

“Ex-wife,” I correct him immediately and I’m surprised my voice comes out steady despite the wine making my head spin. I try to pull my wrist free but his grip just tightens slightly—not enough to hurt but enough to make a point.

Kai moves closer and his voice drops even lower. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Sebastian’s eyes cut to him and I’ve seen Sebastian angry before but this is different.“Stay out of this.”

Sienna appears on my other side with her phone already out. “Dahlia, I’m calling security right now.”

I raise my free hand between them before this turns into a fight. “It’s fine.” I look at Kai and try to make my eyes say what my mouth can’t. “I’ll talk to him.”

Kai’s jaw tightens but he steps back. “We’ll be right here if you need us.”

The way he says it while staring directly at Sebastian makes it clear he’s not talking about emotional support.

I pull my wrist free—Sebastian lets me this time—and start walking toward the exit.

Outside, the air is cold enough to make me shiver in my dress. The parking lot is mostly empty except for Sebastian’s car—the black Mercedes he loves more than most people—and Kai’s beat-up Jeep.

Sebastian stops near the edge of the lot where the streetlight doesn’t quite reach. When he turns around his face is half in shadow and I realize with a start that he looks exhausted.

Good.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Say what you came to say.”

Sebastian closes the distance between us in two steps and before I can back up his hand is on my arm, fingers wrapping around my bicep.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He’s not yelling which somehow makes it worse. “ Why are you acting as if I don’t exist? As if I’m dead?”

“You are.” I meet his eyes and hold them. “My ex-husband is dead to me.”

He steps closer and suddenly there’s almost no space between us. “So you’ll take anyone then? Eight men, Dahlia? Really?” His eyes drop from my face to my dress to my legs and back up. “Throwing yourself at strangers like some—”

“I’m not throwing myself at anyone.” I cut him off before he can finish that sentence. “I’m living my life. Something I couldn’t do when I was busy being your wife.”

“Those men in there touching you—” He’s so close now I can feel heat coming off his body. “Don’t you find that dirty?”

I step closer instead of backing away and I watch his eyes widen slightly like he didn’t expect that. “Dirty or not, I like it.” I tilt my chin up to maintain eye contact. “And if that bothers you?” I pause just long enough to let the words land. “You know where the door is.”

His eyes go dark and then drop involuntarily to the neckline of my dress—to the amount of skin showing. His gaze traces down to where the hem hits my thighs and I can actually see his throat work as he swallows.

“This is what you wear now?” His voice comes out rougher than before. “This… nothing?” His hand lifts like he’s going to touch the dress and then stops. “It barely covers—”

“You don’t get to have opinions about my clothes anymore, Sebastian.” I say his name deliberately, clearly. “You gave up that right when you signed the divorce papers.”

“I didn’t sign anything.”

“You will.”

We’re standing maybe eight inches apart now and neither of us is moving.

His hand is still raised between us, hovering in the space near my face like he can’t decide whether to touch me or not. I can see the internal battle playing out behind his eyes—control versus want, logic versus whatever this is.

One second passes.

Two.

His eyes drop to my lips and my breath catches in my throat and the anger is still there but so is this pull that feels like muscle memory, like my body remembering his before my brain can override it.

For just a moment his fingers brush against my jaw and my eyes start to close and I hate that my body betrays me like this.

“Sebastian?”

Arabella’s voice cuts through from the entrance to the alley and the moment shatters like glass.

My eyes snap open and I step back fast and the space between us suddenly feels arctic.

Of course. Of course he brought her.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​