Chapter 18 What We Started
POV: Sebastian Blackwell
My father looked older than the man in the coffin photograph.
He did not look dead.
“Open the door,” I said.
Gideon smiled from the vault monitor.
“You always did skip the greeting.”
Elena moved beside me.
“Where is Alexander?”
My father’s gaze shifted to her.
For the first time, his control cracked.
“Antonio’s little ghost.”
“Answer me.”
“You look like your mother.”
“And you look disappointing for a miracle.”
Daniel almost laughed while dismantling the control panel.
Gideon leaned closer to the camera.
“The drive in that box contains one ledger key. Give it to Celeste, and the ventilation returns.”
Celeste swore.
“You said you didn’t know where he was,” Elena said.
“I don’t.”
“He knew you would come.”
“Because Sofia listed me.”
“Enough,” I said. “Daniel?”
“Three minutes.”
“We have four.”
“Then stop distracting me.”
My father’s smile widened.
“Mercer’s boy. Loyal as ever.”
Daniel’s hands stopped.
“You knew my father?”
“He died because Sebastian asked the wrong question.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Ignore him,” I said.
“Did you?”
“Later.”
The oxygen counter fell below three minutes.
Elena picked up the metal safe-deposit box.
“What are you doing?”
“Creating ventilation.”
She threw it into the monitor.
The screen shattered.
Gideon disappeared.
Behind it, a maintenance duct bent inward.
I tore the frame from the wall. Daniel forced a metal baton into the gap and widened it until cold air rushed through.
The gas alarm continued, but the oxygen counter stopped falling.
Celeste sank against the boxes.
“I truly hate your family.”
Elena coughed.
“Take a number.”
Daniel overrode the lock seven minutes later.
My father was gone from the security system, but he had left a message on every screen in the bank.
THE MARRIAGE OPENS THE GARDEN.
We returned to the estate after midnight.
Daniel took the drive to an isolated system. Celeste was confined to a guest suite under guard.
Elena disappeared into her room.
I lasted twenty-three minutes before following.
Her door stood open.
She was on the balcony wearing a silk robe, looking toward the dark grounds.
“Are you hurt?”
She didn’t turn.
“No.”
“You inhaled the gas.”
“Dr Chen cleared me.”
I stopped behind her.
“Then why are you shaking?”
“Because I spent five minutes wondering whether the last thing I would see was your father’s face.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For Gideon?”
“For bringing you into the vault.”
She turned then.
“I chose to go.”
“I should have anticipated—”
“Stop.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Stop turning everything into your failure so you can make it your responsibility.”
“It is my responsibility.”
“I am not.”
“You are not a burden.”
“Then stop carrying me like one.”
The words struck harder than they should have.
I stepped back.
“You’re right.”
“I know.”
“You say that often.”
“You require frequent reminders.”
Her mouth curved.
I loved the sight enough to make retreat impossible.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“To make sure you were safe.”
“Dr Chen did that.”
“Then I have no defensible reason.”
“Try the honest one.”
I moved closer.
“I couldn’t stay away from you.”
Her breath caught.
“Better.”
“Dangerously honest.”
“Keep going.”
I touched the knot of her robe.
“May I?”
She covered my hand with hers.
“Yes.”
I loosened the silk slowly.
The robe opened.
She wore a black camisole and shorts beneath it, but the sight of her felt more intimate than nakedness.
Because she was allowing me to look.
No stolen photographs.
No surveillance.
No distance.
Elena lifted my shirt over my head and traced the scars she had studied at the safe house.
Then she kissed the one she had given me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered against my skin.
“I told you not to be.”
“I’m apologising for hurting you. Not for fighting.”
“I can accept that.”
Her mouth moved higher.
My restraint ended.
I caught her face and kissed her.
She opened for me with a soft, hungry sound, her hands sliding into my hair. I lifted her onto the edge of the bed and stepped between her knees.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I don’t.”
“Elena.”
“I want this.”
The certainty in her voice broke something open inside me.
I kissed the curve of her neck, her shoulder, every place her pulse betrayed her. Her fingers tightened against my back as I drew the camisole strap down and pressed my mouth to the skin beneath it.
She shivered.
“You’re still thinking,” she whispered.
“I’m attempting not to frighten you.”
She drew my face back to hers.
“You frighten me when you hide. Not when you touch me.”
I kissed her again, slower now.
My hands learned her with permission rather than possession—the warmth of her waist, the sensitive place along her spine, the way she arched when my mouth returned to her throat.
She pulled me down onto the bed.
For once, I allowed her to lead.
She straddled my hips and looked at me with her dark hair falling around us.
“No orders,” she said.
“No lies.”
“No promises you can’t keep.”
“Only this.”
I touched her cheek.
“Whatever happens tomorrow, tonight belongs to you.”
“To us,” she corrected.
Then she kissed me until there was no room for fathers, graves or contracts between us.
I carried her to the bedroom and stopped beside the mattress.
“Tell me what you want.”
She slipped the first button of her blouse free. “I want you to stop behaving as if desire makes you dangerous.”
“It can.”
“So can fear. We still get to choose what we do with it.”
She opened another button, watching me. I kept my hands at my sides until she reached for them and placed them at her waist.
“I want this,” she said. “I want you. And if that changes, I’ll tell you.”
The trust in those words was more intoxicating than the sight of her skin. I lowered my mouth to her shoulder, kissed the place where her pulse leapt, and felt her fingers tighten in my hair.
We undressed each other without haste. Every scar became a question. Every answer was given with touch or words or the deliberate press of her body into mine. When she traced the old burn along my ribs, I told her it came from the estate fire. When I found the pale mark at her hip, she told me Mara had fallen from a borrowed bicycle because Elena had never learned to ride one.
“I’ll teach you,” I said.
“You’ll install armour on the bicycle.”
“Obviously.”
Her laughter broke against my mouth. Then there was no room left for humour, only heat and the astonishing experience of being welcomed instead of obeyed. I moved when she asked, stopped when her breath changed, learned the language of her pleasure until she said my name like a truth neither family had written for us.
Afterward, I held her because she curled into me, not because a contract granted the right.
The distinction was invisible to anyone outside the room. To me, it was the beginning of everything worth preserving.
Afterward, she lay with her cheek over my heart.
“What would you be if you weren’t a Blackwell?” she asked.
“Unemployed.”
She laughed softly.
“Serious answer.”
I thought about it.
“A man who sleeps through the night.”
“That sounds boring.”
“It sounds perfect.”
“I’d own a bookshop,” she said. “One with terrible coffee and a cat that hates customers.”
“I would buy the building.”
“You would be banned.”
“I would buy the ban.”
She lifted her head.
“You can’t purchase everything.”
I touched her mouth.
“I’m beginning to understand that.”
Later, she lay against my chest beneath tangled sheets, her breathing finally soft with sleep.
I had imagined this woman in my arms more times than I would ever confess.
None of those fantasies had included the absolute terror of having something worth losing.
My phone vibrated on the floor.
I reached for it without waking her.
Daniel had opened the drive.
One decoded transaction filled the screen.
PAYEE: GIDEON BLACKWELL
PURPOSE: ISABELLA CARUSO — TERMINATION
AUTHORISED BY: S. BLACKWELL
Elena shifted beside me.
The initial could belong to Sebastian.
Someone wanted her to believe it did.
And this time, I had no witness capable of proving it didn’t.
