31 An Unexpected Gentleman and an Unwelcome Call
“Are you sure you don’t mind taking us down the mountain, Sebastian?” I asked, still struggling with the casual use of his first name. The night air had grown chilly as we stood outside the
Sinclair mansion.
Sebastian shook his head. “Not at all. It would be rude to let you find your own way after it’s
gotten so dark
Cherry bounced on her heels beside me, looking far too excited about this development. “That’s so thoughtful! Right, Hazel?”
I shot her a warning look but nodded. “Yes, very considerate.”
Sebastian led us toward the large circular driveway where several cars were parked. I braced myself for whatever ostentatious vehicle a man of his wealth would drive. Probably some rare Italian sports car or a custom Rolls Royce.
He stopped beside a sleek but understated Audi A8.
“This is yours?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“Disappointed?” His lips quirked up slightly.
“No, just…” I hesitated. “I expected something more…”
“Flashy?” He finished for me, pulling out his keys.
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Cherry piped up from behind us. “Most billionaires would drive something that costs more than my apartment building.”
Sebastian opened the passenger door for me. “I prefer practicality. This gets me where I need to go safely and comfortably.
I slid into the seat, impressed despite myself. The interior smelled of expensive leather and a subtle, masculine cologne that I now associated with Sebastian himself.
Cherry climbed into the back, leaving me alone in the front with Sebastian. As he settled behind the wheel, I noticed how his large frame made even this spacious car feel smaller.
“Your car will follow us down,” he said, nodding toward my vehicle where a man in a dark suit now stood. “One of my security staff will drive it.”
“Oh. That’s not necessary-”
“It is. His tone brooked no argument as he started the engine. The car purred to life with quiet efficiency.
The drive down the winding mountain road was mostly silent. I kept my hands folded tightly in
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my lap, hyperaware of Sebastian beside me. Every time the car turned, I could feel his presence more acutely.
Cherry, thankfully, filled the silence with chatter about the mansion and the upcoming designs. Sebastian answered her questions politely, his deep voice resonating in the enclosed space.
I stole glances at his profile when I thought he wouldn’t notice. His strong jawline, the straight line of his nose, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel with casual confidence. Those hands that had accidentally brushed against mine during our meeting, sending an unexpected jolt through my system.
“Hazel?”
the
I blinked, realizing Sebastian had asked me something. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked if you’d prefer we drop you
”
at your home or your office.”
“Oh. My apartment, please.” I gave him the address, embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming.
When we reached the bottom of the mountain, Sebastian continued driving through the city. My car followed closely behind, its headlights visible in the side mirror.
“You didn’t have to escort us all the way,” I said, feeling awkward about the special treatment.
Sebastian kept his eyes on the road. “I prefer to see things through to completion.”
Something about the way he said it made me wonder if he was talking about more than just this drive.
We reached my apartment building far too quickly. Sebastian pulled up smoothly to the curb, and my car parked behind us. His security man stepped out, holding my keys.
“Thank you for the ride,” I said as Sebastian walked around to open my door. The gesture was old–fashioned but oddly touching.
“It was my pleasure.” His eyes seemed darker in the dim street lighting. “I look forward to seeing your designs.”
Cherry climbed out, barely containing her grin as she watched our interaction. “Thanks for everything, Mr. Sinclair!”
“Sebastian,” he corrected her gently.
We stood awkwardly for a moment before I accepted my keys from his security guard. “Goodnight, then.”
Sebastian nodded. “Goodnight, Hazel.”
As Cherry and I walked toward the building entrance, I heard the Audi start up again. At the door, I turned to see Sebastian’s car still waiting. He wouldn’t leave until we were safely inside.
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The lobby door closed behind us, and through the glass, I watched as Sebastian’s Audi pulled away. A short honk–a final goodbye–echoed as he disappeared down the street.
“Well, that was… interesting,” Cherry said, her voice teasing as we entered the elevator.
I pressed the button for my floor. “Don’t start.”
“He’s not what I expected,” she continued, ignoring my warning. “For someone so powerful, he seems almost… humble.”
I had to agree. The modest car choice, the personal escort home, the insistence on being called by his first name–none of it fit the typical billionaire mold.
“He’s still a Sinclair,” I reminded her, and myself. “One of the most influential families in the
country.”
“A hot Sinclair who seems very interested in you,” Cherry countered.
I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks betrayed me with unwanted heat. “He’s a client, Cherry. Nothing
more.”
The elevator dinged at my floor, saving me from further interrogation.
Days later, my phone buzzed with a calendar reminder. I stared at the screen, my stomach knotting as I read the notification: “Divorce appointment confirmation with Alistair.”
I’d set the reminder weeks ago and forgotten about it. Now the day had arrived to finalize the end of my marriage–a marriage that had barely existed before being hijacked by my stepsister.
With a deep breath, I dialed Alistair’s number. Each ring echoed my heartbeat, slow and deliberate. I rehearsed my words, determined to keep things coldly professional.
“Hello?” A female voice answered. Not Alistair, but Ivy.
My jaw clenched involuntarily. “I need to speak with Alistair.”
“Hazel?” Ivy’s voice turned instantly hostile. “Why are you calling my husband?”
The possessive term grated on my nerves, but I kept my voice even. “Put Alistair on the phone.”
“He’s resting. Tell me what you want, and I’ll decide if it’s important enough to disturb him.”
I almost laughed at her audacity. “It’s about the divorce appointment tomorrow. I need to confirm he’ll be there.”
A beat of silence followed. “Divorce?” Ivy’s voice had lost its edge, replaced by genuine
confusion.
“Yes, divorce,” I repeated coolly. “You didn’t think you actually became his wife just by stealing my wedding, did you? Legally, you’re just an interloper.”
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