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Chapter 1: The Truth She Never Meant to Hear Havenbrook. Winter solstice. "Yvette Warren isn't good enough for me. I only married her out of obligation." "But don't worry, Yaz. Once the three years are up, I'll file for divorce and marry you. Okay?" "You don't believe me?" A soft laugh. "You're the only woman I've ever loved. If you don't believe me, you're welcome to cut out my heart and see for yourself." The flirtatious murmur seeped through the study door and straight into Yvette's ears. Two years of marriage, and Sebastian Shaw had never once spoken to her like that. She stood frozen in the hallway, her whole body gone cold. Her fingers locked around the ceramic cups she'd been holding — the ones she'd spent five or six days making — and she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't make herself believe that her husband had just said those words. Tears fell onto the glaze she'd fired herself. The irony of it cut deeper than anything else. She tilted her head back and wiped her face, then let out a short, bitter laugh. Sebastian was right about one thing. She was the outsider. She always had been. She'd been mixed up at birth — a nurse's mistake — and handed to a woman who'd wanted a son. That woman took one look at her, conferred with her husband, and passed the baby off to his father without a second thought. Then, on the third day after Reginald Warren brought Yvette home, that couple died in a car accident. And so it was just the two of them — Yvette and her grandfather — for the rest of his life. When she was twenty-two, Reginald passed away. The Moore family came looking for her shortly after, claiming she was their long-lost daughter. She went back. Her biological parents treated her like a stranger. Her brother made it clear she wasn't welcome — he was afraid she'd steal the affection they'd always lavished on Yasmine Moore. The girl they'd raised as their own. Yvette had never wanted to take anything from Yasmine. She just wanted a family. Her parents saw that longing in her and used it. They sent her to fulfill a marriage contract the two families' patriarchs had arranged decades ago. The Shaw family was in the middle of an internal power struggle at the time, and her parents had no intention of letting Yasmine walk into that mess. So they sent Yvette instead. Before the wedding, Sebastian had made her sign an agreement. After three years, they would divorce on grounds of irreconcilable differences. Two years in, they lived like polite strangers sharing a house. Somewhere along the way, Yvette had fallen in love with him. Quietly, helplessly, without meaning to. And now she was standing outside his study learning that the man she shared a bed with was in love with her sister — the girl the Moore family had raised, the one who wasn't even really theirs. Inside the room, Sebastian's breathing grew ragged. A woman's voice came through the phone, breathy and soft, followed by sounds that made Yvette's stomach turn. She pressed her hand over her mouth and stepped back. "Yaz... when are we finally going to be together..." His voice was thick with want, rough at the edges. So that was how deep it went. Even in his most private moments, it was her name on his lips. Yvette's mind went blank. The cups slipped from her hands and shattered against the floor, the sound splitting through the silence of the night like a crack of ice. A few minutes later, the door swung open. Sebastian's eyes were still hazy, not quite focused — but the moment he saw her crouched on the floor, frantically gathering the broken pieces, something in his expression shuttered. "What happened, Yvie?" The haze cleared fast. A cool distance settled behind his eyes. He crouched beside her, sighed, and took her hand — the one the ceramic had cut. His voice was gentle. "Does it hurt? I'll have Dr. Mitchell come take a look and bandage it up." Yvette looked up and met his gaze. The concern on his face was real enough. But underneath it was that familiar remove, that careful distance he'd always kept between them. It stung the same way it always did. She swallowed the ache and pulled her hand back. "It's nothing. No need to bother Dr. Mitchell. I'll just grab a bandage." She stood, turned, and walked away — not quite steady, but moving. Sebastian watched her go, his expression unreadable. He wasn't sure whether she'd heard. If she hadn't, there was nothing to address. If she had — he genuinely didn't know what he'd say. Two years, and she'd been a perfectly adequate wife. Undemanding. Composed. If she kept that up, he could consider extending the arrangement another three years. Yvette knew none of that. She cleaned up, got into bed, and let out a long, slow breath. Sebastian came in and pulled her against him, his voice low and smooth near her ear. "What made you decide to make ceramic cups?" His breath was warm against the side of her face. She kept her voice even. "Today's your birthday. I made us a matching set. I wanted to give them to you." A pause. "I wasn't careful enough. I dropped them." Sebastian relaxed slightly. He kept his tone measured, though the condescension underneath it was there if you knew how to listen. "It's fine. A broken cup is nothing. I'd rather you not hurt yourself over it." She heard it — that thin layer of dismissal beneath the kind words. And for the first time, she felt strangely calm. "You didn't have to go to all that trouble," he added. "If you want something, just tell the staff. There's no need to do it yourself." A small smile stayed at the corner of his mouth. The Shaw family had always looked down on where she came from. They certainly didn't believe she could make anything worth keeping. In their minds, anything Yvette produced with her hands had simply been bought somewhere expensive and passed off as her own. "You said you wanted a matching set." Her back was to him. Sebastian went still. He remembered. It had slipped out half-asleep — Yasmine had been pushing him about it, wanting them to use matching cups together. He'd been too buried in work to follow through, and he hadn't wanted Yvette to notice anything, so he'd never agreed. Yasmine had sulked for days before he'd managed to smooth it over. He hadn't expected Yvette to hear it. Or to take it as something meant for her. The moonlight fell across her narrow shoulders. There was something quietly desolate about the way she looked just then. His throat moved. Before he could say anything, she lay down, said "good night," and closed her eyes. She didn't sleep. The sounds from the study played on a loop in her head — his voice, low and wanting, saying another woman's name. Her chest ached with a dull, persistent throb. She shook her head slightly, trying to clear it. She was almost under when his arms wrapped around her waist from behind, his breathing gone rough against her neck. "Yvie..." One word. Hoarse. She knew exactly what he wanted. Something cold and sharp rose in her chest. When Yvette worked with clay, she was meticulous. She didn't allow a single impurity to touch the surface while it was still raw. That was just how she was — with her craft, and with everything else. She reached down and pushed his hands away. "Don't touch me." She'd swallowed the rest of what she wanted to say. The words that would have been uglier. She held them back. Maybe it was the sharpness in her voice. Sebastian froze for a moment, then sat up abruptly. He stared at her back in the dark. "You heard, didn't you." Not a question. A certainty. Chapter 2 Considering Joining the Studio Yvette pretended not to hear. Sometime later, Sebastian's phone rang. He rolled out of bed and stepped into the hallway to take the call. Through the closed door, she caught his voice — soft, soothing, nothing like the tone he ever used with her. "Yaz, it's okay. It was just a nightmare. Don't be scared." "Wait for me. I'll be right there." Lying in the dark, Yvette felt something sting behind her eyes. Two years of marriage, and Sebastian had always run cold with her. Not cruel — just distant. Measured. She couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to her like that. Actually, she could. There had been exactly one time. A year ago, when she was pregnant. He hadn't been happy about it. No excitement, no warmth — none of what she'd imagined a man felt when he found out he was going to be a father. She'd told herself he just wasn't ready. She never expected what he actually said. His voice had been so gentle. His eyes soft in a way that made her chest ache. He'd looked at her like she was the only person in the world. "Yvie, the company's in a critical phase right now. I'm stretched thin. Can we hold off on this one? Be good for me, okay? We'll try again when the time is right." It was the only tenderness he'd ever shown her, and she'd been so blinded by it that she said yes. The next day, he took her to the clinic. She never got pregnant again after that. Only the two of them knew. And when his mother, Lorraine Shaw, made her little digs — all those pointed comments about Yvette's inability to give the family a child — Sebastian never said a word. Not once did he defend her. The memory pressed down on her chest until her eyes burned. The call ended. Sebastian's voice came through the door, careful and testing. "Yvie? You asleep?" She kept her breathing slow and even. The rustle of clothes. The soft click of the door. Silence. Yvette sat up and pulled back the curtain. She watched Sebastian's car disappear into the night — a knight riding out to save his princess. The grief she'd been holding down for so long finally broke through. Tears slid down her face before she could stop them. He didn't come home that night. ****** The next morning, she woke to a text from Tessa Gilmore — one of her oldest friends — saying she was on her way over. Yvette had just finished washing up when the doorbell rang. She opened the door and her brow pulled together slightly. Tessa was there, yes. But standing behind her were Sebastian and Yasmine. Tessa stepped inside and immediately dropped her voice. "Yvie — why did your husband come back with her?" Yasmine walked in wearing a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. The look she gave Yvette was pure provocation. "Sis, it's been a while. Mom and Dad asked me to come check on you." She leaned into those words — Mom and Dad — just a little too hard. The reminder was deliberate: yes, Yvette might be the biological daughter of the Moore family, but Yasmine was the one they actually loved. Yvette didn't take the bait. She looked past Yasmine to Sebastian, waiting for an explanation. "I ran into Yaz when I went out for breakfast," he said, lifting the takeout bags. "She mentioned she wanted to see you, so I brought her along." Tessa let out a short, humorless laugh. "Come to see Yvie. Right. Like I'd believe that." She knew exactly what Yasmine thought of Yvette. She wasn't fooled for a second. She leaned close to Yvette and lowered her voice. "Watch yourself around her. Whatever she wants with Sebastian, it's nothing good." Yasmine shot Tessa a sharp look. Tessa looked right back at her, unbothered. Yvette smiled faintly and said nothing. She didn't tell Tessa that Sebastian's intentions toward Yasmine weren't exactly innocent either. She wasn't sure her friend could handle that right now. She reached for the insulated bag of chicken puff pastry — and Sebastian's hand came down on hers with a sharp smack before she could open it. The sting was immediate. A red welt bloomed across the back of her hand. "Yvie—" He caught himself, something flickering across his face. "You like pastry, right? I got you peanut butter puff pastry. Here." He pushed the other container toward her, his voice carrying a thin edge of guilt. She stared at the back of her hand. The understanding settled in quietly. The pastry were for Yasmine. "Sebastian." Tessa's voice went flat. "You do remember that Yvie is allergic to peanut, right?" Yvette sat still, lips pressed together, watching him. He had always remembered everything about her. Her preferences, her habits, the small things most people forgot. She'd teased him about it once — told him his memory was almost unsettling, the way he kept track of every little detail. But around Yasmine, it was like all of that got wiped clean. Sebastian's expression shifted. He looked at the food on the table, then at her, and his voice came out strained with apology. "I'm sorry, Yvie. My head was somewhere else. I completely forgot." She looked down. "It's fine," she said quietly. Her lashes cast small shadows against her cheeks. Something about it needled at Sebastian in a way he couldn't name — a vague, irritating guilt he didn't want to sit with. Breakfast ended in silence. Afterward, Sebastian made his exit under the pretense of driving Yasmine home. Tessa waited until the door closed, then turned to Yvette. "Come join my ceramics studio." Her eyes were bright, but she'd already braced herself for the answer. Yvette had turned her down more times than she could count. The reason was always the same — she wanted to focus on work, on Sebastian, on the life she was trying to build. Tessa wasn't expecting anything different this time. But Yvette looked at her and said she'd think about it. "...What?" Tessa blinked. She wasn't sure she'd heard right. Yvette said it again. Tessa was on her feet before she'd fully processed it, pulling Yvette into a hug and pressing a loud kiss to her cheek. "Yvie, you are literally the best thing that has ever happened to me. I love you so much!" "In seven days we're hosting a ceramics appreciation event. Everett Cross is going to be there — I can introduce you." At the mention of Everett, something in Yvette's expression shifted toward genuine interest. Everett Cross wasn't just any name in the ceramics world. He was the foremost authority in the country — a man who could hold a piece of porcelain in his hands for thirty seconds and tell you exactly what dynasty it came from and how it had been fired. That kind of knowledge wasn't learned. It was a gift. Yvette held up a hand before Tessa could spiral further into excitement. "Tess. Don't get ahead of yourself. Give me three days. I'll have a real answer for you then." "How am I supposed to not get excited? You're Mr. Reginald Warren's only student. Do you know how long I've been trying to get you on board? I've been dreaming about this." Yvette's grandfather, Sir Reginald, was a legend — a master craftsman who had quietly stepped back from the ceramics world years ago. As his only grandchild, Yvette had inherited everything he knew. Tessa believed that with Yvette involved, the studio could reach a level she'd never managed on her own. Yvette smiled and walked her to the door. Then she settled onto the couch and opened her laptop. Work pulled her in, and the hours dissolved around her. By the time she looked up, it was dark. Sebastian came home that evening to a table Yvette had asked their housekeeper Lily to set. They sat down to eat. Halfway through dinner, his phone rang. He picked up. Yvette's chopsticks went still. His voice carried across the table, low and certain. Whatever it cost, he said, he was going to bring Sir Reginald in. Chapter 3: Reginald's Granddaughter? Yvette glanced up at him, keeping her voice casual. "What do you need Reginald for?" Sebastian ended the call and pressed two fingers to his temple, exhaustion carved into every line of his face. "Our biggest client is being impossible. Claims this batch doesn't meet his standards and wants everything made to match Mr. Warren's porcelain work." "But Mr. Warren retired thirty years ago. Nobody knows where he went, and there's one critical step in his process that nobody's been able to figure out." He let out a slow breath, the fatigue behind his eyes too heavy to hide. Yvette felt something stir in her chest. "Is that step really so difficult?" she asked carefully. "What if I went and took a look tomorrow?" Sebastian blinked, then looked at her with a flicker of irritation already crossing his face. "Forget it, Yvie. The last thing I need is you getting in the way." Nobody in the Shaw family knew she could work with porcelain. Not even Sebastian. He assumed she was just trying to make him feel better and didn't give it another thought. "Seriously, don't add to my plate right now. Today's been rough enough." He paused, then added, "And even if you did show up, what would that change? You don't know the first thing about making porcelain. That piece you gave me for my birthday — you bought that. Don't think I don't know." The day had beaten him down, and it showed in his tone. He'd had his assistant take the fragments of Yvette's broken porcelain piece in for appraisal earlier. The expert had called it exceptionally refined work. Since Sebastian was certain Yvette had no skill in the craft, he'd concluded she must have bought it off the market just to please him. Hearing him say it out loud drained the color from Yvette's face. She looked at him — tired, distracted, already somewhere else in his head — and said nothing. After dinner, he noticed her quiet mood and suggested a walk to help them both unwind. It was a small gesture, but it meant something. He almost never walked with her. This was the first time in six months. The moon was bright, the stars sparse, and the pale light fell over both of them as they moved along the path. Something warm and fragile rose in Yvette's chest. This. This was all she wanted. If Sebastian could just keep his distance from Yasmine the way he used to, she could swallow her pride. She could pretend none of it had happened and keep building a life with him, even if it meant crossing lines she'd sworn she never would. Then reality hit her like a slap. They hadn't even been walking for half an hour before he started checking his phone. His expression softened in a way it never did for her — eyes warm, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. The warmth in her chest went cold. Then the ringtone went off. The one he'd set only for Yasmine. It cut through the quiet of the empty path like a blade. Sebastian stepped ahead a few paces and answered. He wasn't far enough. Yvette heard every word — Yasmine's voice, soft and trembling, crying that her mother had been rushed to the hospital, that Nathaniel wasn't home, that she was alone and scared. When he hung up, his face was all urgency. "Yvie, something came up at the office. I have to go handle it." He didn't wait for her answer. He was already moving toward the car. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Yvette asked. She watched him as she said it. Steady. Direct. For a moment, something that looked almost like guilt crossed Sebastian's face. But he pushed it down. He'd make it up to her later. "The best thing you can do is stay out of it," he said. "That's help enough." And then he was gone. Yvette stood there watching his taillights disappear. Something inside her went very still — and then very decided. She was done pretending. She went to the hospital. The one the Moore family owned. Marianne Rivers was propped up against the pillows, color in her cheeks, looking perfectly pleased with herself as she watched Sebastian and Yasmine together. Sebastian sat at the edge of the bed, head bent, peeling an apple for them both. "Sebastian, honey," Marianne said warmly, "every time I see you and my Yaz standing together, I think what a perfect pair you'd make." "Such a shame. If the Old Master hadn't insisted before he passed that a Moore daughter had to marry into the Shaw family, I'd have pushed for Yaz to be your wife in a heartbeat. I've watched you grow up. I know exactly who you are." She clicked her tongue. "Not like Yvette. A girl from the back of nowhere, raised without a shred of class." The mention of Yvette's name brought a visible curl of distaste to Marianne's lips. When Yvette had first been brought back to the Moore family, Marianne had felt a flicker of guilt — she had carried that girl for nine months, after all. She'd thought she could keep both daughters under the same roof, give Yvette a real chance, make things right. But Yvette had looked her in the eye and asked, "Why should someone who lived my life for twenty-four years get to stay? Once you know the truth, shouldn't you go back to where you came from? Why would she just keep playing house here?" Marianne had agreed, in principle. But Yasmine was the child she'd raised. She couldn't bring herself to let go. And then that incident happened, not long after Yvette arrived — and Marianne had decided the girl was bad luck. The resentment had only grown from there. Yvette stood in the hallway and listened to every word through the door. Then she pushed it open. The conversation died instantly. Marianne stared at her, then quickly rearranged her face into something resembling concern. "Yvie! What are you doing here? Are you feeling all right?" She didn't like Yvette, but she wasn't about to let Sebastian see the Moore family fall apart in front of him. Especially not when Yasmine might be walking into his family someday — she needed him to think well of them. Yvette had long since stopped expecting anything real from her. She gave a flat, noncommittal sound in response and turned to Sebastian. "I thought there was an emergency at the office. Why are you at the hospital?" Sebastian opened his mouth and found nothing to say. Yasmine filled the silence with a light laugh. "He finished up and stopped by to check on Mom. Unlike some people." She tilted her head toward Yvette. "Your own mother is in the hospital and you couldn't be bothered to show up?" Marianne shot Yvette a sharp look but stayed quiet. Yvette's expression, usually so composed, cracked just slightly — a thin edge of anger breaking through. Yasmine always did this. Took every situation, twisted it, and somehow came out looking like the victim while pointing the finger at everyone else. On any other day, Yvette would have let it go for Marianne's sake. But not tonight. "I'm talking to my husband," Yvette said, her voice quiet and precise. "When did it become your place to speak for him? Or are you trying to wedge yourself into our marriage?" The words landed hard. Yasmine's face went white. She pressed her lips together, jaw tight, but said nothing. Yvette saw the flinch. She'd hit something true. From the corner of her eye, she caught Sebastian looking at Yasmine — that same soft, protective look — before he stood up, brow furrowed. "Yvette, that was out of line. Yaz is your sister. You can't talk to her like that." Marianne seized the moment. "Exactly. I don't know what Reginald taught that girl—" She stopped herself, then pressed on. "Yvie, you're the older one. Be the bigger person and apologize to Yaz. Then we can all move on." Sebastian had already started to respond — and then the name hit him. He went still. "What did you just say?" He turned to Marianne, something unreadable moving behind his eyes. "Yvie is Reginald's granddaughter? Chapter 4: A Misunderstanding Yvette gave him a calm look and said nothing. It was Marianne who spoke up, her tone edged with something sharp. "That's right — Yvette's grandfather was named Reginald. Just a country man, though. Didn't know much beyond farming. And he passed away two years ago." Two years ago. The same year Yvette had been brought back into the Moore family. Marianne shot Yvette a sour look as she said it, then let out a small sigh. Ever since being welcomed back into the family, Yvette had refused to change her last name. She'd said there was no point — blood didn't need a surname to hold it together. Marianne understood the logic, but every time she had to call Yvette by that name, something about it rubbed her the wrong way. It was one of the reasons she'd never quite warmed to Yvette. Her grandfather was Yvette's line in the sand. Meeting Marianne's mocking gaze head-on, Yvette didn't flinch. She spoke evenly, without apology. "My grandfather may have been a simple man, but he worked himself to the bone raising me. He taught me manners, taught me how to carry myself. In my eyes, he was anything but nothing." Marianne knew Yvette's nature well enough — soft on the surface, but she would not be pushed around. And she had no interest in fighting with her in front of Sebastian. She gave Yvette one last pointed look and let it go. Sebastian had heard every word. Learning that Yvette's grandfather was just a farmer, not the Reginald he'd been thinking of, left something complicated settling in his chest — relief and disappointment tangled together. Relief, because if she really had been Old Master Warren's granddaughter, he wouldn't have known how to face her. He had too much respect for the man. Disappointment, because that meant she couldn't help him. That important client the company needed — he'd have to keep working that angle on his own. He exhaled quietly, keeping his expression neutral, and stood to leave. "Mom, it's almost nine. I'll take Yvie home and come see you again when I have time." He'd barely stepped out of the hospital room when he stopped dead. Yvette hadn't been expecting it. She walked straight into his back. She pressed her fingers to her forehead where it had bumped him, frowning slightly, and looked up. His expression wasn't great. Those long, heavy-lidded eyes were fixed on her, dark and unreadable, like he was somewhere else entirely. "Why'd you stop?" Her voice pulled him back. Sebastian gave himself a mental shake, annoyed that he'd drifted. He reached for her hand out of habit — the way he always had — but she pulled free before he could close his fingers around hers. It was almost reflexive, the way she shook him off. She found the contact distasteful. The faint look of disdain in her eyes left him momentarily thrown. He told himself he must have imagined it. But then she stepped back, her gaze distant, and he let it go without pushing. Before they could leave, Yasmine appeared in the doorway. She watched the two of them heading out, one after the other, and something dark flickered behind her eyes. Yvette was just some girl from the countryside. What gave her the right to marry Sebastian? Yasmine smoothed her expression into something soft and worried before he could notice. "Sebastian, Mom's staying the night here, and I gave the driver the day off earlier. It's so dark out — I really don't feel comfortable taking a cab alone." "Could you drop me off? It's on the way to your place anyway." Sebastian looked at her, then glanced toward Yvette. "Whatever," Yvette said, and kept walking. Whether he drove Yasmine home was his business, not hers. She waited by the car for a full minute before Sebastian came out. Alone. "I had James take her," he said. "It's late, and I need to be at the office early tomorrow." James was his personal driver. Yvette didn't respond. She got into the back seat and closed her eyes. Sebastian paused mid-reach for his seatbelt and looked back at her. "Why are you sitting back there?" "Tired." She didn't say the other reason — that Yasmine had sat in the front seat, and she didn't want to be where Yasmine had been. She found it distasteful. He didn't press it. He started the car. At a red light, he caught her reflection in the rearview mirror — she was leaning against the window, staring at nothing. The feeling that he'd seen her somewhere before nagged at him again, just out of reach. The light turned green before he could place it. "Yvie, funny that your grandfather was named Reginald too," he said, his voice light, almost playful — though habit laced it with a faint undercurrent of dismissal. "For a second I thought you meant the ceramics master." He was half-joking, half-wishing. If her grandfather really had been that Reginald, it would've solved a lot of problems. He glanced at her in the mirror, a vague unease settling in. He couldn't shake the feeling that sometime overnight, Yvette had become a stranger — colder toward him than she'd ever been. Yvette caught the dismissal in his words. She sat up straight, her voice going flat. "My grandfather was a simple man. Of course he can't compare to someone like Sir Reginald. But Sebastian — you know he's the one thing I won't let anyone touch. Not anyone." "I don't want to have to say anything worse than that." The words hit like ice water, killing whatever lightness had been in the car. "I wasn't mocking your grandfather," Sebastian said, his voice cooling. "You're reading into it." She showed no interest in continuing the conversation. That silence lit something in him — a quick, hot flare of irritation. He pulled the car to the curb. "If you think I'm making fun of your grandfather," he said, his tone clipped, "then I'm guessing you don't want to be in the same car as me right now." The message was clear: back down, give him an out. Yvette had lived alongside this man for two years. She knew exactly what he was doing. She didn't give it to him. Under his simmering stare, she simply looked at him — steady, unhurried. The amber glow of the streetlight fell across her face and made her look almost gentle. Something in Sebastian softened. He opened his mouth. Then she raised one pale hand, pushed the car door open, and stepped out without looking back. The click of her heels echoed down the empty street. The sound burrowed under his skin. She was in the middle of the night, alone. He didn't want the situation to spiral, so he eased the car forward, trailing slowly behind her, and hit the horn once — a nudge, an invitation to turn around. She didn't. The last of his patience snapped. "Fine. Suit yourself," he bit out, and drove away. Somewhere at the mouth of the alley, a dog barked. The wind cut through, and Yvette pulled her coat tighter. She hadn't dressed for the cold — just a camel-colored coat over dark jeans. Standing alone on that empty street in the dead of night, she felt every bit of it. She looked up at the sky. A handful of stars, scattered and faint. Her grandfather, in his last days, had told her not to cry. He'd said: whenever you miss me, just find the brightest star. Her throat tightened. She looked up — and she found it. The brightest one. Something in her chest settled, just a little. She sniffled, her hands trembling from the cold, and reached for her phone to call a car. It wasn't there. She'd left it in Sebastian's car. Was she really going to walk home? Then, behind her, headlights swept the road and a horn sounded. "Mrs. Shaw — what a coincidence." Chapter 5: Sebastian's Jealousy Yvette stopped walking and turned to face the man in the car behind her, every muscle in her body on guard. He was striking in a way that was almost unsettling. His brow bone cast a shadow that made his eyes look deeper, darker — black irises like cold jade submerged in still water, clear and unfathomable. When he looked at you, his expression didn't change. But it felt like he could see straight through you. Right now, he was leaning back against his seat with the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth, holding her gaze. "Who are you?" She took one quiet step back and asked the question in a flat, detached tone. The distance in her eyes wasn't subtle. Everett caught it. He smiled — a real one, soft enough to take the edge off his whole face. "It's pretty late, Mrs. Shaw. What are you doing out here alone?" Yvette pressed her lips together and said nothing. She was calculating her odds of outrunning him if she bolted right now. He seemed to read her mind. A short laugh escaped him. "Don't overthink it, Mrs. Shaw. I'm just one of Mr. Shaw's clients." "It's not safe for you to be out here alone this late. Get in — I'll drive you home." What she didn't know was that everything that had just happened had been caught on camera by one of Yasmine's friends, who'd already sent the photos over. Yvette didn't move. She pulled in a slow breath, then took off running. He claimed to be Sebastian's client — like she was just going to take his word for it. Her grandfather's voice came back to her, the way it always did. Stay alert. Never let your guard down. Not for a second. She hadn't made it far when she heard a car horn behind her. Everett followed at a crawl, rolling down the window. "Mrs. Shaw, why are you running? I'm not going to hurt you." Yvette stopped. She backed up several steps until she was standing directly under a security camera, then let out a slow breath and turned to face him. "Follow me any further and I'm calling the police." She didn't have her phone — it was still in Sebastian's car. The threat was a bluff, but it was all she had. The words had barely left her mouth when she saw Sebastian's car pulling up. He spotted the Range Rover parked in front of her and immediately assumed some rich kid was harassing his wife. Yvette was still his wife. He wasn't about to stand by and let anyone mess with her. He yanked off his seatbelt, shoved the door open, and walked toward the other car with barely contained fury. Then he saw who was behind the wheel. He slowed for just a beat. Of all people. "Mr. Shaw. What a coincidence." Everett smiled and greeted him like they'd run into each other at a dinner party. Yvette quietly exhaled when she realized they actually knew each other. She didn't want to think about what she would've done if he'd turned out to be some random creep. "What brings you out here, Mr. Cross?" Sebastian asked. "Just passing through. I spotted Mrs. Shaw and thought I'd offer her a ride home." He shook his head with a small laugh. "She didn't exactly trust me." Sebastian said nothing. His jaw was tight. He'd seen it clearly — the way Everett had looked at Yvette. Just for a second, but it was there. A flash of something that sat wrong with him. He caught Yvette shivering in his peripheral vision, her whole body trembling from the cold. Without a word, he shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She pulled it off and handed it straight back to him. Anything connected to Sebastian — her body rejected it on instinct. A flicker of something awkward crossed his face. He forced it down and turned back to Everett. "It's getting late, Mr. Cross. I'll take my wife home." He watched Everett drive off, and the easy expression he'd been wearing faded. He turned to Yvette. "Get in." Two words. Cold and flat. Yvette got in the back without a sound. Sebastian noticed her eyes — the redness at the corners. He almost asked if she'd been crying. But one look at her face, closed off and indifferent, and he let it go. He wasn't in the mood to be shut down. Neither of them spoke the entire drive. They were almost home when Sebastian finally said, "Kicking you out of the car earlier — that was wrong of me." Two years of marriage. The first apology he'd ever given her. Yvette said, "Okay," and left it at that. Back home, she showered and settled onto the couch, scrolling through ceramic sample photos her best friend Tessa had sent over. Tessa was a ceramic designer with a sharp eye and real artistic instincts, but her actual craft work was another story. Yvette filled that gap perfectly, which was exactly why Tessa had been trying to get her to join the studio. Yvette went through every photo before she replied — not with an answer, but with a tease. "Aren't you worried I'll save all these and make them myself, Big boss Tessa?" The response came fast. "Oh, stop it. I sent those because I trust you. Save them if you want — honestly, that just means you think I'm talented." Then: "Okay but seriously, have you thought any more about joining the studio?" Yvette sighed and told her she needed a little more time. She turned off her phone and headed for the stairs. Sebastian was coming out of the bathroom at the same moment, wearing nothing but a robe. Water droplets traced down his abs and disappeared into the fabric, the lines of his body shifting with each step. Yvette looked away. Nothing stirred in her. Not even a flicker. If anything, her stomach turned. She kept walking toward the stairs. "Yvie." His voice stopped her. "Can you blow-dry my hair for me?" The bedroom door slammed shut. Sebastian stared at it for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Whatever had been building in him dissolved completely. Upstairs, Yvette lay in bed and thought about the look she'd caught in his eyes earlier. It made her feel sick. He'd been with other women. She wanted nothing to do with him. Worried he might come to her room later, she got up, grabbed her blanket, and moved to the guest room. Sebastian was coming up the stairs with a glass of water when he saw her. His brow furrowed. "What are you doing now?" "We're sleeping separately for a while." She said it calmly and walked into the guest room without looking back. He stared after her and let out a cold breath through his nose. Fine. Whatever. Yvette was almost asleep when the doorbell started going off downstairs. The house had decent soundproofing, but Yvette was a light sleeper with sharp hearing. Any noise was enough to keep her awake. She heard Sebastian go down, heard him ask Yasmine what she was doing at his door at this hour. Half a minute later, a knock at the guest room door. "Yvette. Come out for a second." In the living room, Yvette sat on the couch and looked at Yasmine with barely concealed impatience. What was she here to start now? Yasmine glanced at her — just once, quick and satisfied. A gleam of triumph she didn't bother hiding well enough. 'Just wait, Yvette. Sebastian's going to divorce you. Soon.' She rearranged her face into something pained and hesitant, stealing a careful look at Yvette's blank expression before finally speaking. "Sebastian... I think my sister might be... cheating on you." Yvette didn't rush to defend herself. The truth didn't need her help. And cheating — that wasn't something she was capable of, no matter what anyone wanted to believe. Sebastian's expression darkened. He was a proud man. This was a marriage of convenience, yes — but betrayal was something he would not tolerate. Not from anyone. Not even from Yvette. "Proof?" Yasmine pulled up the photos on her phone and handed it to him, then added softly, "Don't be too upset, Sebastian. I'm sure my sister was just... led astray by someone." Chapter 6 Yvette's Affair? When Yasmine saw that the man in the photo was Everett, Sebastian let out a quiet breath of relief and walked her through everything that had happened that night. Something flickered in Yasmine's eyes — a flash of disappointment she couldn't quite hide. Then she turned to Yvette with a performance of concern. "Thank goodness it was just a misunderstanding. What would you have done if you'd actually run into some dangerous stranger?" Yvette caught the undercurrent immediately. She let out a cold laugh. "Don't waste your worry on me. Save it for yourself." She paused, letting the next words land clean. "Showing up at your brother-in-law's house in the middle of the night — people would say you weren't raised right." Yasmine's face went white. She bit down on her lip and turned to Sebastian, her eyes wide and wounded. "Sebastian, I never — I would never think something like that. Is she misunderstanding me?" Something in Sebastian went soft. He stepped in without hesitation. "Yvie, how can you talk to her like that? She's your sister." "We don't share a drop of blood," Yvette said flatly. "She's nothing to me." She could see the anger rising in him. She didn't have the energy for it. Without another word, she turned and went upstairs to bed. Sebastian spent a while comforting Yasmine before having the family driver take her home. That night, the dream came back. He was ten years old again, dragged into the mountains by kidnappers who demanded fifty million dollars from his parents. His parents had been overseas on business. By the time the news reached them and the money hit the account, the deadline had already passed. The kidnappers assumed his parents had chosen not to pay. They wanted him dead — but not badly enough to get blood on their hands. After all, the whole point had been the money. They settled on a compromise. They broke his legs and left him deep in the forest to die on his own. Sebastian dragged himself through the woods for an entire night, his body going numb with cold. He was close to hypothermia, too exhausted to keep fighting. He stopped moving and waited quietly for the end. Then a little girl appeared. She took one look at him shaking uncontrollably and pulled off her top layer of clothing, draping it over him without a second thought. In his daze, by the pale light of the moon, Sebastian caught only one detail — a birthmark on the girl's lower back, shaped unmistakably like a whale. He lost consciousness. When he came to, his parents were sobbing at his bedside. The ordeal had damaged his memory. He could only recover fragments, no matter how hard he tried. He'd searched for the girl afterward. Never found her. Then, when he was sixteen, Yasmine came to him. She filled in the broad strokes of what had happened that night, and he finally believed he'd found the person who had saved his life. But something about tonight's dream was different. In the dream, when the moonlight fell across the little girl's face — it was Yvette's face looking back at him. Sebastian woke up in a cold sweat. The next morning, Yvette was already dressed and eating by the time he came downstairs. He looked rough — dark circles carved under his eyes, the kind that came from a night with no real rest. She glanced at him once, then looked back down at her food. Sebastian watched her eat, the dream still sitting heavy in his chest. He almost asked her — had she ever saved a little boy, years ago in the mountains? But the question felt strange the moment he formed it. And besides, Yasmine was his savior. He had no business doubting that. He shook it off and looked down at his plate. Breakfast passed in a silence that felt slightly off, though neither of them named it. Afterward, Yvette said she was going into the office. "What for?" Sebastian asked. "Didn't you request three days working from home?" "The three days are up. It's time to go back." She rode in with him. Sebastian worked through his phone in the backseat. Yvette closed her eyes and rested. When they were nearly there, she had the driver pull over a block early and walked the rest of the way. Sebastian watched her go without a word. Only his assistant and his driver knew he and Yvette were married. Everyone else at the company was in the dark. When they'd first gotten married, Yvette had wanted to go public. Sebastian had shut it down with a single line — no relationships in the office. Two years of marriage, and almost no one knew. Thinking about it now, Yvette almost wanted to thank him for that. The last thing she needed after the divorce was to become office gossip. She worked through her tasks and came up for air two hours later. She opened her chat with Tessa. "Tess, I've made up my mind. I want to join the studio." "Can you give me three days to wrap up some personal stuff first?" Tessa replied almost instantly. "Welcome to Tiabrook Ceramics Studio, Yvie baby!" "Take a whole month if you need it. No rush at all." Yvette smiled and typed back her thanks. During the slow stretch of the morning, she pulled up the ceramics notes she'd posted online over the years — clay properties, glaze basics, the fundamentals she'd once known by feel. She made a mental note to get her hands back in the clay soon, just to find her footing again. Around eleven, she went to the break room to refill her water. On her way out, she nearly walked straight into Everett. He clearly hadn't expected to see her here. His eyes dropped to the cup in her hand, and something clicked behind his expression. "Small world, Ms. Shaw — Ms. Warren. Running into you again." The memory of last night's mix-up made her cringe. She got ahead of it. "I owe you an apology, Mr. Cross. I had no idea who you were last night. I hope you can overlook it." Everett smiled, unbothered. His gaze lingered on her cup. "That's a beautiful piece, Ms. Warren. Is there another one like it anywhere?" He was giving her an easy out. She appreciated it. "There might be," she said. His smile deepened, something warm and unhurried in his dark eyes. "Then let me add you on here." Yvette went back to her desk for her phone, pulled up her QR code, and accepted his contact request. His profile picture was a small cartoon black cat. His display name was just: Cross. They exchanged a few easy words before Yvette headed back to work. Sebastian's assistant had been downstairs on an errand when he spotted the two of them talking. He went back and forth about it, then — after finishing his work report — decided his boss should know. "Mr. Shaw, I saw Mr. Cross downstairs just now." Sebastian didn't look up from the documents he was signing. "That kind of thing doesn't need to be reported to me." "I also saw Madam with him. They seemed to be laughing together." The assistant watched his face carefully. Sebastian's pen stopped mid-signature. Another fraction of pressure and it would have punched straight through the paper. Everett again. He'd dealt with Everett before. He knew exactly how that man operated — calculated, patient, never showing his hand. Every instinct Sebastian had told him Everett's interest in Yvette was anything but innocent. He set the documents down, drew a slow breath, and tapped the desk once. "Send Yvette up." Yvette pushed open the office door to find Sebastian behind his desk, his expression cold and sharp. "You needed me for something?" She stood in front of him, voice even. He didn't answer. For the next half hour, the only sound in the room was the aggressive clatter of his keyboard — each keystroke carrying an edge that made her temples throb. Finally, he pulled himself away from the screen. He looked at her and dropped his voice low, just enough that only she could hear. "Yvette. This may be a marriage of convenience, but if you cheat on me while we're still married, I will not let it go." Yvette looked right back at him. "Even if I were with Everett — what exactly gives you the right to make demands of your wife when you're the one who cheated first?" "What did you just say?!" The words hit him like a live wire. His eyes went red. He shoved back from the desk and stood in one motion, his full height closing the distance between them, his shadow swallowing her whole.