Page 117 of The Bittersweet Bond

"Wow. What an honor. You two blessing us with your presence?" Her voice was dry, but there was a hint of amusement on her lips.

The guys barely responded, radiating that effortless, too-cool confidence that would normally irritate her immensely.

But tonight?

Tonight, she didn't mind it.

Perhaps it was the music, the alcohol already warming her body, or maybe... maybe it was just refreshing, for once, to feel something normal.

__________

Sebastian

The second Bas laid eyes on her, something inside him shifted.

It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t slow.

It was instant—like a switch being flipped, like a moth spotting the glow of a flame and knowing, without thinking, that it had to get closer.

Shewas standing with his friends, completely unaware of the effect she had on him. She wasn’t trying to get his attention, wasn’t even looking at him. And yet, he couldn’t look away. Hadn’t this always been the case? Hadn’t she always been the one thing he gravitated toward, no matter how much he fought it?

His gaze dragged over her face—the high cheekbones, the strong jawline, the full lips that had always driven him insane. But it was her eyes that did it. Big, deep brown, and so goddamn expressive that even from a few feet away, he felt them under his skin.

Something about her was different, but not in a way that made sense. Maybe it was the way she carried herself tonight—like she was lighter somehow, freer. Or maybe it was something darker, something he didn’t want to put into words.

She had lost weight. He knew he should feel something about that. But all he could feel was the pull. The force that had always drawn him to her, no matter how much he’d fought it.

Before he could stop himself, he was moving.

His hands found her waist before she even turned to face him. The second his fingers pressed into her, something inside him settled—like a missing piece clicking into place.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into him.

In that moment, something inside him cracked wide open.

His grip tightened, just slightly. Not enough to hold her there—just enough to make sure she was real.

He lowered his head, letting his breath graze her ear. “You look good tonight,” he murmured, his voice low, meant only for her.

And for the first time in a long time, nothing else mattered.

Now he finally understood what he had been running from all this time.

He had always told himself it was just desire—a physical pull, the undeniable chemistry that sparked between them no matter how much they fought, no matter how many times they turned away from each other.

He had blamed it on the tension, the thrill of the chase, the way she challenged him, provoked him, tested his control like it was her goddamn mission to see how far she could push him.

But if that were true, why the hell had it followed him for this long?

Why had it twisted his stomach last year, when she had leaned against him at the bonfire, tipsy and laughing, her body warm against his?

And why had it burned when he had driven her home that same night, watching her fight sleep in his passenger seat, until she finally gave in—curled up in his hoodie, breathing steady against his arm?

Why had it felt like a free fall every time she looked at him—like he was bracing for impact, but the crash never came?

Yes, he had convinced himself it was just a game. Something that would fade if he ignored it long enough.

But now, in this moment, as he looked at her—as heat crawled up his spine, burning through his veins in a way that had nothing to do with the club, nothing to do with the alcohol, nothing to do with anything logical—he realized it had never been just that.

---