Page 231 of The Bittersweet Bond

The only place where she didn’t have to pretend.

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Sebastian

As he leaned into the dimly lit, abandoned classroom, the world outside slipped away. He let the door click shut behind him, cutting off the sounds of the banquet, while the darkness of the room wrapped around him.

The silence was almost suffocating after the loud, vibrating atmosphere of the party. The table in front of him was empty—except for a single, unremarkable water bottle. Not water. Vodka. He had stashed it here before the banquet began, just like he used to back when he and the guys from the team would sneak drinks together.

But tonight, none of them were here.

Tonight, he was drinking alone.

He picked up the bottle, unscrewed the cap slowly. The sharp, biting scent burned his nose before he even took a sip. And when he did, the heat scorched down his throat, spreading outward, warming, numbing.

God, he needed that.

Bas took a deep breath, let his head tilt back, and closed his eyes.

Three months.

Three months where he had thought about her every damn day. Where he had convinced himself that this had been the right decision. That she needed it.

Three months of watching her move on—like what—they had never even existed.

He remembered that night a few weeks ago.

The music pulsed from the speakers, colorful lights flickering over sweaty bodies, laughing mouths. He had been standing with Bellamy on the terrace, a cigarette between his fingers, and then—like a fucking scene from a movie—she appeared from the crowd.

Arms draped around the neck of some senior, her expression half dreamy, half defiant, like she didn’t give a damn about anything.

She laughed. Threw her head back. And then kissed him.

Right in front of Bas.

He hadn’t moved. Had just stood there, rooted to the spot, his pulse hammering in his temples while Bellamy mumbled something he couldn’t even process.

Maybe that was the moment it changed.

Maybe that was when he stopped longing for her—and started hating her.

But no.

Unfortunately no.

He didn’t hate her.

How could he?

Not when just the thought of her still made his chest tighten. Not when the memory of her voice, her smile, the way she used to look at him still rattled inside him, no matter how much he tried to drown it out.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

A part of him, the part that still burned, wanted to hurt her the way she had been hurting him for the past few weeks. So he had called Cat again—picked up right where they had left off.

Bas opened his eyes, screwed the cap back on the bottle, and shoved it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He straightened, took a slow breath.

It was just one night.

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