Page 32 of Second Sin

I blink, then shake my head. "Sorry. I'm just—it's been a weird couple of weeks."

"Yeah. I get that. I should probably get going anyway. I've got a job interview later. That’s actually why I’m in town."

"Really? That’s great."

He stands with a quiet shrug, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. I rise too, and he pulls me into another hug—this one tighter, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet.

“If you ever need anything,” he says, voice low but steady, “you call. Doesn’t matter when.”

“Thank you,” I say, hugging him back.

Matt leaves, and I stay rooted in place for a breath too long.

Across the room, Sebastian is still. But I feel him—every inch of the air between us charged like static.

My coat is heavier in my hands than it should be. I shrug it on, fingers clumsy, pulse too loud in my ears.

When I finally step toward the door, he moves too.

We reach it at the same time, our footsteps falling in sync. Without a word, he pulls the door open and steps aside, letting me walk through first. His jaw is tight, eyes fixed on the street like I’m not even beside him.

We walk in silence, the cold air biting at my cheeks. I can feel the tension radiating off him—hot and heavy and impossible to ignore. It’s not just discomfort. It’s anger. Searing. Focused. And for the life of me, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.

“Hey,” I say gently, trying to break the thick silence. “You okay?”

He doesn’t look at me.

"I'm fine."It’s clipped. Dismissive.

"You don’t seem fine."

"I said I’m fine."

The words hit harder than they should. Maybe because I’m already too raw.

I stop walking, force him to pause. “What is going on with you?”

He turns then. Slowly. Shoulders squared, eyes hard. Like whatever's about to come out has been sitting just beneath the surface, waiting to explode.

“You want the truth?”

“Yes,” I snap, the word pushed out on a breath. “Please.”

His jaw flexes. A muscle ticks in his cheek.

“You should stop fucking with my head.”

The words land like a slap, but it's his voice—low, rough, like gravel under pressure—that makes my stomach twist.

My mouth goes dry. “What does that even mean?”

He laughs—bitter and sharp. “Your husband.Ethan. He deserves better than you eye-fucking your colleagues across the room.”

For a moment, I can’t breathe. Can’t think. His words don’t just hurt—they cut. Emotions rise too fast, too hot. If I let them loose, they’ll wreck me. So instead, I sink. Numb. Hollow. Gone.

“That wasn’t Ethan,” I say, voice splintered and low.

He stiffens. “So you’re cheating on him with that guy? Nice, Olivia.”

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