Page 23 of Forever His Favorite
Reluctantly, he eased his grip, though his gaze burned as she lifted the phone to her ear.
The line clicked, and Lucas’s voice came through.
“Didn’t you want your designs back? They’re being exhibited at the Manhattan Elite Private Yacht. Come take them.”
Emily’s blood turned to ice. Her fingers clenched around the phone, pulse thundering. Before she could answer, the line went dead, the abrupt silence more chilling than words.
Silence pressed inside the car.
She glanced at Sebastian. His jaw was taut, his expression dark, though his voice was calm when he asked, “Do you want them back? If you don’t want to go, I’ll get them for you.”
Emily swallowed, shaking her head. “Seeing him hurts me. Just thinking about my past with him hurts. But I can’t keep running away every time I see him. I want to move on.”
Sebastian’s features softened. He reached over, threading his strong fingers through hers. “Then I’ll go with you.”
Her eyes shimmered with gratitude as she nodded, squeezing his hand.
An hour later, their Mercedes pulled to a stop at the harbor. Together, they stepped out, the salty wind rushing over them, carrying the faint perfume of sea and champagne. Ahead, amassive yacht loomed like a floating palace, its gleaming white exterior glowing beneath the late sunlight, strings of lights already shimmering like fallen stars along its rails. Music and laughter spilled across the water, carried on the breeze.
Sebastian and Emily ascended the steps hand in hand. Emily’s heart was steady—until the moment her heels touched the polished deck. She had expected emptiness, silence. Instead, what she found made her breath falter.
The yacht wasn’t quiet. It was alive.
Guests in glittering gowns and tailored suits roamed the deck, champagne flutes in hand, their laughter mingling with the music. Inside, the hall was ablaze with light and admiration. All eyes on the displays in the room. And everywhere she looked—
Her chest squeezed violently.
Her designs that Amelia had stolen.
Every piece stood proudly on its pedestal, each jewel catching the fire of the crystal light. Beneath them, engraved in bold letters, was her name:
Designer and Owner: Emily Crawford
Her chest tightened. Lucas had poured a fortune into this. Since the designs were officially credited to her, they were unsellable. These weren’t for business, they were for show.
For her.
A gallery built entirely in her name.
As Sebastian and Emily stepped further inside, a wave of whispers rippled through the crowd.
Heads turned. Conversations clipped mid-sentence. One by one, the crowd’s attention swiveled to the entrance, to them—no, to her. Emily Crawford. Her hand laced securely with Sebastian’s.
Across the hall, Dillon stiffened, his glass nearly slipping from his fingers. He leaned to Lucas, voice sharp and urgent. “Ms. Crawford is here. But she didn’t come alone. She came with Mr. Graves.”
Lucas froze. His body locked, shoulders rigid as if struck by lightning.
He had expected Emily to come alone. Not withhim. That man. That bastard who now held her hand.
“Lucas?” Taylor gripped his arm, concern flashing across his face. “Are you alright?”
But Lucas couldn’t answer. His eyes were chained to the entrance, his entire being suffocating in the sight of her smile, soft and unguarded, turned up at Sebastian.
A current rippled through the hall. Guests pressed closer, their murmurs sharpening.
“Miss Crawford,” one gentleman greeted warmly, bowing his head with a reverence that prickled Lucas’s skin, “these designs are extraordinary. The best work I’ve seen in years. It’s true. No copy can ever match the original. I’m sorry you had to suffer such injustice.”
Another leaned forward, brows arching. “Though I must admit, I’m surprised. This entire exhibition was arranged by Mr. Cantrell, wasn’t it? And yet you’re standing here with Mr. Graves. Did he perhaps commission these works for you?”
