Chapter 4 - The Quiet After the Storm
The backseat of the Maybach was silent except for the low, purring rhythm of the engine.
The dark-tinted windows separated them from the bright lights of the hotel driveway, where security guards were already intercepting frantic guests and reporters trying to get close to the vehicle.
Eve sat huddled in the leather seat, clutching Sebastian’s heavy wool jacket tightly around her shoulders. The warmth of his body lingered in the fabric, providing a stark contrast to the lingering chill on her skin where the silk had been torn away. Her hands were still trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the sheer exhaustion of holding back her pride for two straight hours.
Sebastian sat beside her. He had rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt, revealing his powerful forearms and the dark face of his watch.
He didn't speak immediately. He knew his wife well enough to know she needed time to gather her thoughts before the adrenaline wore off. Instead, he reached out, his long fingers gently gently encircling her hand, pulling it down from where she was clutching his lapels.
He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a firm, lingering kiss against her knuckles.
"She touched you," Sebastian said, his voice deep and dark in the dim interior of the car. "She put her hands on you."
"Sebastian," Eve whispered, turning her head to look at him. Her soft brown eyes were tired. "It was just a dress."
"It was not just a dress, Eve," he replied, his gaze locking onto hers with intense severity. "It was an assault. It was a deliberate attempt to strip you of your dignity in front of a crowd that feed on blood. If I had been ten seconds slower—"
"If you had been ten seconds slower, I would have broken her wrist," Eve said quietly.
Sebastian paused. A slow, dark smile tugged at the corner of his lips—the first sign of warmth he had displayed since the incident began.
"I know you would have," he murmured softly. "You've always been far more dangerous than people give you credit for."
"I let her push me because I wanted the auction to succeed," Eve sighed, leaning her head back against the soft leather headrest. "The medical transport campaign needed four hundred thousand dollars tonight to purchase the new pediatric ventilators. If I had started a fight with Celeste Rowan before the main bidding opened, her family’s clique would have walked out and taken their checks with them."
"They are going to write those checks anyway," Sebastian said coldly. "In fact, they are going to write checks twice as large, or I will ensure their businesses do not survive the fiscal quarter."
"Sebastian..." Eve warned softly, reaching out to touch his jaw. "No bloodbaths on my account."
"A bloodbath is the minimum of what they deserve," he said, turning his face into her palm and kissing her center hand. "You give everything to this city, Eve. You build clinics, you work eighteen-hour days, you wear off-the-rack clothes when you aren't forced into evening wear, and you treat every single person with dignity. And these parasites treat you like dirt because you don't wave your money in their faces."
"I don't need to wave my money," Eve said, a small, genuine smile finally touching her lips. "I married the man who waves it for me."
"I don't wave it," Sebastian corrected smoothly, his eyes flashing with lethal intent. "I use it as a weapon."
The car smoothly glided into the underground private garage of their residence—a penthouse spanning the top two floors of the Vale Tower, overlooking the entire lit skyline of the metropolis.
The driver, Marcus, hurried around to open the door, keeping his eyes respectfully lowered. "Good evening, Mrs. Vale. Sir."
"Thank you, Marcus," Eve said softly, stepping out while keeping the jacket wrapped around her broken dress.
Sebastian was beside her instantly, his hand resting firmly on her waist, guiding her toward the private executive elevator that led directly into their home.
The doors slid shut, sealing them in quiet luxury.
As the elevator accelerated upward, Eve looked at her reflection in the mirrored walls. Her dark hair was slightly disheveled; the champagne silk was hanging in rags beneath Sebastian’s oversized jacket, and her shoulder bore a faint red mark where Celeste’s manicured nails had dug into her skin during the rip.
She looked at her husband standing beside her. Without his jacket, his athletic frame was emphasized by the dark waistcoat and his black tie, which he had pulled loose. He was watching her reflection with an expression of pure, unadulterated devotion mixed with a dark, simmering rage.
"You look beautiful," he said softly, stepping up behind her and placing his hands gently on her hips.
May you like
"I look like I survived a street fight," she chuckled faintly.
"You survived a room full of wolves," Sebastian corrected, leaning down to press his lips against the shell of her ear. "And tomorrow, my love... we go hunting."
