Three years ago…
Narrator
The sermon was over, and Elizabeth stood alone at the bus station, clutching her phone as she patiently waited for the third bus that seemed like it would never arrive. The crowd from church had mostly dispersed. Some had caught earlier buses, others had booked rides home.
It was getting darker by the minute, and her patience was wearing thin.
Just as she considered booking an Uber, a sleek black Ferrari F8 Tributo / SF90 Stradale pulled up in front of her with a low, growling hum. The kind of sound that only came from expensive engines and power beneath the hood.
Elizabeth blinked, wondering if the driver had mistaken her for someone else. Holding her phone a little tighter, she stepped aside—only for the car to roll forward and match her movement.
Her brows creased in confusion and a hint of annoyance. Was he... following her?
Then the tinted passenger window rolled down.
And there he was.
Sebastian.
Her heart jumped into her throat. Of all places… here? At the church station?
Seeing him without his usual convoy of bodyguards or chauffeur was startling enough, but the fact that he was behind the wheel, alone, was even more puzzling.
For a man of his status—someone constantly surrounded by power, influence, and rumors—what was he doing here?
He leaned slightly toward the open window, his voice smooth and familiar.
"Hey, Ms. Holy. Where are you off to at this hour?"
He'd been calling her that for three years now, ever since she started working for him.
Elizabeth's shoulders tensed involuntarily. She always did when he spoke. Something about the way he carried his voice—calm, deep, commanding, with just a trace of mischief—always made her feel a bit... disoriented.
She clutched her satchel tighter, as if it could anchor her to reality. Her lips wobbled as she searched for words—any words—but nothing seemed right.
Reading her hesitation, Sebastian gestured with a slight nod.
"Get in. I'll drop you off. It's not safe for a woman to be out this late."
It wasn't a question. It was concern—calm, yet firm.
And though Elizabeth was still stunned by his unexpected presence, she knew this much: Sebastian had never been cruel to her. Not once. Despite the murmurs from his household staff. Despite the warnings from Bianca and Natasha.
He had only ever shown her kindness.
"Okay, sir," she whispered and slowly slid into the passenger seat.
Inside, it was another world—luxurious, immaculate, foreign. The leather seats smelled of something expensive. The digital dashboard glowed faintly. She fastened her seatbelt and stared out the window, doing everything she could not to look at him.
The silence between them was heavy, pressing in from all sides.
She wished they could just teleport to her apartment.
Then, his voice broke through the air again—low, teasing.
"Do I look like I bite, Ms. Holy?"
"Hmm?" She turned slightly, confused.
"I said," he repeated more softly, "do I look like I bite?"
His eyes remained focused on the road, but there was amusement dancing in his tone.
She didn't reply. Instead, she studied him. The way his tattooed arm rested on the steering wheel, the relaxed confidence with which he controlled the powerful car. He shifted gears effortlessly—his movements smooth, efficient, perfect.
His dark hair was tied into a low ponytail. The streetlights flickered off the strands like ink and silk. His light brown eyes appeared almost black in the dimness.
It was only the second time Elizabeth had studied him like this—openly, curiously, almost reverently.
God had taken His time with this one.
Then his voice came again, deep and steady.
"Do you have anything important to do at home?"
She snapped her eyes away from him, caught in the act.
"N–No, sir," she said, suddenly preoccupied with her fingers.
A pause.
"Are you hungry?"
The question struck her square in the stomach. Hungry? How did he know?
She had skipped dinner before church, thinking she'd eat afterward, but now…
"Well… I'll eat when I get home," she replied quietly.
He didn't respond immediately. He seemed to take his time with answers, as if weighing the importance of even her smallest words.
Then, he said simply:
"I'll treat you to dinner."
Elizabeth's head snapped toward him.
Did he treat everyone this way? Was this normal?
"So," he added casually, "what restaurant do you want to go to?"
She hesitated. His tone was gentle, offering. But the thought of him spending unnecessary money on her didn't sit well.
"Sir, I think that's a waste of money," she said honestly.
He glanced sideways, brow raised. "How?"
"I know it's your treat," she clarified, "but just imagine—if one meal costs 500 zloty, that's 1000 for two people. That's about $265.61! Sir, do you know what $265.61 can buy?"
Sebastian, caught off guard by her sudden burst of financial calculations, blinked. Then—without even knowing why—he shook his head like an obedient schoolboy.
The car came to a stop at a red light, giving him a chance to really look at her.
One arm rested on the wheel, the other on the door, his eyes fixed on her lips as she continued passionately:
"My God, how can you be that reckless, Mr. Jakub?" she muttered under her breath. Sebastian's brow twitched in mock offense, but she was too absorbed to notice.
"I could go to the grocery store right now with 400 zloty and stock up the kitchen for an entire month. A full month!"
He found himself fighting a grin. Her logic. Her earnestness. Her fire.
"You must be very frugal, Ms. Holy," he chuckled.
"Frugal?" she huffed. "After seeing the economy lately? You have to learn to manage. I'd rather cook a full meal with 200 zloty than spend double on a single plate outside."
With a dramatic huff, she crossed her arms.
Sebastian laughed—a rich, genuine sound. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had entertained him this way. He certainly didn't expect it from her.
"Ms. Holy," he said between laughs, "the shoes I'm wearing cost over a million U.S. dollars. Trust me—restaurant meals are pocket change."
Elizabeth gasped, facepalming. "Oh my God! I'm not even surprised. You men and your love for wasting money on nonsense."
She shook her head and stayed quiet for a while.
But Sebastian… didn't want the conversation to end.
He found her voice soothing. The way she ranted, argued, calculated—it was music to his ears.
Then, she hesitated… and said something she nearly regretted.
"How about this," she suggested. "Take me to the grocery store instead. It's still early. I'll grab a few things and cook something nice at your place. Just to prove a point—that homemade meals are cheaper, richer, and healthier than restaurant food."
Sebastian considered her for a moment.
Then, without a word, he gave her a slow, approving thumbs up.