The London sky was a flat gray when Sebastian's car pulled up to ValeTech's headquarters.
Cold, unwelcoming — the city mirrored his mood perfectly.
He stepped out, straightening his coat as the wind swept through the plaza. The towering glass building loomed before him, all sharp edges and reflections. Once, it had felt like victory. Now, it felt like a cage.
Inside, the air buzzed with subdued energy. Heads turned when he entered. Conversations halted. The CEO's return after nearly a week away — unannounced — always made people nervous.
Sebastian strode through the lobby, ignoring the whispers. He could feel them in the air: rumors, speculation, fear. Hargreaves's influence was spreading faster than he'd anticipated.
When he reached his office, his assistant, Clara, was waiting — visibly anxious. "Mr. Vale," she began, "the board requested an emergency meeting. They've been… restless since your trip."
"Restless?" His tone was icy calm. "Or disloyal?"
Clara swallowed. "Sir, there have been concerns about your… priorities."
He knew what that meant.
Ava.
Of course they'd use her against him. The tabloids had finally caught wind of his Paris visit, pairing photos of him arriving at the Ritz with recycled gossip from months ago. The CEO and the Artist. The headlines wrote themselves.
"Set up the meeting," he said. "Ten minutes."
"Yes, sir."
When she left, Sebastian turned to the window. London sprawled beneath him — sleek, alive, indifferent. He thought of Ava's apartment in Paris, the sunlight on her skin, the scent of paint and jasmine. That world felt impossibly far from this one.
But she was the reason he'd come back with fire in his veins. Not to run, not to protect — but to fight.
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The boardroom was already full when he entered. Twelve pairs of eyes followed him as he took his seat at the head of the table. The tension was suffocating.
Edward Hargreaves was there, of course — sitting with a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Sebastian," he said smoothly. "Glad you could finally join us. Paris, was it?"
Sebastian's expression didn't flicker. "It was business."
"Oh?" Hargreaves's tone dripped with mock innocence. "I wasn't aware ValeTech had expanded into the fine arts."
A few members exchanged uneasy glances.
Sebastian folded his hands. "If you're implying that my personal life affects this company, you're mistaken. ValeTech's numbers are the strongest they've been all quarter."
"Yes," Hargreaves said, "but numbers aren't everything. Image matters. Investors talk. They don't like instability at the top."
"Instability?" Sebastian leaned forward, his voice low, controlled. "Or the fact that I refuse to be your puppet?"
The room went still.
Hargreaves's smirk faltered, just slightly.
Sebastian continued, eyes sharp as glass. "You've been sowing doubts since the moment you returned. You leak rumors, undermine decisions, and dress it up as concern for the company. I built ValeTech from the ground up. Don't mistake my silence for weakness."
For a moment, no one moved. The air itself seemed to hum.
Then board member Judith Langford cleared her throat. "Enough. Both of you. This isn't helping anyone."
Sebastian leaned back, gaze never leaving Hargreaves. "You're right. So let's help the company, shall we?"
He opened his briefcase and slid a stack of folders onto the table. "New projections. A restructuring proposal for the innovation wing. It doubles our R&D output by next quarter. Review it before you question my priorities."
He rose to leave. "Meeting adjourned."
The power in his tone left no room for argument.
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Back in his office, the adrenaline faded, leaving behind a dull ache of exhaustion. He loosened his tie, staring out at the skyline again. For all his control, something inside him was unraveling.
He'd spent years mastering every outcome, predicting every threat. But he couldn't calculate Ava. Couldn't confine her to a plan. And that terrified him as much as it thrilled him.
His phone buzzed. A message.
Ava:How did it go?
He smiled despite himself. Just seeing her name steadied him.
Sebastian:As expected. They're sharpening their knives.
Ava:Then sharpen yours better.
Sebastian:Already done. I miss you.
A pause. Then—
Ava:I miss you too. But don't forget who you are, Sebastian. The man who fights and wins.
He stared at the words for a long time, then typed back:
Sebastian:You're the only thing I've ever wanted to lose to.
Her reply didn't come right away. But it didn't need to. He could feel her in the silence — like paint drying, slow and sure, leaving traces that never fade.
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That night, he stayed late, poring over contracts, proposals, anything to keep his mind busy. Yet every time he looked up, he imagined her beside him — barefoot, laughing, sunlight in her hair.
At midnight, Clara returned with coffee and hesitation. "Sir, you should go home."
He glanced at the untouched pile of papers. "Home?"
He almost laughed. He didn't even know what that meant anymore.
After she left, he wandered down to the lobby — to her mural.
The colors seemed different now. Deeper somehow. The light hit the wall in such a way that he could almost see her hands in every brushstroke, her spirit in every line.
He reached out, fingertips grazing the painted surface. "You shouldn't haunt me," he whispered. "But you do."
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Across the Channel, in Paris, Ava stood in her studio, staring at a blank canvas. She'd been trying to paint since morning, but nothing came. Every stroke felt wrong.
Her phone buzzed. A text.
Sebastian:Couldn't sleep. Thinking of you.
She smiled, warmth unfurling in her chest. Then she replied:
Ava:Then think of this — the way the morning light looked on my skin. The way you said my name.
He didn't respond for several minutes. When he did, it was only one word:
Sebastian:Always.
Ava put the phone down, heart racing, and finally lifted her brush.
This time, the color came easily — crimson, gold, storm-gray — a collision of love and strength.
Two hearts separated by distance, but bound by fire.
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In London, Sebastian stood in the dark, watching the mural shimmer under the city lights.
He could almost hear her voice: Don't forget who you are.
He smiled faintly, a promise forming in his chest.
He wouldn't.
And when the time was right, he'd make sure the world knew exactly who she was, too — the woman who painted her way into his soul and refused to leave.
......