Chapter 5: A Blackwell Christmas

For three days, I lived with that Christmas invitation on my desk like it was an active threat. Every time I walked past it, my chest tightened. Every time I reached for my phone I expected a message that would cancel it. Or worse, a message that would explain it.

Neither happened. And the silence made everything worse.

By Christmas night, my nerves were so shot I could barely breathe, yet I had never wanted anything as badly as I wanted to walk through those doors again. This time with permission. This time because he had given it to me.

The Uber slowed at the front gates of the Blackwell estate and for a second I thought my heart stopped. The mansion looked different under winter light. Every tree that lined the long driveway was wrapped in white lights that shimmered like frost. Tall gold lanterns flickered from the ground all the way to the entrance. The entire place looked unreal, like a holiday set built for a movie with an endless budget.

I stepped out of the car and pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders. My breath fogged in the cold air. Guests were already filing toward the entrance in gowns and tailored suits that probably cost more than my rent for a year.

I was shaking and tried to hide it. This felt too big for me. Too bright. Too sharp. Too Blackwell.

The gift box flashed through my mind. That black and red ribbon. His handwriting in gold on the tag. The line he had left for me. This time you do not need to walk in without an invitation, Mr Hartley.

I swallowed and forced myself to take the steps up to the tall glass entrance. The moment I crossed the threshold, heat and light hit me all at once.

The foyer had been transformed into a winter paradise. Frosted trees stood along the walls, each branch covered in white twinkling lights. A massive chandelier overhead shimmered like falling snow frozen in place. The entire room glowed white and gold. A string quartet played soft classical music from an elevated balcony.

Servers moved gracefully through the crowd in perfect uniforms, offering champagne that looked too delicate to drink. Every guest looked like they were born to belong here.

Everyone except me. At least that was how it felt.

My chest tightened again. I tried to breathe slowly, to look calm, to blend in. But every sense I had was pulled in one direction. There was a heavy awareness inside me, a weight of anticipation. I did not see him yet, but something in me already reacted to the idea that he was closeby.

I accepted a glass of champagne from a passing tray and forced myself to wander. People greeted me. Some asked who I knew. Some assumed I was a waiter. I answered politely, but my mind was nowhere near them.

All I could think about was the man who had stood before me in a dim room, nake’d skin glistening with sweat, steady eyes pinning me in place. The man whose fingers had tipped my chin up as if he owned my breath.

Then it happened. The crowd shifted. People parted. And I saw him.

Sebastian appeared at the top of the sweeping staircase dressed in a black elegant winter suit that fit him with impossible precision. The cut of his shoulders. The clean lines. The subtle silver Blackwell crest like a glint of ice against his chest.

He paused at the landing, looking over the crowd. Calm. In control. Beautiful in a way that made something inside me clench.

Then his eyes found me. Just for a second. But it hit like a shock under my ribs.

His expression changed in a way most people would miss. Not a smile. More like awareness. Recognition. Something warmer than it should have been. Something that felt too private for a room of two hundred people.

Heat crawled up my neck. I looked away first because I could not hold that look without my knees reacting.

He started down the stairs.

He moved like he belonged to the house and the light and the air itself. Guests stopped him to greet him or shake his hand, and he handled each one perfectly. Polite. Charming. Effortless.

But his attention kept drifting back to me. A few seconds at a time. Enough to raise every hair on my skin.

I wandered deeper into the main hall, pretending to study decorations. The tension only grew the closer he got. I could feel it like a warm pulse in the room. Like a current pulling us toward each other.

When he finally reached me, I felt it before I saw him. A presence at my side. A shift in the air. Then his voice, smooth and low, close enough that it did not carry.

“You came, Mr Hartley.”

I turned, somehow managing not to look startled. He look even more devastatingly hot up close. The suit. The way his hair was neatly styled. The soft winter scent on him. Everything about him looked composed. Elegant. Untouchable. Except his eyes. They held something else tonight. Something sharper.

I tried to speak normally. “I did. I thought it would be rude not to.”

He looked at my suit, slow and deliberate. “You look very cute tonight.”

My pulse jumped hard. Cute. From a man who looked like this.