Darling

IV

Sebastian

Sebastian Montgomery woke before dawn, as was his custom, to the faint hum of the city outside his penthouse windows. The London skyline stretched out in a mosaic of lights, blurred slightly by the misty drizzle that seemed to cloak the city most mornings. From his bedroom's floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see the Tower Bridge looming in the distance, a sight that never failed to ground him, even amidst the ever-turning gears of his demanding life.

At forty-four, Sebastian had built an empire that spanned continents, encompassing real estate, technology, and luxury goods. He had long since earned a reputation as a man who turned everything he touched into gold—a reputation he wore like an armour. Yet his mornings remained remarkably simple, a ritual of order amidst the chaos.

The kettle hissed softly in his sleek, minimalist kitchen. His housekeeper had left fresh pastries on the counter, but Sebastian ignored them, opting instead for his usual breakfast: a black coffee and a bowl of porridge. He ate at the marble island, scanning the digital newspaper on his tablet, his dark chestnut hair catching the faint glow of the screen. His mornings were his own, stolen moments before the relentless demands of the day took hold.

By 6:30 a.m., Sebastian was suited and ready, his tailored charcoal three-piece a second skin. He adjusted his tie in the mirror, his sharp blue eyes scrutinising his reflection. His daughters would wake soon, and he wanted to be there to kiss them goodbye before their nanny took them to school.

The sound of giggles echoed down the hallway as Amelia and Isabelle bounded into the room, still in their pyjamas, their auburn hair wild from sleep. Seven years old and full of boundless energy, they were the only part of his life that seemed untouched by the meticulous order he imposed on everything else.

"Daddy, look what we made!" Amelia held up a lopsided drawing of what appeared to be their family—including their beloved Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, Winston—standing in front of a castle.

Sebastian crouched to their level, a rare softness lighting his features. "A masterpiece," he said, his deep voice gentling. "But you've forgotten something." He tapped his own chest in mock outrage. "Where's my suit? I don't wear jeans, you know."

Amelia giggled while Isabelle rolled her eyes. "It's just a drawing, Daddy."

"Hmm," he said, straightening. "I'll allow it. This time." He kissed the tops of their heads, savoring the brief moment of innocence before the world beckoned him back.

The morning meeting at Montgomery Holdings was, as always, precise and efficient. Sebastian moved through the agenda with the same exactitude he demanded of his board. He addressed reports, made decisions that would impact global markets, and navigated complex negotiations without so much as a furrow in his brow. His team often marveled at how he managed to wield such control, but to Sebastian, it was simply a matter of expectation. He had been forged in the fires of responsibility, his father's legacy pressing on him like a brand since the day he first set foot in the family business.

After the meeting, Sebastian took the lift down to the ground floor of the building, his mind already shifting to the day's next task. It was then, as he crossed the gleaming marble of the lobby, that the incident happened.

He hadn't seen her coming—a petite whirlwind with fiery red hair and a coffee cup in hand. One moment, he was stepping aside to avoid a distracted pedestrian, and the next, warm liquid was seeping into the pristine white of his shirt.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry!" she had stammered, her American accent sharp against the hum of the lobby.

Sebastian stared down at her, his icy blue eyes narrowing. She was young, her expression a chaotic mix of horror and mortification. He didn't miss the tremble in her hands as she fumbled for tissues, her freckled cheeks turning crimson.

"Clearly," he said, his tone as sharp as the line of his jaw. Without another word, he stepped around her, brushing past her frantic apologies as he made his way to his office.

He arrived on the top floor, his sanctuary of glass and steel, and strode directly to his private restroom. As he changed into a fresh shirt from the wardrobe in his office, he found himself replaying the moment in his mind. The woman—whoever she was—had left an impression, though not the kind one usually left on him. Her nervous energy had been palpable, almost endearing, though her lack of awareness had irritated him.

Sebastian dismissed the thought and returned to his desk. He had no time for distractions, and certainly not for the chaotic energy of a young woman who couldn't manage her coffee cup.

By evening, Sebastian found himself at The Gold Finch, a private members' club where he often conducted informal business. It was a space of dark wood panelling and deep leather armchairs, the atmosphere steeped in old-world sophistication. Tonight, he was meeting Richard Hayes, a fellow magnate with whom he was finalising a joint venture.

"Montgomery," Richard greeted him, rising from his seat and extending a hand. "Whiskey?"

Sebastian inclined his head, signalling to the waiter for his usual. He settled into the chair across from Richard, his long fingers curling around the glass as it was placed before him. The amber liquid caught the light, reflecting his mood: calm, controlled, and slightly brooding.

As the conversation turned to their venture—a series of luxury developments in the South of France—Sebastian's focus never wavered. He was a man who listened more than he spoke, his sharp nose and angular features giving him an air of perpetual scrutiny. His trimmed beard, streaked with the faintest hint of silver, only enhanced the aura of authority he carried. He knew that his silence often unnerved people, but he used it to his advantage.

Yet, even as Richard droned on about projections and investors, Sebastian's mind wandered. The coffee incident from the morning resurfaced unbidden, the flash of red hair and wide green eyes intruding on his thoughts. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, dismissing the memory with a faint shake of his head.

He was about to refocus when a movement caught his eye. Across the room, a group had gathered at a table near the bar, their laughter cutting through the low murmur of the club. It was the kind of scene he rarely paid attention to—young professionals unwinding after a long day. But among them, a figure stood out.

The woman from the morning.

She was animated now, her hands gesturing as she spoke, her freckled face lit with laughter. Her red hair was no longer the chaotic mess he remembered but was instead loosely styled, though a few strands escaped, framing her face in a way that was oddly captivating.

Sebastian's gaze lingered for a moment longer than he intended. She was clearly part of the Emerald team, judging by the cluster of people around her—several of whom he recognised from their shared tenancy in his building. He leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable, and turned his attention back to Richard.

But a small, niggling thought remained. The young woman—unpolished, chaotic, and entirely unremarkable in the grand scheme of his life—had somehow managed to breach the well-fortified walls of his mind.

"Montgomery?" Richard's voice cut through his reverie.

"Yes?" Sebastian replied, his tone sharp enough to mask the momentary lapse in attention.

"I was asking about the timelines. You seemed miles away."

Sebastian's lips curved into a faint, polite smile. "Not at all. Proceed."

But as Richard continued, the vision of the woman laughing at the bar lingered in the periphery of his mind, an unwelcome but intriguing presence in a life otherwise dictated by precision and control.