Darling

XII

Sebastian

Sebastian Montgomery prided himself on being unflappable. For years, his world had been neatly ordered, a fortress of discipline and self-restraint that allowed him to build an empire. Yet, here he was, sitting in his office, unable to push Clementine Hill from his mind.

He told himself it was irritation. She had, after all, brought a puppy into the office—a breach of professionalism he normally wouldn't tolerate. But the truth was far murkier, a nagging curiosity that unsettled him.

He replayed the moment his daughters described Beau, their laughter ringing in his ears. They rarely spoke so enthusiastically about anything, and it wasn't the dog alone that had captured their interest—it was Clementine, with her warm smile and easy charm.

The knock at his office door pulled him from his thoughts. Hannah entered, her expression carefully neutral as she informed him of his next meeting.

"Thank you," he said briskly, dismissing her with a nod.

But even as he immersed himself in the day's tasks, his thoughts betrayed him, wandering back to the fiery-haired woman whose presence in his life was proving to be anything but insignificant.

......

Sebastian Montgomery never dreamt of Eleanor anymore.

Not because he had forgotten her—he never could—but because her presence in his life had seeped so deeply into his bones that even his subconscious seemed to understand. There was no need for dreams when she was already everywhere.

She lived in the scent of his daughters' hair, faint traces of jasmine and vanilla that used to cling to Eleanor's skin after she had spent hours wrapped around him. She haunted his penthouse, the ghost of her laughter woven into the walls, her touch lingering in the places he had tried to erase. She was in the way his hand still curled into a fist when he thought of that night, in the sharp inhale he took when someone whispered her name in passing.

And tonight, she was in Clementine Hill.

It wasn't fair, but as Sebastian sat across from Clementine in the dim glow of the café, watching the way the soft candlelight flickered against her too-expressive blue eyes, something inside him stirred. A slow, agonizing pull in his chest, like a wound he had forgotten to tend.

Clementine was nothing like Eleanor. Not in the way she spoke, not in the way she carried herself. Eleanor had been a storm, reckless and consuming, while Clementine was... what? A spark? A slow burn? He didn't know.

And yet, something about her unsettled him in the exact same way.

"Your daughters are wonderful," Clementine said softly, bringing him back to the present.

Sebastian forced himself to focus, gripping his coffee cup a little too tightly. "They are... spirited."

Clementine smiled, the kind of smile that thawed something in people. "They loved Beau."

He exhaled through his nose. The damn dog.

"They've been asking for a pet for years," he admitted.

She tilted her head, studying him with that quiet curiosity he was starting to find dangerous. "So why not get them one?"

His jaw tensed. Because Eleanor wanted one. Because she had once begged him for a dog, swearing that their children would need something alive and warm to love, something constant.

"I don't have time for a pet," he said instead.

Clementine frowned, but before she could press further, his phone buzzed on the table.