Three years ago…
Elizabeth
I woke up the next morning feeling utterly wrecked from the four rounds of sex we'd had. Geez—my boyfriend was a jet in bed.
Every muscle ached, especially my thighs. But I couldn't even complain. It had been the wildest, most intoxicating joyride, and though I had fallen asleep close to four in the morning, I went down smiling. The last thing I remembered was his voice in my ear, whispering that he'd be leaving at daybreak for Germany.
The morning sun slipped through the curtains, warm rays spilling across my face. My lashes fluttered, and I groaned, turning my head away from the light.
That's when I noticed it—something pressing lightly against my chest and… lower. My brows knit in confusion. Then my gaze drifted toward the nightstand. A coffee tray sat neatly on the drawer, steam curling from the cup.
My lips parted in surprise. Who brought that? And what exactly was this thing clinging to my body?
Lifting the sheets, I found the answer—small pieces of paper stuck to me. One glued directly onto my flower, another on each breast.
I gasped, then burst out laughing, my cheeks warming. Sebastian. Only him.
"Ouch, Sebastian, you pervert," I muttered with a grin as I peeled the one from below, biting my lower lip at the sting.
His handwriting caught my eye immediately—clean, proud strokes with dramatic curls at the ends, each 'O' shaped like a tiny heart. It was so very him—elegant yet playful.
Clutching the sheets to my chest, I swept my messy hair over one shoulder and began to read the note.
Morning, sunshine. I glued this paper on your flower because it is my favorite part of you…
"This man," I laughed softly, shaking my head. "He's such a pervert."
But my smile only grew as I read on.
For the record, honey—Sebastian is a man full of pride who doesn't know how to cook, or even how to turn on the gas cooker. But thank God for the existence of YouTube. They made this breakfast a success. And thanks to my brother, Antoni, who told me breakfast in bed is really romantic.
I glanced at the coffee tray again and smiled softly. So, it really was him who made this.
The image of Sebastian in the kitchen—broad shoulders hunched, apron tied around his waist, maybe stirring a pot with that impatient scowl of his—was too ridiculous to imagine. I almost burst out laughing.
I bit my lip as I peeled off another note from my breast. Damn, he glued this one on so tight. When exactly had he done it? I must have been dead asleep.
As I tugged the paper free, a small black card slipped onto my lap. My brows shot up. Picking it up, I read the print—Debit and Credit—with Sebastian's full name embossed in silver.
My jaw dropped. Did he really stick his electronic card on my breast too?
"This guy is a psychopath," I muttered, shaking my head with a grin.
I refocused on the note and read aloud softly:
Hi, baby. My mouth can't stop getting enough of your orange-sized breasts. I'm glad they're growing bigger these days. All thanks to me, hon.
I flushed, pressing the sheets to my chest. "Such a stupid boy."
But the rest of the message melted me.
This is an unlimited card. I know you're anxious about it, and I understand how frugal you are when it comes to savings and management. That's another thing I love about you. Sugar, I want you to take this card and use it whenever you like, wherever you go. You can't be my girlfriend and still spend your money on petty things. Spend ours instead, okay? And please, don't reject it.
My heart clenched as I smiled, eyes softening. "Aww, this is so generous of you, honey."
I wondered just how many billions of dollars were tucked inside this card. My fingers lingered over it, staring at it with wide puppy eyes, before I gently set it on the drawer and reached for the sandwich.
One bite in and my eyes closed in bliss. God, this is so good.
Sebastian might be a storm on the outside—dangerous, impossible, always commanding—but inside… there was a sweetness, a quiet tenderness that showed up in moments like this. The sandwich didn't even taste like something he would've made. It was perfect, layered with varieties I loved.
I washed it down with a sip of matcha. The warmth spread through me, creamy with just the right amount of milk. My lips curled into a smile. How did he even know this is how I like my coffee?
By the time I reached for the last slice of sandwich, I remembered—there was still one more piece of paper stuck to me.
I peeled it off carefully, my smile broadening as I read his final message:
Baby, you're like a drug to me. I just can't get enough of you every day. I'm so addicted I'm losing my mind. You're killing my focus mode. People are noticing. People are talking. One even plans on coming over to have a word with you. She hopes you'll tell her what type of black magic you used on me so she can try it on her boyfriend too…
I burst into laughter, shaking my head. "I didn't use any black magic on you, Sebastian. It's called love."
She's downstairs in a purple dress, waiting for you.
Really?
Did Sebastian actually give someone permission to come question me? He can't be serious.
I rolled out of bed, still drowsy, and in the process my forefinger knocked against the drawer's knob, sliding it open.
My brows shot up instantly.
Condoms. Stacks and stacks of them, filling the white drawer like treasure. Wait a damn minute. Didn't Sebastian say he ran out of them last night?
I groaned, rubbing my temple. Typical Sebastian. Of course he didn't ran out of condoms in the first place.
I thought of changing into the purple party dress I wore yesterday, but then remembered—it was ripped apart in the chaos of his hungry passion. The torn fabric lay scattered on the floor, alongside what remained of my red underwear. Wrecked. Shredded. Honestly, that's how I lost most of my clothes whenever he was in one of his moods.
With a sigh, I slipped into a grey bathrobe and padded downstairs to meet this mysterious "visitor."
The second I stepped outside, my heart stopped. My eyes nearly fell out of their sockets.
Oh. My. God.
There it was—a sleek, dazzling purple Chevrolet Corvette E-Ray parked right in front of me, gleaming under the morning sun like it had been sculpted from pure desire.
On the windshield, hundreds of red roses spelled out the words:
I'M SORRY, SUGAR.
And sitting proudly on the hood—an elegant car key.
I clapped a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the scream bubbling inside me. My eyes stung with sudden tears. This couldn't be real. It had to be a dream. And if it was—I never wanted to wake up.
A sports car. Not just any car—a 638-horsepower beast. All for me.
My legs felt weak as I walked closer, fingertips brushing over the smooth, flawless bonnet. The body gleamed like velvet steel, every curve begging to be admired.
My trembling hand reached for the key. A note was tied neatly to the holder.
Please, don't call me expensive. Plus, I won't take NO for an answer.
A tear escaped as I laughed softly, whispering, "I won't reject you either, honey."
I pressed the button on the holder. The headlights blinked alive, and I squealed, clapping like a little girl.
I pressed another. The engine purred to life, low and seductive, like a promise whispered against my ear.
I giggled through my tears. This is so beautiful. I want to ride it right now, to drive until the horizon disappears, to explore the whole world.
God, this isn't just a car—it's a jet on wheels!
I squealed, bouncing around my new Corvette like a kid on Christmas morning. Every curve, every gleam of the paintwork felt like it was smiling back at me.
Later, once I managed to calm down, I hurried back to my room, clutching my phone. I had to thank Sebastian properly.
The call rang a few times before his voicemail picked up, his deep voice echoing in Polish:
"Hej, to jest S.J.L.J. Wiesz, co robić."
(Hey, this is S.J.L.J. You know what to do.)
My throat tightened.
"Sebastian…" I whispered, my voice already trembling. "I feel like crying right now. Your surprises were so unexpected and beautiful. I wasn't expecting any of it, and Sebastian…" I sniffled, a joyful sob breaking loose. "I love you. I love you so much—to the moon and back. I don't even know how to repay your love for me. Or your glorious kindness. This is just too much, baby. Please… come home soon. We need to celebrate this. I miss you, honey."
I ended the message with wet lashes, then wiped my eyes quickly before grabbing my phone again.
Selfies. Lots of them. Me with the car, me hugging the hood, me grinning like I'd just won the lottery. I sent them all to Bianca and Natasha.
The replies came instantly.
Natasha: Damn, bitch. Is that your new car? 😳
Me: An apology present. 💃
Bianca: This guy is a pussy lover. 🤯 Antoni rewarded me a brand-new Lambo for my efforts in bed.
Natasha: Ahaha! 😂 That's to match your speed, I guess. Try being on top next time and see what he does next. 😏
Bianca: I love you, bitch. 😘
Me: Hey, can you guys stop talking nonsense? Thank you. 🙄
Natasha: Hi, former virgin. Were you on top? Because this horsepower sports vibe says you were. 🔥
Bianca: For someone like Lizzy, I bet she's praying during sex hours. 😉
Me: 😡
Natasha: Or better yet screaming: "Yes, Jesus! I love you! Yes, I'm coming to church! I'm coming—I'm almost there!" 😈
Bianca: 🤣 I love your vibes, Tasha. You're a dick sucker.
Me: You two are absurd. 😤 I'm leaving.
Natasha: To where?
Me: Shower, bitch.
Bianca: 😱 Tasha, Holy Mary just said "bitch."
Natasha: 😂 Yeah, she's going to sex in the bathroom. Mr. Pussy Lover is waiting. Hurry up. Have fun.
Bianca: 👋 And don't forget to take us out. We need to celebrate the arrival of the purple bitch.
I rolled my eyes, tossing the phone back onto the bed. My two buddies could be really annoying, but still—they were the kind of people you wanted around, chaos and all.
---
Hours passed. I kept checking my phone, hoping Sebastian had sent a text, or at least a missed call. Nothing.
I tried calling again. Straight to voicemail. My chest tightened with disappointment. I typed a quick message—simple, not too clingy.
Hi. Just checking on you. You good?
Silence. He didn't even open it. Maybe he really was busy.
I sat in the lounge with the TV droning on in the background, but my mind wasn't with the screen. Instead, I kept thinking about him—and what I could do to thank him properly.
Then, suddenly, an idea lit up in my mind. Something bold. Something unforgettable.
It took me more than two hours to get everything ready. By the time I was done, the clock read past seven. Still no sign of him. No familiar roar of his car outside.
With a sigh, I went upstairs to freshen up and change. If Sebastian was going to walk through that door late, then fine—at least I'd be looking irresistible.
Thanks to Bianca, queen of makeup, I had a dozen looks to choose from. I stood in front of the mirror with two dresses laid out: a mini yellow dress and a pink A-line.
After some back-and-forth, I settled on the yellow. Bright, daring, hopeful.
I styled my long dark hair into a sleek Barbie ponytail, clipped on my pearl earrings, and slipped my feet into silver kitten heels.
One last glance in the mirror. Perfect.
The wall clock blinked 8:19. Still, no rumble of his engine outside. No shadow of him at the door.
My heart sank a little.
Where was he?
I couldn't help but feel uneasy. Sebastian hadn't spoken to me since morning—not a single call, not even a message. My heart kept whispering worries, though I tried to shake them off.
At exactly 8:30, just as I reached for my phone to dial his number again, I heard the front door creak open. My pulse quickened. I hurried to the stairs, and there he was—standing in the doorway, shoulders heavy, looking completely drained.
Yet somehow, even through the exhaustion, he smiled.
"Hey."
That simple curve of his lips unraveled all my worries. I never understood how his smile could do that, but it always did.
"Sebastian." I descended the stairs and wrapped myself around him.
He kissed my forehead softly, his hand tilting my chin up with delicate care. "You're still awake?"
I snorted. "It's only 8:32. Too early to sleep. Besides, I was waiting for you—we're supposed to have dinner together."
His brows lifted slightly. "Dinner? What's the occasion?"
I pulled back a little, narrowing my eyes. "Don't tell me you've forgotten what you did for me today."
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
"I nearly had a—"
"Mini heart attack," he finished for me, smirking. He knew my words too well.
I cupped my cheeks, overwhelmed. "Sebastian, that was too much. Way beyond what I ever expected."
He touched my face gently, smiling as if I was the only thing keeping him standing. "And you're far too much for a man like me."
My brows furrowed, my voice soft with protest. "Don't say that. You're everything. I mean it—I'm truly grateful, honey."
His gaze softened. "Do you like the car? I can change it if it doesn't fit your taste."
I blinked. Was he serious? "Sebastian, no. I love it—it's perfect. Thank you."
He leaned down, brushing his lips against mine. "You're always so appreciative, no matter how small. Even if it's just a pen. Women like you… they're rare."
Heat crept up my face as I bit my lip, unable to stop the blush. "That's just how I was raised—to be grateful for everything."
His eyes lingered on me, drifting down to my outfit. "You look beautiful in yellow."
My lips curved shyly. "Thank you." I slipped my fingers through his and tugged him gently. "Come with me."
He arched a brow. "Where to?"
"To the dining room."
"Wait—" he smirked knowingly. "Did you cook again?"
"Yup."
We stepped into the dining room, and the moment Sebastian laid eyes on the table, his expression widened in disbelief.
"Honey… is there a party happening here, or did you secretly invite a whole group date without telling me?"
I burst out laughing. Trust him to find humor in everything.
"Darling, this is just my little token of appreciation. Do you like it?"
His gaze darted across the spread of dishes, too astonished to respond properly.
"Please tell me the chef helped you with all this."
I twirled a strand of my ponytail with a mischievous grin. "Well… all work and no play makes Jobb a dull boy, right? I gave him the day off. And yes, I made everything myself. Italian, Polish, Portuguese, American, Brazilian, Spanish, Japanese—you name it."
He went silent, just staring at me with a mixture of awe and disbelief, until finally he walked over and pressed his lips against mine.
"Babe… this is too much."
I brushed my thumb over his lips, whispering against them. "You spoiled me with surprises today. Now it's my turn."
His brow arched. "But how did you manage to cook all of this by yourself?"
I shrugged lightly. "I just picked a few favorites from different cuisines. It's nothing much."
He let out a long sigh, his expression softening. "I don't need to taste them to know they're amazing. They already smell heavenly."
I squealed, clapping my hands together. "Aww, thank you, boyfriend. But you still have to try something from the menu."
He pulled out a chair and sat down. "Fine. I'll start with the Spaghetti Bolognese."
Smiling, I walked toward the bar. "It's your house, so serve yourself while I get us some drinks. What would you like?"
The faint clinking of cutlery against plates echoed behind me. His voice came muffled, as though he was already chewing. "There are so many continental wines on the shelf. Pick whatever you're having—I'll join you."
I scanned through the endless collection of glassware neatly displayed: classic ceramic mugs, travel tumblers, espresso cups, glass mugs, stoneware, enamel, stainless steel, novelty mugs, even giant mugs. Then came the cocktails—martini glasses, coupes, highballs, rocks, Collins, Nick and Nora, margarita, zombie, copper.
Honestly, how many glasses did one man need? The shelves looked more like a luxury boutique than a home bar.
"You know," I called out, still searching for something simple, "I'll go with wine tonight because of you. But nothing too strong. I don't want anything overly alcoholic."
"Check the middle row," his voice came again, words half swallowed by food. "There's one made with beetroot and glucose syrup. Should be light enough."
I searched the shelf carefully for the wine he'd mentioned. It took me longer than expected—there were just too many bottles lined up, each more intimidating than the last.
Finally, I spotted two nearly identical ones, though the labels were written in some foreign script I couldn't make sense of. One read 50% alcohol, the other 2%. I guessed the lighter one was the safe bet.
"Got it," I called out, taking the bottle with me to the dining room.
I sat down, uncorked it, and poured into two glasses before sliding one to him. "Here you go."
"Thank you." He raised it politely, took a sip, and sighed in contentment. "This meal tastes incredible."
I smiled, serving myself a portion of what he had on his plate. "It sure does."
For a while, silence lingered—comfortable, yet heavy—until I looked up and found his gaze locked on me, his expression softened with something that looked like guilt.
"Sorry I couldn't answer your calls and voicemails earlier. I—"
"I know you've been busy all day," I cut in gently, finishing his sentence for him. "I understand."
And I truly did.
He exhaled, almost as if my words had unburdened him. "How do you manage to be so good?"
I laughed lightly. "How?"
He swirled his glass, twisting his lips into a faint smile. "I don't think there's another person in the world with your kind of heart."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "Sebastian, let's not talk about me, baby. Let's talk about you."
He raised a brow, amused. "Me?"
"Yes, you." I leaned forward eagerly. "I want to know more about you. Since we've been together, we haven't really dug deep into each other's lives."
"Alright, baby." He set down his fork, intertwining his fingers on the table as though giving me his full attention. "I'm here. What do you want to know?"
I hesitated, nibbling my lower lip before asking, "What's your ideal woman?"
Was I pushing too far? Too soon?
He chuckled, a soft snort escaping as if I had caught him off guard. "Okay, that's an unexpected question. Like a bullet out of nowhere. Honestly, I've never given it much thought… because I already have you."
I narrowed my eyes playfully. "Come on, Seb. You'll get married someday. I need to know."
He leaned back, studying me with that quiet intensity of his, then chuckled again. "But you are my ideal woman."
I blinked, surprised.
"I'm serious," he added with a firm nod. "I can't be with you and still think of some other woman. That wouldn't make sense."
"Okay," I pressed, tilting my head with a stubborn smile. "How about you think of us not existing yet and just tell me—what would your future wife look like? I still need to know."
His expression softened into something unreadable, a flicker of seriousness darkening his eyes. "What if the woman I want to marry is already hovering around me, and she doesn't even know it?"
I shrugged lightly, pretending not to let my heartbeat give me away. "Well… then she won't know until you tell her first."
He held my gaze for a long moment, his eyes brimming with emotions that seemed too heavy for words. "Babe…?"
"Yes?" I asked, caught in the gravity of his stare.
"Are you sure you want to know how she looks?" His voice dipped into a whisper, almost trembling with hesitation.
I nodded firmly, even though my heart was pounding. "Precisely. I want to know."
Inside, I prayed—please let it be me. I wanted to be the woman he pictured in his future, the one he would stand before one day and vow forever to. But I couldn't bring myself to be the one to ask for that. It wouldn't feel right.
"She's just like you," he finally said, and my heart melted, every beat echoing in joy. "She has all your qualities. Beautiful, just like you are. A body that carries grace and strength… and eyes so wonderful they could steal any man's heart."
I blinked rapidly as my eyes grew wet, but I refused to let the tears spill. "She'll be so lucky to have you," I whispered, my voice faltering under the weight of my emotions.
He shook his head, the sadness clouding his gaze like endless rain with no sun. "No… I'll be the lucky one to have her. Because with my kind of lifestyle, the things I've done, I don't think I deserve a woman—let alone a good one."
My chest ached at the heaviness in his words. I reached across the table, taking his hand into mine and squeezing tightly. "Hey… don't say that. You're not a bad person to be with. You're a man of joy, Sebastian. If other people can't see that in you… I do. Okay?"
He lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss against it. The soft warmth of his mouth against my skin sent a shiver through me, electric and tender all at once.
"I love you," he whispered, fragile yet certain.
And I smiled, my voice steady though my heart trembled. "Love you more."