Sebastian Wolfe was already in his office when the sun began to rise.
He always arrived before everyone else.
The building was silent. Calm. Controlled.
Unlike his thoughts.
He hadn't slept properly.
Every time he closed his eyes, he heard her voice from the café.
Cold. Rude. Impossible.
His jaw tightened.
He stared at the code on his screen, but it blurred. His mind replayed her tone instead — frustrated, confused… hurt.
Then the way she had said his name.
Sebastian.
So easily.
When she didn't know he was listening.
His fingers stilled over the keyboard.
The elevator doors opened at exactly 8:02 a.m.
Lillian stepped out.
This time, she wasn't wearing yesterday's clothes.
Her blouse was ivory, soft and clean. Her blazer crisp. Her skirt neatly pressed. Her blonde hair tied back more carefully than usual.
She looked refreshed.
But only on the outside.
The shadows beneath her green eyes betrayed the truth.
She paused outside his office and inhaled slowly.
Then knocked.
"Good morning, Mr. Wolfe."
Inside, Sebastian didn't look up.
Not even a slight nod.
Lillian waited.
Nothing.
She stepped inside anyway. "I've arranged today's meetings. The Henderson call is at ten, and the prototype review has been moved to eleven-thirty."
Silence.
Her fingers tightened around her tablet.
Normally, he would glance at her. Just briefly. Enough to show he heard her.
Today?
He typed calmly, eyes never lifting.
Her chest tightened.
"Mr. Wolfe?" she tried again.
Still nothing.
Her stomach dropped.
Did I upset him?
She stepped closer to his desk. "If I made a mistake, I can fix it."
That made him stop typing.
Slowly, he looked up.
His expression was neutral.
Too neutral.
Instead of answering her question, he tilted his head slightly.
"Why," he asked coolly, "are you calling me Mr. Wolfe?"
She blinked.
"I… because that's your name."
His blue eyes sharpened.
"Yesterday, you seemed perfectly comfortable using my first name."
Her heart stumbled.
The café.
Her cheeks warmed instantly.
"You were there," she whispered.
He didn't confirm it.
He didn't deny it.
His silence was enough.
She swallowed. "I didn't know you were there. I wasn't trying to— I was just talking to Chloe and I—."
"Complaining," he corrected smoothly.
Her face burned. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wolfe."
He stood up.
The movement was slow. Controlled.
But deliberate.
He walked around his desk.
Stopped directly in front of her.
Too close.
"Apologize," he said evenly, "with my first name."
Her pulse spiked.
"That's not appropriate."
"Isn't it?" he replied.
"You're my boss."
"And yesterday?" His eyebrow lifted slightly. "Was I not your boss yesterday?"
"That was different."
"How?"
"I didn't know you were listening!"
"But you said it," he pressed.
Her heart pounded in her ears.
"You're making this into something it's not," she said defensively.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"Say it."
Her breath caught.
"Mr. Wolfe—."
"Sebastian."
The way he said his own name — low, steady — made something flutter unexpectedly in her chest.
Why does that sound so different now?
"I don't think this is professional," she muttered.
He leaned closer.
"Professional?" His voice dropped slightly. "You called me cold. Rude. Impossible. Was that professional?"
Her lips parted.
She didn't have a response.
"I…" She looked down. "I was upset."
"And now?"
She swallowed.
"I'm apologizing."
"Not properly."
Her face flushed deeper. "You're being unreasonable."
"And you're avoiding it."
Silence stretched between them.
He was waiting.
Watching.
Not angry.
But intent.
"Say it," he repeated quietly.
Her heart was racing now for reasons she couldn't fully explain.
It's just his name.
Why does this feel so—
"I'm sorry, S—."
Her voice cracked.
She cleared her throat, flustered.
"I'm sorry, Se… Sebastian."
The name felt intimate.
Heavy.
Personal.
She forced herself to look up.
His expression changed.
Just slightly.
A faint smile curved at the corner of his mouth.
It was subtle.
Brief.
But unmistakable.
He stepped back.
Returned to his desk.
Sat down as if nothing unusual had happened.
"You may leave."
She blinked.
"That's it?"
"Yes."
She stared at him. "You made me say your name just to dismiss me?"
His fingers resumed typing. "You're dismissed."
Her brows drew together. "You're impossible."
He paused.
Looked up again.
"And yet," he said calmly, "you're still here."
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
She turned toward the door.
"Have a productive day, Mr.—."
She stopped herself.
His gaze flicked up.
"…Sebastian," she corrected softly.
That faint smile returned for a split second.
She reached the door.
"You won't be seeing Ethan Bennett anymore."
Her hand froze on the handle.
She turned slowly.
"What does that mean?"
He didn't look at her this time.
"It means," he said calmly, "you won't be seeing him."
Her confusion deepened. "Did something happen?"
"No."
"Did he quit?"
Silence.
"Did you talk to him?" she pressed.
His jaw tightened ever so slightly.
"You won't be seeing him," he repeated.
"That doesn't answer my question."
"It's not meant to."
Her heart skipped.
"Sebastian… what did you do?"
The use of his first name made something flicker in his expression again.
But he didn't answer.
"That will be all, Lillian."
Her chest tightened when he said her name.
She studied his face.
Looking for guilt.
For anger.
For something.
There was nothing but composure.
"I don't understand you," she said quietly.
"That's not required."
The words were cold.
Sharp.
But something underneath them felt different.
She left without another word.
At her desk, she sat down heavily.
New clothes.
New temporary home.
And now this.
He was at the café.
He heard everything.
He forced her to say his name.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving.
Why did it feel different saying it to his face?
Why did he care so much about it?
And what did he mean about Ethan?
Inside his office, Sebastian leaned back in his chair.
He replayed the conversation carefully.
The blush on her cheeks.
The hesitation.
The way she said his name like it meant something.
He exhaled slowly.
He hadn't liked hearing her switch back to "Mr. Wolfe."
It felt distant.
Like she was pulling away.
And after hearing her say his name so easily the night before —
He hadn't wanted that distance.
He glanced briefly at his phone.
Ethan Bennett's access badge had been deactivated at 7:15 a.m.
His termination paperwork was already processed.
Cold.
Efficient.
Final.
Sebastian rested his elbows on the desk and looked toward the glass wall that separated him from her desk outside.
She was working now.
Focused.
Unaware.
He had removed the problem.
In the only way he knew how.
Cruel?
Perhaps.
But effective.
And when it came to protecting what mattered —
Sebastian Wolfe had never been gentle.