The gates to Sebastian Wolfe's mansion slid open silently.
Lillian drove through slowly, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.
The house loomed ahead — sleek glass, cold stone, sharp lines. Modern. Controlled. Just like him.
She parked near the entrance and stepped out into the winter air. It was quiet. Too quiet.
She already knew the code. She already had a key. That wasn't unusual. She had been here before for files and documents.
But today felt different.
Today she wasn't retrieving paperwork.
Today she was packing for a business trip with a man who had barely looked at her without irritation.
She rang the bell anyway. Habit.
A moment later, the door opened.
Sebastian stood there in a black sweater instead of a suit, sleeves pushed slightly up his forearms. His dark hair was slightly tousled, like he'd run a hand through it too many times.
His blue eyes landed on her.
"You're late," he said flatly.
"It's been ten minutes, Mr. Wolfe," she replied calmly.
He stepped aside without responding. "We leave in an hour."
She walked in, the door closing behind her with a quiet click.
The house felt colder than the outside air.
She followed him upstairs to his bedroom.
The room was massive. Minimal. Grey walls. Dark wood. Everything precise.
A suitcase lay open on the bed.
Sebastian was already packing — shirts folded with exact precision, laptop case placed neatly beside it, documents stacked in clean lines.
"You don't need me if you've already started," she said quietly.
"I prefer to oversee what's packed," he replied without looking at her. "You'll handle the rest."
She nodded and stepped forward, beginning to arrange ties and cufflinks.
Silence stretched between them.
Thick. Heavy.
She could hear the faint rustle of fabric. The zip of compartments. The click of his watch as he adjusted it on his wrist.
Then she noticed something.
On the bedside table sat a small, orange prescription bottle.
Sebastian reached for it quickly. Too quickly.
As he turned, it slipped from his fingers.
The bottle hit the marble floor with a sharp clatter.
It rolled.
Across the floor.
Toward her.
Time slowed.
The bottle tapped against her shoe and stopped.
Sebastian froze.
Lillian bent down instinctively and picked it up.
She wasn't trying to pry. She wasn't trying to read it.
But she saw it anyway.
Zolpidem. Severe insomnia.
Her breath caught for a split second.
She looked up.
Sebastian's expression had changed.
Not just irritation.
Something sharper. Something defensive.
"Give it to me," he said coldly.
She stepped forward and handed it back gently. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—."
"I don't need your commentary," he snapped, taking it from her hand.
"I wasn't going to comment," she said softly.
"You were staring."
"I was reading what was in front of me."
His jaw tightened. His fingers curled around the bottle. "It's none of your concern."
"I know," she replied quickly. "I'm sorry."
He moved to his suitcase and shoved the bottle inside, more aggressively than necessary.
Silence fell again.
But this time it wasn't just heavy.
It was fragile.
She went back to folding his shirts.
Her hands were steady, but her mind wasn't.
Severe insomnia.
So the nightmares hadn't been a one-time thing.
The way he worked through the night. The way he looked exhausted but refused to rest.
It made sense now.
She swallowed. "Do you need me to pack anything else?"
"No."
His tone was clipped. Closed.
She nodded. "The Dallas team confirmed the meeting for tomorrow at eleven. I've prepared all documentation for review during the flight."
"Fine."
Another pause.
She hesitated. "You should try to rest on the jet."
His head snapped toward her. "Miss Parker."
She froze.
"My sleep schedule is not something you will manage."
Her cheeks flushed. "Of course, sir."
He zipped the suitcase shut with finality. "We're leaving."
The drive to the private airfield was quiet.
Sebastian drove.
She sat in the passenger seat, hands folded in her lap.
The city lights blurred past the windows.
He didn't turn on the radio.
He didn't speak.
She glanced at him once. His jaw was tight. Eyes fixed on the road. One hand gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary.
She looked away quickly.
The jet waited for them on the runway.
Sleek. White. Powerful.
The stairs were already lowered.
Sebastian grabbed his suitcase and handed hers to the pilot without a word.
"Everything ready?" he asked curtly.
"Yes, sir," the pilot replied.
Sebastian nodded once and boarded.
Lillian followed.
The interior was luxurious but minimal — leather seats, polished wood, soft lighting.
She stepped inside and glanced around.
"Flight time is approximately three hours," she said gently. "I've placed the project documents on the main table."
He didn't respond.
Instead, he walked past the main cabin.
Toward the back.
There was a separate room — private. Enclosed.
Without looking at her, he opened the door and stepped inside.
Then shut it.
The soft click echoed.
Lillian stood there for a moment.
Alone.
She exhaled slowly and sat in one of the leather seats.
Of course he would separate himself.
Of course he wouldn't sit beside her.
She opened her laptop and tried to focus on reviewing notes.
But her mind drifted.
To the bottle.
To the sharpness in his voice.
To the way his fingers had tightened around the medication like she'd uncovered something forbidden.
She hadn't meant to invade his privacy.
But she had seen it.
And now she couldn't unsee it.
Inside the separate cabin, Sebastian sat in silence.
The suitcase rested near his feet.
The bottle was in the side pocket.
He leaned back and closed his eyes.
He hated being seen like that.
Weak.
Dependent.
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply.
Why did it bother him that she saw it?
She was just his secretary.
Just Miss Parker.
And yet…
The way she'd looked at him hadn't been judgmental.
It had been concerned.
That irritated him more than anything.
He didn't need concern.
He didn't need sympathy.
He needed control.
And lately… he felt like he was losing it.
In the main cabin, Lillian shifted in her seat.
She glanced toward the closed door.
She wondered if he was resting.
Or staring at the ceiling.
Or refusing to sleep, even now.
She shook her head.
Why did she care?
He had snapped at her.
He had shut himself away.
He made it very clear that his personal matters were none of her concern.
And yet…
She couldn't stop thinking about the look in his eyes when the bottle rolled to her feet.
Not anger.
Fear.
That was what unsettled her the most.
The jet lifted into the air smoothly.
The city disappeared beneath clouds.
Three hours to Dallas.
Three hours of silence.
Three hours of distance.
And behind a closed door, a man who refused to let anyone see the cracks.
Lillian leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes briefly.
This trip was supposed to be about business.
But something told her…
It wasn't going to stay that simple.