Page 74 of Broken Crown

For a moment, I thought he might lose control.

The muscle at the corner of his eye twitched, but then he exhaled slowly, releasing my wrist. "Get in the car, Sabrina."

"Sebastian—"

"Get. In. The. Car." Each word sounded clipped, precise. A command, not a request.

I knew that look in his eyes.

This wasn't a battle I could win—not here, not now.

Reluctantly, I slid into the passenger seat, my earlier contentment replaced by simmering rage and bitter disappointment.

How could I have been so foolish?

So easily seduced by a few tender moments?

Sebastian climbed in beside me, his movements controlled and exact.

The gentle lover from moments ago had vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating man I'd first met in Paris.

"You won't regret this evening," he said, his tone brooking no argument as he started the engine and pressed the touchscreen, raising the convertible’s roof.

"I already do," I muttered, turning to stare out the window as snowflakes began to fall more heavily, obscuring the fairy-tale village that had, just hours ago, seemed so magical.

The heater blasted warm air that couldn't chase away the chill settling in my bones.

We drove in tense silence toward whatever Sebastian had planned, and I knew that each moment spent with him pulled me deeper into his web, making escape even less likely than it already was.

But I wasn't sure I wanted to escape anymore—and that terrified me most of all.

CHAPTER 21

SEBASTIAN

"You're quiet." I glanced over at Sabrina, whose body language screamed defiance despite her silence.

The tension in the car was thick enough to cut with a knife. She'd been this way since I'd forced her to accompany me tonight, practically dragging her into the car when she'd tried to refuse.

"I prefer silence to lies.”

My jaw clenched. "That's enough."

"Is it?" She turned to face me, those sapphire eyes burning with a fire that made my cock twitch against my will. "I think I've barely scratched the surface of your deceptions."

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, torn between the urge to silence her with my mouth or my palm. Both options were equally tempting.

"You'll understand everything soon enough," I said, keeping my voice deliberately controlled. "Tonight isn't about the past."

She laughed, a bitter sound that scraped against my nerves. "With you, Sebastian, it's always about the past."

The car filled with perilous silence again as I navigated the narrow streets of Chieti.

I could feel her presence—the scent of her perfume, the sound of her breathing, the way her crimson dress clung to curves I knew intimately. Being this close to her was a sweet torture of my own making.

We finally pulled up to a butter-yellow two-story building with Teatro Marrucino carved into stone over the entrance.

Intricate Corinthian columns graced the front, with ornate balconies extending from the second floor. The elegance of the Greek Revival architecture stood in stark contrast to the raw tension thrumming between us.