Five days before Lillian's birthday, Sebastian Wolfe was terrifying the executive floor.
Not intentionally.
But somehow everyone around him had become unnaturally tense anyway.
Mostly because Sebastian had spent the entire morning silently rearranging the same meeting schedule three separate times.
Without explanation.
Without visible emotion.
And without allowing anyone to question him.
Chloe stood beside his desk holding a tablet while watching him rewrite an already finalized itinerary again.
"…Mr. Wolfe."
He didn't look up.
"The investor meeting moves to Thursday instead."
"It already is Thursday."
A pause.
Sebastian slowly looked down at the schedule.
Silence.
Then calmly:
"Leave it."
Chloe stared at him.
Because Sebastian Wolfe never made mistakes like that.
Ever.
"You're distracted," she said carefully.
"I'm busy."
"You're reorganizing your own reorganizing."
Sebastian ignored her completely.
Instead he reached for another file.
Chloe crossed her arms.
"This is about Lillian's birthday, isn't it?"
That finally got his attention.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Sebastian leaned back in his chair slowly.
"You're unusually observant today."
"You're unusually insane today."
He didn't deny it.
Which honestly worried her more.
Sebastian lowered his gaze back toward the documents spread across his desk.
Private reservations.
Security routes.
Transportation schedules.
A rooftop venue.
A private observatory reservation later that evening.
Everything carefully organized down to the minute.
Chloe shook her head slowly.
"You know normal people just buy flowers, right?"
Sebastian answered immediately.
"The flowers are already arranged."
"…Of course they are."
He continued reviewing details calmly.
"They arrive at six thirty. White lillies, not standard Lillies."
Chloe blinked.
"You specified the species?"
"They're her favorite."
Silence.
Then Chloe muttered quietly:
"You're terrifying."
Sebastian ignored that too.
But after a moment his gaze drifted slightly.
Toward the small black notebook sitting separately from the rest.
Unlike everything else, that notebook wasn't neat.
Several pages were folded awkwardly.
Others torn out entirely.
Chloe noticed immediately.
"What's that?"
Sebastian's expression changed almost invisibly.
"Nothing."
Which obviously meant it was important.
Chloe narrowed her eyes slightly.
"…Mr. Wolfe."
"It's irrelevant."
"That's not how humans use that tone."
He sighed quietly.
Then finally reached for the notebook.
Opening it briefly.
Only enough for Chloe to glimpse messy handwriting scratched across multiple pages.
Then immediately closed it again.
"…A card?" Chloe asked slowly.
Sebastian looked genuinely irritated by the concept.
"It shouldn't be difficult."
Chloe blinked once.
Then suddenly understood.
Oh.
Oh no.
"You're trying to write something emotional, aren't you?"
Sebastian stared at her blankly.
"That sentence alone sounds threatening."
He looked away slightly.
Which for Sebastian was basically an admission.
Chloe suddenly laughed softly under her breath.
"You can negotiate billion-dollar acquisitions but a birthday card is defeating you."
Sebastian's jaw tightened faintly.
"That's different."
"How?"
Silence.
Then quietly:
"Business negotiations don't require vulnerability."
That answer hit harder than Chloe expected.
Her expression softened slightly.
Because suddenly this wasn't funny anymore.
Sebastian looked back down at the notebook.
"I don't know how to write things like this."
And for the first time all morning—
he actually sounded uncertain.
Across the executive floor, Lillian sat at her desk reviewing reports when she noticed Sebastian's office door open.
Chloe exited first.
Looking emotionally exhausted somehow.
Then Sebastian stepped out a second later.
The second his eyes landed on Lillian—
something in his expression softened automatically.
Always automatic.
Always immediate.
Lillian smiled faintly.
"You look stressed."
"I'm fine."
"You've said that four times this week."
Sebastian walked toward her desk slowly.
"Because you keep asking."
"That's because you keep acting strange."
A small pause.
Then Sebastian rested one hand lightly against the back of her chair.
Close.
Again.
Lately he was always close.
"You're observant too," he murmured.
Lillian narrowed her eyes slightly.
"That sounded suspicious."
"It wasn't."
"Sebastian."
"Yes?"
"…Are you hiding something from me?"
A dangerous question.
Sebastian's expression remained calm.
Too calm.
"No."
Lillian stared at him for a long moment.
Then deadpanned:
"You are genuinely terrible at lying."
For the first time that day, Sebastian almost smiled.
Just slightly.
Then his fingers brushed lightly against her shoulder absentmindedly.
A soft touch.
Automatic.
Lillian noticed immediately.
Because lately he touched her constantly.
Small things.
Quiet things.
Like reassuring himself she was still there.
"You've been clingy again," she said softly.
Sebastian didn't deny it.
Instead:
"You dislike it?"
The question came too quickly.
Too seriously.
Lillian blinked softly.
"…No."
Immediately, some invisible tension eased slightly from his shoulders.
And somehow that alone made her chest ache a little.
Because lately—
Sebastian seemed constantly afraid of something she couldn't fully see.
That evening, the mansion was quiet again.
Warm lighting glowed softly throughout the bedroom while rain tapped gently against the windows outside.
Lillian sat cross-legged on the bed reading while Sebastian sat near the window with his laptop open.
Or rather—
pretending to work.
Because for the last twenty minutes he had reread the same email without processing a single word.
His attention kept drifting toward the folded card beside him.
Blank.
Still mostly blank.
Lillian glanced up eventually.
"You've been staring at that screen forever."
Sebastian looked over calmly.
"I'm working."
"You haven't typed in ten minutes."
Silence.
Lillian slowly closed her book.
"You're really strange lately."
Sebastian's gaze lowered briefly.
Then quietly:
"…Sorry."
That surprised her immediately.
Lillian softened.
"Hey, I wasn't criticizing you."
"I know."
He sounded tired suddenly.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Lillian set her book aside and moved off the bed.
Then walked toward him slowly.
Sebastian watched her approach silently.
The second she stopped beside him, he reached for her automatically.
One arm wrapping around her waist gently.
Pulling her closer until she stood between his knees.
Lillian exhaled softly.
There it was again.
That constant need for closeness.
Her fingers brushed lightly through his dark hair.
"What's going on in that head of yours lately?"
Sebastian looked up at her quietly.
And for one dangerous second—
he almost said it.
Almost.
The words rose into his throat painfully.
I love you.
But the vulnerability of it froze him immediately.
Instead, he rested his forehead lightly against her stomach.
Arms tightening around her slightly.
Physical closeness again.
Always replacing the words.
Lillian noticed.
Of course she noticed.
And something sad flickered briefly across her expression before disappearing.
"You know," she said softly, "you don't always have to prove things to me."
Sebastian went completely still.
Because that was exactly what he had been trying to do.
Prove it.
Show it.
Compensate for what he still couldn't say properly.
Lillian's fingers continued moving gently through his hair.
"I already know you love me."
Sebastian closed his eyes briefly.
Painfully.
Because hearing her say it only made the silence feel louder somehow.
After a long moment, Lillian kissed the top of his head softly.
"Don't work too late."
Then she walked back toward the bed.
Leaving Sebastian alone with the sound of rain.
And the unfinished card beside him.
Several minutes passed quietly.
Then finally—
Sebastian picked it up again.
Opened it slowly.
The inside remained mostly blank except for several discarded attempts scratched out messily.
Too formal.
Too distant.
Too cold.
Nothing sounded right.
His grip tightened slightly around the pen.
Then slowly—
carefully—
he wrote the words he had spent months unable to say aloud.
I love you.
Sebastian stared at the sentence silently.
His chest tightened immediately.
Not regret.
Fear.
Because somehow writing it down felt even more vulnerable than speaking it.
Like now the words existed somewhere permanent.
Real.
Exposed.
His eyes lowered slightly.
Then after a long moment—
very carefully—
he closed the card.
But he didn't cross the words out this time.