Abandoned Luna Now Untouchable (Cecilia) novel Chapter 220

Chapter 220 Midnight Confrontations

Cecilia’s pov

My lashes fluttered, instinctively. I forced them still.

Every muscle in my body locked into place.

Even my breath stalled-held hostage by the collision of shock and something dangerously close to heartbreak.

Only when his footsteps retreated did I finally exhale.

Well, well.

+25 Points

So Mr. Alpha has time to sneak a kiss between conference calls and caffeine

refills. How…efficient of him.

Clearly, the man had feelings.

But “feelings” are like condiments-plentiful, varied, and mostly optional.

And “like”? That’s the watery ketchup of emotions. Barely counts.

Not that it mattered.

I only “liked” him too.

I curled back into sleep wrapped in that beautifully convenient lie.

Next time I woke, we’d already landed.

Rain tapped against the windows in steady rhythm, the kind of gray drizzle

that made London feel like a mood board for seasonal depression.

As I stood at the open cabin door, a gust of damp air slapped me awake.

Cold needles threaded through the fabric of my clothes. I shivered hard.

Then warmth. Across my

shoulders.

1/7

< Chapter 220 Midnight Confrontations

Sebastian’s suit jacket.

+25 Points

I glanced down at the fabric, my fingers already reaching to shrug it off, when his voice came from behind me.

“Keep it,” he said, voice low and rough around the edges, like it had been dragged through gravel. “My productivity stats plummet when my secretary

gets pneumonia.”

Hard to argue with logic that cold and clinical.

I took the umbrella from Mia, the flight attendant, and started down the

steps.

Even with the umbrella, the rain still found me, slapping against my cheeks

like it had a personal grudge.

There’s cold. And then there’s London-in-November cold.

The kind that doesn’t just touch your skin-it files a change-of-address form and moves into your bones.

The car was already waiting.

Not just any car. It was a sleek six-seater with enough legroom to host a yoga class. Apparently, the upgrade had been made to accommodate our so-called “team of four.”

Sawyer had filled me in during the flight

There wouldn’t be a hotel this time.

We were staying in a private residence tucked inside one of London’s leafier, wealthier neighborhoods.

He’d even sent me background info I didn’t ask for.

Turned out, the house used to be Sebastian’s childhood basecamp when he

lived here during middle school.

2/7

<Chapter 220 Midnight Confrontations

+25 Points

Later, his younger brother and Amara stayed there while attending school in

the city.

The place had history, staff, and just enough dust-free prestige to qualify as “tastefully inherited.”

In another life, I might’ve found that charming.

Might’ve asked which room was his, or what music he listened to at thirteen.

Might’ve smiled at the idea of him stomping through London with oversized

headphones and teenage angst.

But now?

Now I couldn’t care less about his prep-school nostalgia or romantic lore with

Amara. Not even a little bit.

The rain was still falling when we pulled up to the house.

Tang, ever the reliable soldier, hauled all the luggage inside by himself.

Smart man. He’d clocked the sub-zero vibes between Sebastian and me and wisely adopted a “speak less, survive longer” approach.

Sebastian didn’t say a word. He just headed straight for the master bedroom

like a man on autopilot.

Even caffeine has its limits, apparently. The machine had finally cracked.

Once the rooms were claimed and the doors shut, silence took over.

We were all wiped-not just physically, but emotionally.

Like someone had rung us out and left us to dry on a rainy London balcony.

Thank God we had a buffer day before reporting to the London office.

3/7

< Chapter 220 Midnight Confrontations

Anything less would’ve been corporate cruelty.

I unpacked, took a shower that lasted way too long, and tried to sleep.

But my body had other plans. After all that airplane napping, it wasn’t

interested in unconsciousness just yet.

My stomach, however, had zero patience.

+25 Points

I made my way downstairs, determined to find something vaguely edible.

The fridge offered the usual bachelor inventory: sandwich bread, bagged

greens, cheese, and some sad-looking fruit.

Nothing hot. Nothing satisfying. Nothing that said “comfort.”

Eventually, I found pasta in the cupboard. Not glamorous, but warm was

warm.

I had just brought the water to a boil when the doorbell rang.

At this hour?

I turned off the burner and walked toward the front door, already bracing for

the worst.

Paranoid? Maybe. But after everything that had gone down, my internal threat radar was permanently set to DEFCON 1.

I checked the peephole.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I turned right back around and returned to my sauce like I hadn’t heard a

damn thing.

Ah. So that’s why Amara’s resignation had been so drama-free. She’d already booked a one-way ticket back to London.

Although…hadn’t Sawyer mentioned she used to live here?

|||

407

< Chapter 220 Midnight Confrontations

If so, why didn’t she have keys?

The doorbell rang again. And again.

Persistent little queen, isn’t she?

kept stirring the sauce.

If someone else wanted to play concierge at midnight, be my guest.

+25 Points

Sure enough, a few minutes later, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Hesitant,

slow.

And Sawyer’s voice, floating faintly down the hall.

“Miss Amara…”

Then came Amara’s voice. Clear. Sweet Deadly.

“Beta Sawyer,” she cooed like a Disney villainess on vacation. “Lovely to see

you again.”

I didn’t need to look.

I could picture her perfectly-head high, coat immaculate, that signature ‘I’m

back, bitches’ strut in full swing.

Sawyer said something else.

I couldn’t catch it all, just bits-“Vancouver,” “Sebastian,” “accident.”

And then, Amara again, her voice laced with faux concern. “What kind of

accident?”

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself a migraine.

God, Sawyer. Are you seriously trying to send her back with a koi pond story?

A minute later, I heard a phone call. Then Amara’s declaration, loud enough