Abandoned Luna Now Untouchable (Cecilia) novel Chapter 230

Sebastian’s pov

I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the horizon blur where sea met sky. Just over two hours until Cecilia would be safely home in Denver.

That thought should’ve brought me some peace.

It didn’t.

My wolf, Soren, paced restlessly under my skin, clawing at the edges ot my control.

His unease had been building all day–like static before a storm, impossible to ignore.

“Sebas, you look absolutely devastating in that color,” Vance called sweeping into the room in full formalwear. His eyes widened at the deep plum velvet suit l’d reluctantly agreed to wear.

I turned slightly, voice flat. “I look like a wealthy plum. Don’t lie to me.”

An expensive mistake I’d still want to pursue,” he said with a grin.

Vance approached, gaze unapologetically tracking down my frame like I was something hanging in a Sotheby’s showroom.

He leaned in slightly.

I raised a hand between us, palm open, expression unamused. “Vance.

Boundaries. We agreed.”

Vance backed off with a half-step and a sheepish smile, hands raised like I’d caught him red-handed.

“I know, I know. Sometimes I forget,” he said.

“Try remembering.”

“‘Im trying.”

“Try harder” I muttered, settling into the leather sofa. “Or I’N knock you out and leave you in a linen closet.”

That got a laugh out of him. A real one–quick, low, familiar. Wot flirtation. Not quite.

He took the armchair across from me, stretching out like this was just another night in a long series of nights, like there hadn’t been years packed into the silence after I’d first realized what his looks really meant.

There’d been a time I didn’t see it. Or maybe I didn’t want to.

But once it clicked–once, the jokes lingered too long, once the compliments started feeling like confessions–I couldn’t unsee it.

We’d had the talk eventually. Stripped of sarcasm, stripped of pride.

He told me the truth, and I told him mine.

He wanted.

I dian’t.

We moved forward anyway.

It wasn’t always easy. Sometimes he forgot himself. Sometimes I had to remind him.

But the friendship held. Bent, maybe–but never broke.

He watched me now with that same old look. Not hopeful, not exactly.

Just… resigned. Like he knew the ending but still liked the story anyway.

I leaned back, closing my eyes for half a second.

I was straight. Zero flex. Zero confusion. And he knew that.

Cecilia’s pov

I dabbed foundation over the faint red marks on my chest, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror with growing irritation.

The dress was white. Of course it was white. Whoever picked it clearly had a sense of humor–and zero understanding of tactical discretion.

Plunging neckline that stopped just short of scandal, an open back that dipped so low I might as well have skipped the dress entirely, and high slits on both sides that made walking feel like a risk assessment.

It didn’t cling to my body so much as it draped like a threat–every curve on display, every inch of skin a potential distraction.

I tugged at the neckline, trying to shift the fabric into something less… pornographic. No use. The dress was clearly designed that way.

With a sigh, I let my hair down, arranging it like a strategic curtain across my chest and shoulders. Not perfect, but passable enough to avoid a scandal–or a nosebleed.

When I stepped out of the bedroom, Sawyer looked up… and froze.

After a few silent seconds, he turned away fast, one hand over his nose.

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