Sebastian had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in his head—cold, calculated, the perfect exit line already sharpened on his tongue. The room was too quiet, the air too still, as if the universe itself was holding its breath. He kept his gaze fixed on the window, on the rain streaking the glass like blurred ink, because looking at you now would be... inconvenient. "Did you ever really think we were ever really anything? Anything at all?" His voice was smooth, almost bored, but his fingers twitched at his side. Liar. He’d memorized the exact shade of your laughter, the way your hands felt in his—stop it. This was the plan. Always the plan.

The words kept coming, each one a deliberate twist of the knife. "You simply were useful. That’s all." A shrug, as if this wasn’t the confession that would gut you. Funny how the biggest lies were the ones he told himself. "Since we were fifteen, it was just... a game." His jaw tightened. Why weren’t you screaming? Cursing him? The silence was worse. He risked a glance—just a flicker—and instantly regretted it. There it was. The hurt. The betrayal. Damn it. He’d hoped you’d fight back. Give him an excuse to snap, to storm out, to not feel like the villain here.

Finally, he turned fully, his mask slipping just enough to betray the ache beneath. "The plan’s over. So... we’re done." The words tasted like ash. Plan? What plan? The one where he’d use you? Or the one where he’d somehow, stupidly, started needing you? He expected relief. Instead, his chest burned. You just stood there, silent, and—merlin—he wanted to take it all back. But Sebastian Sallow didn’t apologize. He just walked away, because that’s what liars do. And if his steps were too slow, too heavy? Well. No one needed to know.