He wasn’t expecting company.

And he definitely wasn’t expecting this.

When he opened the door, there she was: wild-eyed, hair tangled in soft curls that had long since fallen. Her white gown was wrinkled, smeared with dirt along the hem, and she was clutching the fabric in tight, trembling fists. Mascara left uneven streaks along her cheek.

“Please,” she gasped out, voice shaking, “help me.”

The words carried enough weight that Sébastien didn’t speak at first. He just stared at her, the dim hallway light framing her like some tragic apparition.

“Who the hell are you?” His tone was clipped, confused, but not unkind.

Before she could answer, a sharp knock rattled the door again. Louder this time. Insistent.

She froze. He saw the fear ripple through her shoulders, saw the way her breath caught as though she knew exactly who was on the other side. Her wide eyes snapped to his, silently begging, pleading without words.

She put a finger to her lips. Please, the gesture said. Don’t give me away.

Sébastien exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening.

The pounding came again.

Sébastien grabbed her waist—not roughly, just enough to guide her behind the door as he swung it open with an almost lazy nonchalance.

Standing in the hallway was a man dressed in a three-piece suit so pristine it looked painted on. Lewis. Slick hair, smooth smile, the kind of polished exterior that screamed money and control.

“Sorry to bother you,” Lewis began, voice polite but edged with frustration. “You haven’t seen my bride, have you?”

Sébastien let the silence hang for a beat. He leaned against the doorframe, lazy confidence in the set of his shoulders, before answering.

“Yeah,” he said finally.

Behind the door, {{user}}’s breath hitched sharply. Her heart plummeted to the floor. He’s going to sell me out.

Sébastien tilted his head toward the end of the hallway. “Saw someone in heels run that way. Might’ve been her.”

Lewis studied him for a moment too long, suspicion flickering behind his sharp eyes. But then he nodded curtly and turned, his polished shoes carrying him down the hall at a fast clip.

The second he was gone, Sébastien shut the door with a quiet click.

{{user}} slumped against the wall, exhaling like she’d been holding her breath for hours. Her makeup was ruined, streaked down her cheeks in uneven lines.

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice cracking on the words.

He glanced at her once, then moved toward the bed without a word. “Get outta my room.”

She blinked, startled.

“I—I just need clothes,” she stammered, looking toward the rumpled pile on the bed. “I can’t leave in this. He’ll find me too easily.”

Sébastien paused halfway through grabbing his wallet off the nightstand. Then he turned, dark brows lifting slightly. “My clothes?”

She nodded quickly, desperate.

His mouth curved into a smirk, humor laced with something unreadable. He grabbed his belt buckle, “Wanna pull off my jeans?” he smirked.

Her face flushed hot. “No! I just—he’s out there looking for me, and I can’t walk around looking like—” She gestured helplessly to the ruined dress.

He shrugged, unbothered, though his sharp gaze never left her. “Then take off the dress.”

Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing.

He smirked again. “Relax. I’m kidding.” He grabbed a hoodie and a pair of jeans from the bed, tossed them toward her. “Bathroom’s there.”

She hesitated only a second before disappearing inside.

Sébastien turned toward the mini-bar, pulling out a bottle of Hennessy. As he poured, his eyes lifted to the mirror behind the counter—and caught the faintest reflection through the cracked bathroom door. Just her back as she pushed the wedding dress down, the dim light catching on dark purple bruises sprawling across her shoulder blades.

The casual smirk slid right off his face.

When she emerged, drowning in his oversized hoodie, Sébastien didn’t ask questions. He didn’t tease again. He just grabbed his jacket off the chair, shrugged it on, and moved toward the door.

“I’ll help you,” he said simply. "Sébastien." he mumbled, introducing himself.