Betrayed Heiress Strikes Back

Chapter 9

Sebastian’s office smelled faintly of roasted garlic and fresh ink, the remnants of a tasting earlier that morning mingling with the sterile scent of paperwork. He sat behind his mahogany desk, sleeves rolled up, pen poised over a draft of the restaurant’s new menu. His brow furrowed as he considered the placement of a seasonal risotto, the margins crowded with notes. Numbers, flavors, costs—everything demanded his focus.

The door burst open.

Maya Hastings swept in first, her heels striking the tile like gunshots. Her coat hung from her shoulders, her face flushed with irritation. Behind her, Cecilia Henry followed, her perfume sharp, her expression pinched with disdain. The air shifted instantly, heavy with their anger.

“Sebastian,” Maya snapped, tossing her bag onto a chair. “Do you know who I saw at the coffee shop? That arrogant little witch who refused the settlement. As if she had the right to turn down money when she has nothing.” Maya rolled her eyes.

Cecilia’s laugh was brittle, cruel. “She didn't look good. Raggedy. Jeans, sneakers, no makeup. She looked like she crawled out of the gutter. And you married her? My son, I can't believe you were married to that lowlife. I’ll never understand it.” She took a deep breath. "How's the divorce, by the way? Has it been finalized?"

Sebastian’s pen hovered over the page, but he didn’t look up. His jaw tightened, the muscle twitching as he forced himself to remain calm. He scribbled a note beside the risotto, adjusting the garnish, as though their words were nothing more than background noise.

"I haven't checked. Maybe later when I am not busy."

Maya paced the length of the office, her voice rising. “She even had the guts to talk back, Sebastian. In front of everyone. She thinks she’s better than us, walking away with her head high, as if she didn’t beg for scraps when she was with you. She should have taken the money and disappeared. But no— she wants to prove something.”

Sebastian finally set his pen down, leaning back in his chair. His eyes flicked to Maya, sharp but weary. “How was she?” His voice was low, almost reluctant. “Did she look… happy?”

Maya froze, her lips curling. “Happy? She was smug. Smug, Sebastian. She looked at me like she’d already won.”

Cecilia chimed in, her tone dripping with venom. “Won? She’s nothing. She has no name, no money, no place. She’s a disgrace. And you—” she jabbed a finger toward him— “you gave her your name. You gave her your time. For what? For her to spit it back in your face.”

Sebastian’s gaze dropped back to the document in front of him. He picked up his pen again, circling the risotto, adjusting the sauce pairing. His silence was deliberate, a wall against their fury.

Maya’s voice cracked, frustration bleeding through. “Are you even listening? She made a fool of us. Of me. And you sit there, scribbling menus like it doesn’t matter.”

Sebastian’s pen scratched across the paper, steady, unyielding. He didn’t answer.

Cecilia scoffed, folding her arms. “Pathetic. You let her walk all over you that day. You should not have offered her anything."

"Mom--"

"You should be grateful she's out of your life. But instead, you're asking how she was? That girl had no class, no family worth mentioning. She was nothing, and you dragged our name through the mud by marrying her." Her words sliced through the air.

The words hung in the air, sharp and accusing. Maya’s pacing slowed, her anger simmering into something darker—fear, perhaps, or jealousy. She watched Sebastian’s face, searching for a c***k, a flicker of emotion. But he gave her nothing.

The office was thick with tension, the clatter of her heels, the hiss of Cecilia’s disdain, the scratch of Sebastian’s pen. He was a man surrounded by noise, yet utterly alone in his silence.

Finally, Maya slammed her hand against the desk, startling Cecilia. “Look at me, Sebastian. Tell me you don’t care about her. Tell me she means nothing.”

Sebastian’s pen paused mid‑stroke. His eyes lifted, meeting hers for the briefest moment. Cold, unreadable. Then he dropped his gaze back to the menu, his voice flat.

“We signed the divorce papers. I'm going to be a free man soon."

"Yes, then we will get married."

Sebastian sighed. Women can be too much. He can't help but think about Rylee and how she was quiet when he's thinking at work.

"Let's focus on the restaurant, Maya. That’s all that matters right now.”

The dismissal was quiet but absolute. Maya’s breath caught, her fury twisting into something brittle. Cecilia muttered under her breath, shaking her head, but neither woman could break through the wall Sebastian had built.

He circled the risotto one last time, the ink bleeding into the paper. Outside, the city hummed, oblivious to the storm inside his office.

**

The office had grown quieter after Cecilia’s departure, her perfume fading from the air like smoke. Maya lingered near Sebastian’s desk, her coat draped over the chair, her eyes fixed on him with a calculated softness. She leaned against the edge of the desk, tilting her head, her voice low and coaxing.

“You work too hard,” she murmured, fingers brushing the polished wood. “You should let me take care of you sometimes.”

Sebastian didn’t look up. His pen scratched across the menu draft, circling a garnish, adjusting a sauce pairing. The silence stretched, heavy, until Maya’s smile faltered. She shifted closer, her perfume sweet but cloying, her tone sharper now.

“Sebastian,” she pressed, “I studied marketing at Midland State College. I know how to make people notice us. I could help you more than you think.”

Before he could respond, a knock rattled the door. Sebastian’s head lifted, irritation flickering across his features. Maya’s smile vanished, her mood souring instantly.

The door opened, and one of the restaurant staff stepped inside, clutching a clipboard. “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt. The four teenagers you hired for extra cash—they’re here to pick up the flyers. Are they ready?”

Maya stiffened, her eyes narrowing. The interruption was a dagger to her carefully constructed moment. She turned sharply toward the staff, her voice dripping with disdain. “Do you not see we’re in the middle of something?”

Sebastian’s gaze shifted to her, steady and unreadable. “Maya,” he said evenly, “you volunteered to handle the flyers. Are they printed?”

The question hung in the air, pointed and deliberate. Maya’s lips parted, but no words came at first. She had promised him she would manage the campaign, eager to prove her expertise, eager to show that her degree from Midland State meant something. But the truth was, she hadn’t finished.

Her cheeks flushed, anger and embarrassment colliding. “I—I was going to,” she stammered, forcing a smile. “I wanted to make sure the design was perfect. You know, branding is everything.”

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, his pen tapping against the desk. His expression was cool, detached. “They’re waiting now. Perfection doesn’t matter if the work isn’t done.”

Maya’s jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. The staff member shifted awkwardly, eyes darting between them, before Sebastian dismissed him with a nod. The door closed, leaving the room heavy with Maya’s frustration.

She turned back to Sebastian, her voice sharp, brittle. “You don’t appreciate what I’m trying to do. I’m not some nobody, Sebastian. I studied this. I know how to make your restaurants shine.”

Sebastian’s gaze dropped back to the menu, his voice flat. “Then prove it. Not with words. With results.”

Maya’s breath caught, her fury twisting into something brittle. She had wanted admiration, validation, but instead she was left with silence and expectation. The risotto circled in ink seemed to matter more to him than her presence.

Outside, the teenagers waited, restless and eager. Inside, Maya’s smile cracked, her ambition colliding with Sebastian’s indifference.

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, the pen still between his fingers, but his mind had already drifted. He remembered Rylee—her quiet way of listening, the way she would tilt her head thoughtfully before offering a suggestion that always made sense. She never boasted about her ideas, never tried to impress him with credentials. When he asked for help, she delivered. On time. With precision. With care.

The risotto on the page blurred into memory: Rylee standing in their kitchen, scribbling notes in her little notebook, reminding him of deadlines, making sure every detail was accounted for.

She had been steady, reliable, even when he dismissed her. And now, sitting across from Maya, he felt the absence of that quiet competence like a hollow ache.

Maya noticed his silence, her eyes narrowing. “Sebastian,” she said sharply, leaning closer. “What are you thinking about?”

His gaze flicked to her, cool and unreadable. He didn’t answer. The truth was too dangerous, too raw. Instead, he set the pen down and folded his hands over the menu draft.

“Work on the flyers,” he said flatly. “The teenagers are waiting. Make sure it’s done.”

Maya’s lips parted, her breath catching. She had wanted tenderness, validation, some sign that he was thinking of her. Instead, she was dismissed, reduced to a task. Her cheeks flushed with anger, but she forced a brittle smile, masking the sting.

“Of course,” she murmured, though her voice trembled. “I’ll handle it.”

Sebastian picked up his pen again, circling the risotto one last time. His silence was deliberate, a wall she couldn’t breach. Outside, the city hummed, but inside the office, the distance between them stretched wider than ever.