The café on Lexington Avenue was warm and filled with the scent of cinnamon, coffee, and the muffled laughter of strangers. Helen Ross sat at a corner booth, tucked into a deep maroon sweater, her fingers curled around a cappuccino she hadn't touched. Outside, snow flurried softly against the windows, but inside, the air was tense with the weight of her thoughts.
Across from her, Anita stirred her tea with a clink, watching Helen with narrowed eyes.
"You're saying someone left documents?" she asked, her tone cautious. "A woman from his past, a fraud accusation, Berlin—all of that just… showed up?"
Helen nodded slowly, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. "First from Jennifer, then anonymously online. I tried to dismiss it at first, but… what if it's true? What if I walked into another illusion?"
Beside Anita, Lilian frowned. "But why would Jennifer care? She's never cared about you—only Steven's image. Why would she suddenly try to 'protect' you from a man she's never met?"
That silence made Helen pause.
"She said she wanted to be civil," Helen murmured. "Said Sebastian had a history I needed to know before getting more involved."
Elizabeth, who had been quietly watching, finally spoke—her voice calm, precise, like a gentle bell in a storm.
"Sounds like a classic misdirection," she said. "When someone loses control, they manipulate. Steven's unraveling. Jennifer's his weapon."
Helen looked down at her coffee, lips tightening. "But what about the photo? The woman—Celeste—she's real. There was a case."
Elizabeth leaned in, eyes unwavering. "And you said Sebastian didn't deny it. He admitted to his mistakes. He didn't lie. He didn't run. Can you say the same about Steven when he was caught?"
Helen's chest tightened.
No. She couldn't.
Steven had evaded, twisted, and guilted. Sebastian had stood still, his hands open. He had looked hurt—but not caught.
"I don't know what to believe anymore," she whispered. "My heart says one thing, but my fear—my history—says another."
Anita reached across the table, resting a hand over hers. "Helen, you've rebuilt your world. You're not the same woman who let Steven convince her to disappear behind a perfect image. You see things now. If something feels wrong—trust yourself."
For the first time in days, Helen felt her chest expand.
A seed of clarity.
Sebastian had flaws—yes. But he had been present, honest, protective. He didn't promise her perfection. He gave her truth. And that, perhaps, was more terrifying than anything else—because it was real.
She stood suddenly, dropping a few bills on the table.
"I need to talk to him," she said. "Before I lose someone I might actually love."
---
Meanwhile, Sebastian stood alone in his apartment, pacing.
The article had reached him, of course. He wasn't surprised by the smear—but he was hurt by Helen's silence.
He had felt her pulling away—gentle at first, like a tide drawing back—but he knew it was more than doubt. It was someone else's hand in the shadows.
He grabbed his coat and keys. If she wouldn't come to him, he would go to her.
He had something to say—something Jennifer hadn't accounted for.
The truth.