Chosen as the Cursed Alpha's Seventh Bride

Emilia’s POV

So close. His scent, minty and cedar, wrapped around me, and my stomach did a little flutter. I looked away, pretending not to notice.

But the memory hit me. The last time we were this close was at the barbecue place. Except then, I was drunk enough to reach up and touch his face.

This time, I stayed perfectly still.

He pulled back and started the car without another word.

The drive was silent, but my skin felt hot. I rolled down the window, letting the wind hit my face, trying to cool down.

It didn’t work. My thoughts wouldn’t settle. The silence didn’t help. It only made my heartbeat louder.

After a few minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I turned to look at him. "Why did you really bring me out tonight? And why did you look at me like that, like you felt sorry for me?"

His jaw tightened. "You’re not going to drop this until I tell you, are you?"

"No."

I knew how I looked in the pack. The half-blood with no wolf. I wasn’t blind to it.

But Sebastian looking at me like that, like I was something broken, that was different. I minded. More than I should have.

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then he pulled the car into the pack house driveway and turned off the engine.

He turned to face me, his green eyes sharp in the darkness. After a beat, like the words cost him something, he said, "Linda told me about your past."

I blinked. "My past?"

"About what happened before you were brought into the Frostridge pack."

I stared at him. "And?"

"And I felt..." He paused, like the words were physically hard to force out. "I felt a little sorry. About what I said to you earlier. About you being a rich man’s daughter. I didn’t know what you went through before you came to your pack."

I sat there, frozen.

Sebastian Simons apologizing. I hadn’t seen that coming. I’d pegged him as many things, arrogant, unpredictable, closed off. But sincere? That wasn’t on the list. Yet here he was. Apparently there was an actual person underneath all of it.

"Linda’s a gossip," I said dryly. "She exaggerated. Probably to make me look pathetic. Don’t take it to heart."

He looked at me, his green eyes unreadable.

"Maybe," he said slowly. "But you don’t seem like someone who needs pity anyway."

I snorted. "Finally. Something we agree on."

I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door. "Come on. We both have work tomorrow."

We reached the top of the stairs. Before we got to the secret room, I turned around. "Were you this patient and soft with all your previous wives? Or am I just lucky?"

Sebastian’s eyebrow lifted. "Soft?"

"You heard me."

He studied me for a long moment.

"I didn’t get along well with them," he said slowly. "You’re... different."

My heart skipped.

"Different how?" I asked, trying to sound casual. "Different as in ’I haven’t tried to poison you yet,’ or different as in ’you actually don’t want to throw me out a window’?"

His lips twitched. "You’re less annoying than most people I know. And being around you doesn’t feel like a chore."

"Wow." I pressed a hand to my chest. "Sebastian Simons just gave me a compliment. Mark the date. Someone get a calendar."

"Don’t let it go to your head."

"Too late. It already went straight to my ego."

I paused, then took a step closer without thinking. The scent of mint and cedar wrapped around me again.

"Tell me about your ex-wives," I said. "I’ve been curious, honestly."

He stiffened. "We’re not that close."

"Aren’t we?" I tilted my head. "You took me to dinner at a restaurant you own. That sounds pretty close to me."

He stared at me.

"So come on," I pressed, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Spill. Give me some good gossip."

"You’re pushy."

"I’m persistent."

He let out a low breath. "Go to your room, Emilia."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no." I took another step forward. "You can’t just drop a compliment and then shut down the conversation. That’s bad storytelling."

The way he looked at me made my mouth go dry. That kind of look—the kind that made it hard to think straight.

"Fine," he said suddenly. "You want to know about them so badly? Come here."

He turned and walked into his room. I blinked.

I hesitated for half a second. Then curiosity got the better of me, and I followed him inside.

He was already lying on the bed, one arm behind his head, looking at the ceiling like this was the most casual thing in the world. He patted the empty space beside him.

"Lie down," he said. "We’ll talk while we talk."

I stared at him. "You’re joking."

"Do I look like I’m joking?"

"You always look like you’re about to fire someone. So no, it’s hard to tell."

But I moved. Slowly, cautiously, like I was approaching a wild animal that might bite.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. Then, very carefully, I lay down next to him.

I kept my body rigid, my hands pressed flat against my stomach. In my experience, Sebastian Simons would start growling any second now and tell me to get out.

He didn’t.

Instead, he turned and rolled over, his body suddenly hovering above mine.

My breath caught.

"Are you serious?" I said.

"Do I look like I’m joking now?"

His face was inches from mine. I could see every shade of green in his eyes, the slight roughness of his jaw.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

"This is..." I swallowed. "This is a very aggressive way to have a conversation, you know."

"I’m an aggressive person."

"I noticed."

His hand moved. Slowly. Deliberately.

He reached for the top button of my shirt.

My brain short-circuited.

"Wait," I said.

He didn’t stop.

His fingers brushed against my collarbone, and I felt goosebumps spread across my skin like wildfire.