His Secret, Her Sin [Chapter 2] Seven Years Of Him

 Seven years had passed since that day when Sebastian Blackwood had first protected Elara from her father. Seven years of small gifts, quiet companionship, and unspoken promises. Sebastian had become a constant presence in her life—always attentive, always there when she needed him. Each visit to Clark’s house was a subtle reminder that she mattered to someone beyond her unpredictable parents.

From chocolates left on her study desk to surprise trips to amusement parks, Sebastian made her feel like the center of his world. Not her siblings, not her friends at school, but her. And though no one else noticed the significance of these gestures, Elara did. She noticed every smile, every whispered word of encouragement, every gentle reprimand that came with care rather than fear.

Now, at fourteen, Elara’s feelings had shifted. The little admiration and trust she had held for Sebastian as a child had matured into something more complicated—something forbidden, something intoxicating. She found herself thinking of him constantly, imagining the warmth of his hand on hers, the way his dark eyes seemed to see through every layer of her. He was no longer just a protector—he was the love of her life, the one person who made her heart beat in ways no one else could.

This afternoon, however, brought a new kind of anticipation. Sebastian was coming over for dinner, and unlike the usual visits, this one carried a hint of something special. Elara had overheard hushed conversations between her parents and Sebastian earlier that week. Whispers of a “surprise” had filtered through, and her naive, romantic heart immediately leapt to one conclusion: perhaps Sebastian was here to finally notice her in the way she longed for, to confess feelings that she had secretly hoped for over the years.

Elara stood before her bedroom mirror, straightening the hem of her white floral dress. Her long black hair fell like a river down her back, catching the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the window. She had chosen subtle makeup—black eyeliner to accentuate her wide brown eyes, a hint of blush on her cheeks—but her confidence wasn’t in the adornments. It was in the way she carried herself: poised, graceful, entirely aware of the effect she had on others. Even at fourteen, she was strikingly attractive, her hourglass frame petite yet curvy, commanding attention without seeking it. She adjusted her ruby ring on her right hand and checked the delicate bangles that jingled softly when she moved.

From her perch by the window, she saw the sleek car pull up. Her heart skipped. This was the moment she had been waiting for. She imagined him stepping out, eyes locking on hers, ready to sweep her into a moment she had long fantasized about.

The door opened, and Sebastian emerged—not alone. A girl clung to his arm, tall, blonde, impossibly elegant, radiating a confidence that Elara hadn’t anticipated. The girl’s arm rested possessively against his waist, and his hand reciprocated with a familiarity that made Elara’s stomach twist.

“Hi, Mr. Blackwood,” she said softly, keeping her voice polite but her chest tightening with jealousy. She refused to call him “uncle,” as everyone suggested—it felt too distant, too ordinary. In her heart, Sebastian was hers. Always had been.

The girl beside him smiled warmly, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. “Oh my God, I’ve heard so much about you,” she said. “Sebastian talks endlessly about how sweet you are, how clever, how much you love chocolates!”

Sebastian’s gaze briefly met Elara’s, and she felt that same comforting warmth, but it was tainted now by the presence of someone else. Her pulse quickened. Her carefully nurtured fantasies seemed to crumble before her eyes.

The girl—Cressida—presented a small gift, a delicate pendant, and another token Elara barely registered. Her stomach sank. The whispered words that followed hit her like a stone: “Next Wednesday… our wedding. We want you to be the flower girl, or a bridesmaid if you’d like. Anything you choose.”

Elara froze. Flower girl? Bridesmaid? No… no… Her mind raced. She could barely breathe. The image of Sebastian with Cressida—hands entwined, smiles exchanged, elegance and warmth radiating between them—was an impossible scene for her young, obsessed heart to comprehend. She felt a cold burn in her chest.

Dinner continued in strained silence. Elara ate quietly, barely tasting the food, barely noticing the laughter and chatter around the table. Her thoughts remained fixated on the injustice of it all, on the way Sebastian’s hand rested on Cressida’s waist, on the way he smiled at her without even glancing at her the way he once had with her alone.

By dessert, she could no longer contain herself. As soon as the gifts were presented, she quietly excused herself, retreating to the sanctuary of her room. Her legs carried her swiftly up the stairs, her heart pounding, tears blurring the edges of her vision. She collapsed onto her bed, clutching her pillow, sobs shaking her small frame.

She hated the gifts. She hated the pendant. She hated the thought of the flower girl dress. And most of all, she hated Cressida, though she couldn’t rationalize why.

Why isn’t it me? she thought bitterly, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Why can’t it be me holding his hand like that? Why am I not beautiful enough, or blonde enough, or tall enough, or… anything like her?

Tears streaked her cheeks as she brushed her black hair back, tugged at the hem of her dress, and stared at herself with a mixture of anger and longing. She was confident, proud of her modesty, of her appearance, of who she was—but in that moment, her heart betrayed her, and insecurities she had never let anyone see erupted violently.

Maybe if I were taller… maybe if I were blonde… maybe if I… Her thoughts spiraled, painful and unrelenting. And yet, a small part of her mind clung to the one solace she had: Sebastian had not changed entirely. He had promised her freedom with her own choices. “You can choose your own dress,” she remembered his words echoing in her mind, soft but firm, like the anchor she desperately needed.

With trembling hands, she allowed herself a small flicker of relief. She would be the flower girl—but on her own terms. She would choose her own dress, her own style, her own dignity. And perhaps, in that small act of defiance, she could reclaim a fragment of the power she felt slipping away from her young, naive heart.

The shadows lengthened across her room as she stared at her reflection, silent tears still trailing down her cheeks. Her heart ached, shattered by the reality of Sebastian’s engagement, by the presence of Cressida, by the impossibility of her desires. And yet, a spark of determination flared: she would be herself. She would not be invisible. She would not be erased.

And somewhere deep inside, behind the hurt and confusion, a fragile, secret hope lingered—one day, she might find a way to be the one he noticed, truly and irrevocably.

 

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Next Wednesday arrived, the day that Elara had both dreaded and anticipated for weeks. She stood before her mirror, her reflection framed by the soft light filtering through the sheer curtains of her room. Her long black hair had been styled into gentle waves by a professional, cascading elegantly past her waist, and her makeup highlighted her natural beauty—a little blush on her cheeks, subtle eyeliner accentuating the almond shape of her deep brown eyes, and soft pink lips. Her dress was a deep sapphire blue, flowing gracefully to her ankles, paired with delicate heels that made her feel taller, more poised, more… noticed.

As she stared at herself, she allowed herself a sliver of hope. Maybe today… maybe today he notices me differently. She adjusted the ruby ring on her right hand and the bangles that jingled softly with her movements. In her mind, she constructed scenarios: perhaps he would pause mid-ceremony, his dark eyes locking on hers with unspoken realization. Perhaps he would remember the years of care, of gifts, of laughter and protection—and hesitate. Maybe he would say no to the wedding.

The drive to the wedding venue was filled with nervous anticipation. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, casting the outdoor ceremony in warm golden light, the perfect backdrop for what Elara secretly wished would be a perfect moment. Her heart raced with each step she took toward the aisle, the soft rustle of her dress echoing in her ears.

Sebastian stood at the front, tall and imposing, his presence commanding the space around him. His black tuxedo fit him perfectly, the six-button coat crisp, his black shoes polished, his collar and cuffs hinting at the tattoos beneath—mysterious, edgy, entirely him. His piercing gaze swept over the gathering, and when it landed on Elara, her chest skipped a beat.

Maybe… maybe it will be me, she thought, each step down the aisle a heartbeat of longing. Her small hands clutched the bouquet of delicate white flowers, the petals brushing against her fingertips. But as she approached, she realized, with a crushing sense of inevitability, that it was not her. His hand remained at Cressida’s waist, the blonde beauty towering beside him, radiant and confident.

Elara’s chest tightened, the hope she had nurtured for years beginning to crumble. The ceremony moved forward, vows exchanged, smiles shared, and promises made, and still, Sebastian’s attention never shifted entirely from the woman beside him. Elara felt the sting of exclusion, the bitter realization that some things she desired most were beyond her reach.

But as she walked back to her seat, the sun casting a golden halo over the wedding, something inside her shifted. The pain, the heartbreak, the jealousy—they all condensed into a single, powerful resolve. No. She whispered it to herself quietly, but firmly. If he doesn’t care enough for me, then I won’t let it consume me. I’ll live my life. I’ll find someone who loves me, who cares for me as I deserve, who notices me without hesitation.

Dinner followed the ceremony. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation, and the soft strains of music filled the air, but Elara barely registered any of it. She ate mechanically, her mind replaying the scene over and over—the way Sebastian’s hand rested on Cressida, the way he smiled at her with warmth she would never feel directed toward her.

“And after the wedding,” she remembered him saying during the meal, “Cressida and I are moving to London. We’ll start fresh, enjoy life together.” His words, meant to share joy, felt like a dagger to her chest.

Elara forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat, to breathe deeply, to remain composed. And as the evening wound down, a quiet decision crystallized in her mind: she would move on. She would not let herself be defined by unrequited feelings or longing for someone who had chosen another. She would find her own happiness, carve her own path, and live life fully—on her terms.

The next weeks and months were transformative. Elara maintained a polite distance from Sebastian, who, in turn, respected the boundaries now set between them. The dynamic that had once been warm and intimate—filled with gifts, outings, and shared confidences—shifted subtly. He continued to visit, but the gestures were measured, restrained, professional almost, his demeanor a quiet acknowledgment of the life he had chosen with Cressida.

Elara immersed herself in her studies, her hobbies, and her friendships. She honed her skills, pursued passions she had neglected, and learned to savor her own company. Yet, even as she grew into a confident young woman, the memory of Sebastian’s protection and care lingered—not as longing, but as a benchmark for the love and respect she would one day expect and demand.

For the first time in years, she felt the thrill of independence. She no longer clung to fantasies of what might have been. Instead, she envisioned a future where she would be seen, cherished, and adored—not as a child longing for an impossible affection, but as a woman worthy of genuine love.

And though a quiet ache remained in her heart—a faint echo of what she had lost—Elara’s resolve was unshakable. She would grow, thrive, and flourish. She would create a life filled with joy, success, and self-respect. And if fate allowed, she would one day find someone who mirrored the unwavering protection and care she had once known from Sebastian, but this time, it would be mutual, and it would be hers to cherish.