Page 91 of Throne Off Course

For a moment, Sebastian glimpsed something calculated in his father’s eyes—the cold satisfaction of a man who knew exactly which vulnerability to exploit. Sebastian’s abandonment fears had always been his weakness, and Lord Hawthorne was twisting the knife, reminding him that he wasn’t enough then, and implying he wasn’t enough now. A perfectly targeted strike to regain control of a situation—and a son—slipping from his grasp.

Sebastian felt as if he’d been struck.

He hesitated for a second, trying to regain his composure. “Well,” he said finally, forcing lightness into his tone. “That was sufficiently horrifying. Glad we had this chat.”

He turned toward the door, ready to leave, but just as he reached for the handle, his father’s voice—calm, composed, utterly dismissive—cut through the air.

“We’ll talk again once you’re finished with this little tantrum.”

Sebastian froze.

“You always were prone to these emotional displays,” Lord Hawthorne continued, sipping his drink with an ease that made Sebastian’s skin crawl. “I suppose it’s something you got from your biological father—certainly not from me. But you’llcome around. You always do.”

Sebastian swallowed, his grip tightening on the door handle.

“You’re angry now,” his father mused, as if discussing the weather. “But anger fades. And when it does? You’ll remember who you are.Whatyou are.” He let the words settle, then added, almost amused, “And you’ll realize that, in the end, you don’t actually have anywhere else to go.”

Sebastian’s pulse pounded.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to meet his father’s gaze over his shoulder.

And there it was—that cold, calculated certainty. The unshakable belief that Sebastian was, and always would be, exactly what his father had made him.

Sebastian forced a smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You really think that?”

Lord Hawthorne tilted his head, considering. “I know it.”

Sebastian didn’t know what to say to that, so without another word, he pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall.

He didn’t slam it. Didn’t let his father see how deep the words had landed.

But as he walked away, his father’s voice still echoed in his mind.

You don’t actually have anywhere else to go.

Sebastian clenched his jaw.

Watch me.

43

Tonight’s Special: Poor Life Choices with a Side of Regret

Sebastian never drank to forget. He drank to celebrate, to indulge, to enhance whatever moment he had decided to make his own. Tonight was no different—or at least, that’s what he told himself.

The club was dimly lit, all low golden lights and bodies moving in sync with the deep bass thrumming through the air. Expensive liquor burned in his throat, familiar hands traced patterns over his jacket, and a woman with red lips and an easy laugh whispered something promising against his ear. It should have felt good. It usually did. Yet tonight, the sensation rang hollow. The usual satisfaction wasn’t there. The flirtation, the attention—it all skimmed over the surface of him, never quite sinking in. He laughed, he touched, he performed. But beneath it all, something jagged and empty gnawed at his insides.

The letters still echoed in his mind. His mother’s words to his actual father, the late King. His entire existence was a carefully constructed deception. And worse—the cold calculation behind it all.

Sebastian had always played the game well—laughing too loud, loving too recklessly, never staying long enough to care. But tonight, for the first time, terror gripped him that none of it mattered. That none of it ever had. So he pushed further. More drinks, more flirtation, more movement. Anything to chase away the feeling clawing at his chest. But the emptiness only grew.

Alexander had received a call—from a mutual friend,someone who knew Sebastian well enough to recognize when something was truly wrong.

Sebastian might be known for his indulgences, but he always maintained a calculated control, a deliberate performance. Tonight was different. Apparently, he’d been doing lines with strangers—behavior wildly out of character for someone who typically treated even his vices with careful precision.

When Alexander arrived, he found Sebastian sprawled in a VIP booth, movements jittery beneath his forced languid pose, a half-finished drink in hand, a woman curled up against his side, another leaning in to murmur something in his ear. But his eyes—when they lifted to Alexander’s—were unnaturally bright and simultaneously hollow, a contradiction that sent alarm bells ringing.

“Ah, look who finally decided to have fun,” Sebastian drawled, voice smooth but with an edge of manic energy, his signature smirk not quite reaching his eyes. “Come to join the party?”