Sebastian didn’t offer to walk Maya to her car.
He just did it.
Because if he didn’t, he might say something to his mother he’d regret. Or strangle his sister. Or pour himself another drink that he definitely didn’t need.
So instead, he grabbed his coat from the foyer rack, muttered something vague to Eleanor about seeing Maya out, and stepped into the crisp Manhattan air, letting the night’s chill cool his irritation.
Maya followed at his side, silent at first, the clicking of her heels on the stone pavers echoing faintly. The city beyond the townhouse gates seemed muted—only the occasional taxi idling with a distant horn, the soft whisper of traffic on the avenue, and the hum of neon signs. Streetlamps cast uneven puddles of light, illuminating patches of wet leaves and damp pavem
