Before You Were Mine

Chapter 1: Disrupted Sleep

The water came first. Not visually but physically. It slammed into him with the crushing certainty of drowning, thick and endless, forcing itself into his lungs until breathing became impossible beneath the weight of it. The pressure burned behind his eyes and crawled down his throat like something alive.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, a delicate hand slipped out of his. He never saw her face but the feeling of those fingers pulling away was always the realest thing in the dream. He never forgot the exact moment the warmth left his grip, and then nothing where she'd been.

Warm fingers dragged against his before disappearing into the darkness below, pulled downward by something merciless and unseen. Sebastián reached out instinctively… violently… but the distance between them widened too fast.

“Sebastián…”

He jerked upright in bed hearing her voice whisper his name. Air tore into his lungs as his heart pounded hard enough to hurt. Heart slamming, sheets twisted, then finally the reality of his bedroom began coming back to him piece by piece.

The penthouse slowly rebuilt itself around him in cold, clinical layers while the city beyond the windows glowed in silent grids of white and gold. Far below, headlights moved through the streets in slow streams beneath the final hours before dawn.

Sebastián sat motionless at the edge of the bed, chest rising unevenly. The dream still clung to him. Or was this a memory? He thought. He honestly did not know which possibility unsettled him more.

His fingers tightened against the sheets as if some part of him still expected to find another hand there waiting for him. Instead, he found only cool fabric and the emptiness of a bed made for one person.

He forced a slow inhale through his nose. Exhaling slowly, he forced his body into a state of practiced discipline. He drew the air in, held it, and released it until the lingering chaos of the nightmare was compartmentalized and sealed away where it couldn't interfere with the day's demands. Control returned piece by piece. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet met the cold stone floor. The sharp chill grounded him immediately, dragging him back into the present.

Outside, the city began to wake. New York never really slept. It simply paused long enough to reload before devouring the next day.

Sebastián stood and crossed the room slowly, his reflection following him through the towering windows. Tall, broad shoulders, and a controlled expression. Every inch of him was composed with ruthless precision. He was untouchable. Or at least that was what the world saw.

Lately, though, there have been cracks. Not visible ones but small fractures beneath the surface. A voice he never fully heard. A feeling he never fully grasped. Something soft… something devastatingly familiar, yet every time he tried to focus on it, it disappeared.

As he reached the bathroom and turned on the lights, the brightness cut through the darkness in sharp white lines. He gripped the edge of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. His hair, such a deep and rich espresso-brown, that could have been mistaken for black was slightly disheveled, tension locked through his jaw, and his eyes were colder than they should have been for a man barely awake.

He moved away from the mirror to turn the shower on. Heat and steam slowly filled the room as he discarded his silk sleep pants and stepped in. Allowing the water to roll over his skin, washing away the lingering traces of the nightmare, he stood beneath the stream longer than necessary, allowing the rhythm of it to steady him and anchor him back inside the life he understood: Meetings. Numbers. Acquisitions.

He shut the water off, took a deep breath while already going over his day in his head. He stepped out of the shower, dried off and returned to the bedroom. Steam still lingered against his skin by the time he stepped into the closet adjoining the master suite.

The space was larger than most Manhattan apartments. Dark walnut cabinetry stretched from floor to ceiling beneath soft recessed lighting, every shelf and drawer arranged with obsessive precision. Rows of tailored suits hung in flawless gradients of black, charcoal, navy, and deep earth tones. At the center of the room sat a large marble-topped island surrounded by custom drawers and display compartments. Everything about the room reflected the same thing the rest of Sebastián Vale’s life reflected.

He moved through the closet, fingers brushing past charcoal and black hanging from matte black velvet hangers, before stopping at the section of perfectly tailored suits all on walnut-finished hangers with gold clips for the trousers. His fingers moved between a jet black and rich navy suit hanging near the center of the collection. The navy fabric carried that unmistakable deep indigo tone that shifted subtly beneath the light depending on how it moved, and this would be his attire for the day.

He pulled it free from the rack. Next came the shirt. A soft slate blue with a stark white contrast collar and matching French cuffs.

Sebastián laid the pieces across the island in the middle of the large closet-dressing room combo before opening one of the shallow velvet-lined drawers. Minimalist cufflinks rested inside in neat rows of platinum and white gold. His gaze settled on a brushed platinum pair with understated geometric detailing.

Once dressed, he adjusted one cuff slowly before moving toward the watch drawer. His eyes moved between two pieces resting against black suede. The Patek Philippe Calatrava sat with timeless restraint, elegant and traditional in the way old power preferred to present itself. Beside it, the Parmigiani Fleurier Tonda PF Micro-Rotor carried something sharper. More modern. Less expected. Platinum bezel. Slate-toned dial. Understated enough that only the right people would understand exactly what sat on his wrist.

Sebastián stared at both for a moment before reaching for the Parmigiani.

Sliding the watch onto his wrist, he fastened the clasp and finally looked at himself in the mirror.

Every line perfect, every detail intentional, and every weakness buried so far beneath the surface it no longer existed. At least that was the lie he intended to wear today.