At Her Discretion

The penthouse was too quiet. Sebastian thought so as he loosened his tie, stepping over half-packed boxes and unopened condolence letters scattered across the floor. He stood near the windows, jacket off, tie hanging loose, staring down at a city that refused to mourn with him. The city below glittered like nothing had happened. Like his mother hadn’t been lowered into the ground three days ago. Behind him, a woman laughed. It was soft at first, uncertain—like she was checking whether laughter was still allowed here. “You’ve barely said a word,” she murmured, her fingers brushing his sleeve. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Sebastian didn’t answer. He reached for the glass on the table, took a slow sip, then exhaled through his nose. Three days since the burial. Three days of condolences and firm handshakes. Three days of strangers telling him how strong he was. Three days of nonstop pity. Suddenly— The knock came. Three sharp raps against the door, loud enough to cut through the quiet. The woman was startled. Her fingers slipped from his sleeve, her laughter dying in her throat. She turned toward the door, then back to Sebastian, uncertainty flickering across her face. “Are you expecting someone?” she asked. Sebastian didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened as the knock came again—firmer this time, impatient. “No,” he said finally. He set the glass down untouched and straightened, dragging a hand through his hair. The woman hesitated, her eyes darting between him and the hallway. “Sebastian—” “Get dressed.” The shift in his voice made her pause. “What?” “Now,” he said, a low growl slipping into the word. She searched his face, confused, a little embarrassed. For a second, it looked like she might argue. Then the knock sounded again, louder than before, and she turned hurriedly toward the bedroom. She moved fast after that. Sebastian heard drawers opening, fabric rustling, the quiet panic of someone trying to gather her dignity along with her clothes. A heel hit the floor. She muttered a curse under her breath as she tugged on her coat—the one she had left draped over the chair beside his. Sebastian walked to the door and opened it. A woman stood in the hallway, rain-dark hair pulled neatly back into a bun, dressed in a structured black tailored suit. Her posture was straight, her expression unreadable. She held a leather folder against her side, her gaze lifting to his—steady, assessing. “Mr. Vale,” she said. “My name is Naomi Reed.” Sebastian leaned against the doorframe, blocking her view inside. “This isn’t a good time.” “I’m aware,” she replied evenly. “But it’s necessary.” After a beat, he stepped aside. She entered without pausing, crossing the room and placing the folder on the table as though the space existed solely for the purpose that brought her there. Sebastian closed the door and turned. “Your mother’s estate was formally processed this morning,” Naomi said. “I’m the court-appointed executor.” He let out a quiet laugh and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “She planned ahead,” he said. “Even from the grave.” Sebastian poured himself another drink. He didn’t offer her one. “Funny,” he added. “She never mentioned you.” “She wouldn’t.” That made him pause. Naomi opened the folder. “There’s a clause tied to your inheritance,” she continued. “Effective immediately.” “Of course there is.” She slid a document toward him. “For the next twelve months, any financial settlement, non-disclosure agreement, or reputational intervention connected to romantic involvement will be logged.” “And?” “And repeated violations suspend your access to a sealed trust.” He laughed, short and humorless. “So my mother dies,” he said, “and you show up to audit my s*x life.” Naomi met his gaze—calm, observant. “I show up because patterns don’t disappear with grief,” she said. “They usually get worse.” Silence settled between them. Sebastian went quiet, eyes fixed on the document. Minutes passed before he spoke again, his voice lower now. “My mother froze half my trust,” he said, taking a slow breath. “Not because of mismanagement. Not because of incompetence. But because of my personal life.” “Yes,” Naomi said simply. He laughed softly. “That’s invasive.” “It’s intentional.” He studied her then—not the papers, not the numbers. Her. The neutral suit. The absence of jewelry. The way she carried authority without softening it. “And you’re here to what,” he asked, “babysit me?” “I’m here to observe,” she corrected. “And report.” Sebastian smiled, slow and practiced. “Report what, exactly?” She opened the folder wider. A timeline. Dates. Discreet entries. “Undisclosed relationships. Financial settlements. Non-disclosure agreements tied to romantic involvement,” she said. “Patterns.” His smile widened. “You’ve been busy.” “I’ve been thorough.” He stood, closing the distance—close enough that most women would have reconsidered their posture. “So let me get this straight,” he said lightly. “I can still date. I just can’t be… messy.” “If that’s what you call it,” she replied, “then yes.” From the bedroom came a soft sound—fabric shifting. Someone waiting. Sebastian smiled, slow and dangerous. “You’re early,” he said. “I haven’t even misbehaved yet.” Naomi closed the folder. “This,” she said, her eyes flicking briefly toward the bedroom door, “counts as documentation” she said. “And if the pattern continues, I’ll be the reason you lose everything.” His smile froze. “You’re joking.” “I don’t joke about estates, Mr. Vale.” “And if I ignore you?” he asked. “Or don’t cooperate?” She picked up her folder and turned toward the door. “Then my presence becomes permanent.” She opened it, then paused. “Oh—and Mr. Vale?” “My condolences.” She left. Sebastian remained where he stood, breathing slow, the city humming outside like nothing had changed. But something had. He could feel it. Then he noticed it. A single page lay on the table—separate from the folder she’d taken. He picked it up. And read. His signature stared back at him. Not just once. Page after page, dated months apart. Different pens. Different days. All his. He tried to remember signing even one. His mind came back blank. The realization settled slowly, heavily. Whatever this was, it hadn’t started tonight. He had just been allowed to notice.