The Billionaire's Dangerous Redemption (by Claire Winters) novel Chapter 138

138 More Than Gratitude

Hazel’s POV

The drive from Lumière to my studio was filled with Cora’s animated chatter about the upcoming Governor’s Ball. I kept my eyes on the road, nodding occasionally, but my mind was elsewhere. The conversation from lunch still echoed in my head.

*You’re not a monster, Hazel. You’re a hero.*

Sebastian’s words had wrapped around my heart like a protective shield. No one had ever defended my actions with such conviction before.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Cora observed, breaking through my thoughts. “Still processing the news about your father?”

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Among other things.”

“My brother has that effect on people,” she said with knowing smile. “He tends to leave them speechless.”

My cheeks warmed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Cora adjusted her posture, turning to face me more directly. “Sebastian doesn’t open up to many people. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of people who’ve seen the side of him that you have.”

“What side is that?”

“The gentle one.” Her voice softened. “The one who smiles. The one who’s patient.” She paused meaningfully. “The one who looks at someone like they’re his whole world.”

My pulse quickened. “We’re just friends.”

“Friends,” Cora repeated, amusement coloring her tone. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

I switched lanes, desperately needing something to focus on besides this conversation. “Sebastian’s been incredibly kind and supportive during a difficult time in my life. I’m grateful.”

“And that’s all?”

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138 More Than Gratitude

The directness of her question caught me off guard. “What are you asking me, Cora?”

“I’m asking if you have feelings for my brother.” She was nothing if not blunt. “Because he certainly has them for you.”

My heart lurched. “I don’t think-”

“Don’t overthink it, Hazel.” Cora’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Just answer honestly. When you’re with Sebastian, how do you feel?”

Safe. Seen. Valued. The words bubbled up inside me, but I couldn’t bring myself to say

them aloud.

“It’s complicated,” I finally managed.

“Because of your pending divorce?” she guessed. “Or because you’re afraid?”

Both questions hit too close to the mark. I pulled into the parking lot of my studio building, grateful for the reprieve.

“We’re here,” I announced, changing the subject. “The studio’s on the top floor.”

Cora allowed the evasion with a knowing smile. “Lead the way.”

As we rode the elevator up, she picked up the conversation as if there had been no interruption. “You know, my brother isn’t motivated by gratitude.”

I pressed the button for the twelfth floor. “What do you mean?”

“You said you’re grateful for his help. That implies his kindness toward you stems from some sort of obligation.” She shook her head. “Sebastian doesn’t operate that way. If he’s helping you, if he’s spending time with you, it’s because he wants to. Not because

he feels he has to.”

The elevator doors opened, saving me from having to respond. We walked down the hallway to the double doors marked “Evening Gala Design Studio.”

“Welcome to my sanctuary,” I said, swiping my key card.

The spacious loft-style studio was bathed in natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows. Dozens of sketches lined the walls, and three different workstations displayed fabrics in various stages of completion. My team had gone home for the day, leaving the space quiet and empty.

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138 More Than Gratitude

Cora whistled appreciatively. “Now this is a proper creative space.”

I relaxed slightly, back on familiar ground. “It’s where the magic happens.”

“Show me what you’re working on for Milan,” she requested, running her fingers along a bolt of emerald silk.

I hesitated. “Those designs are confidential. We don’t launch until fashion week.”

“I’m not a competitor, Hazel.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Consider me a potential collaborator. Sebastian mentioned you’re incorporating some revolutionary fabric technology.”

Of course he had. “Follow me.”

I led her to a locked cabinet in the back of the studio and entered a code. Inside were my most prized designs – the ones that would either make or break Evening Gala’s international debut.

“These are experimental,” I explained, carefully removing a garment bag. “The fabric responds to body temperature, shifting color subtly throughout the day.”

I unzipped the bag to reveal a gown that seemed to shimmer between deep blue and purple, depending on how the light hit it.

Cora’s eyes widened. “May I?”

I nodded, and she gently touched the material, marveling as it warmed beneath her fingers, shifting to a richer violet.

“This is remarkable,” she breathed. “Where did you source this?”

“I developed it with a textile engineer.” Pride crept into my voice. “It took eighteen months of trial and error.”

“Sebastian was right about you.” Cora’s admiration seemed genuine. “You’re not just talented – you’re innovative.”

The praise warmed me. “It’s still risky. The fashion world isn’t always kind to

newcomers trying to break the mold.”

“Risk is often the precursor to greatness.” She carefully examined the stitching. “And sometimes the things we fear most lead us to our greatest happiness.”

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I knew she wasn’t just talking about fashion anymore.

“Cora-” My phone rang, cutting me off. I glanced at the screen and frowned. “I should take this.”

She nodded, turning back to the gown while I stepped away.

“Hello?”

“Hazel.” Alistair’s voice sounded weak and strained. “We need to talk.”

My body tensed instantly. “About what? The divorce hearing is tomorrow.”

“That’s why I’m calling.” He coughed, the sound wet and painful. “I’m in the hospital. I won’t be able to make it.”

I closed my eyes, anger rising. “Of course you won’t.”

“This isn’t a trick,” he insisted, his breathing labored. “I’ve been sick for days. The doctor says it’s pneumonia.”

“And conveniently, it happens right before our hearing.” My voice dripped with skepticism.

“Alistair, honey, do you need another pillow?” A woman’s voice sounded in the background – his mother’s.

“I have to go,” he said quickly. “My lawyer will contact—”

The call ended abruptly.

I stared at my phone, seething. Every time I got close to freedom, Alistair found a way to yank the chain binding us together.

My phone rang again almost immediately. This time it was my lawyer.

“Ms. Shaw,” she began, her tone already apologetic. “I’ve just received notice that Mr. Everett has filed for a continuance due to medical reasons. He’s submitted documentation from Memorial General confirming his hospitalization.”

“And?” I prompted, knowing what was coming.

“And the court has granted his request. The hearing has been postponed.”

The room seemed to tilt slightly. “For how long?”

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“The judge has rescheduled for four weeks from now, pending Mr. Everett’s recovery.”

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