She turned to Sebastian, prompting him to try unlocking it. They tested every possible code—his birthday, mine, even the day we had first acknowledged each other as partners in the family—but the device stayed locked. Sebastian’s patience snapped. He ripped the phone from her hands and barked at the security men to restrain me.
He tried the facial recognition feature—but multiple failures forced the system to default to the passcode.
“What’s the password?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous.
Since the day we had formally aligned, the passcode had always been the date he first admitted his feelings. I could almost smile at the irony—he had forgotten. Not surprising.
Failing to access my phone in front of the family only deepened his humiliation. His pride crumbled, his expression darkening as a storm of rage built within him, second by second.
“You keep insisting those photos were a misunderstanding—so why change your password?” he spat, irritation heavy in every word.
“It’s the date you first confessed to me,” I said, calm, steady.