Let Me Go, Mr. Howard Chapter 16

"I'll speak to your director about giving you time off," Sebastian's tone was non-negotiable, carrying the weight of absolute authority. "I'll handle everything. You just need to be there to watch the details."

"I won't—"

"This isn't up for discussion." Sebastian cut her off, his eyes hardening. "This is an order."

Scarlett stared into his cold eyes, then at Edith's triumphant posture behind him, and suddenly felt a chill run through her. 

She opened her mouth to say something more, but found her throat constricted, unable to form a single word. In his eyes, she had never had the right to say "no."

She limped out of the bridal salon, carrying the heavy garment bag. The sunlight outside was harsh, forcing her to squint. 

She instinctively steadied her ankle with her free hand, the pain growing more pronounced—a reminder of her humiliation.

The garment bag was heavy, containing that exorbitantly priced haute couture gown. 

She slowly made her way to the curb, found a shady spot under a tree, and sat down. Setting the garment bag aside, she massaged her throbbing ankle.

A breeze stirred her bangs. Gazing at the busy street ahead, she suddenly thought back to three years ago. 

She had just joined the company and completed her first independent wedding gown design. She'd drawn it meticulously in her sketchbook, carefully detailing even the lace patterns.

That night, working late, Sebastian happened to see her sketchbook. He flipped through a few pages and casually remarked, "Not bad." 

That simple "not bad" had her secretly wondering if someday she might wear a gown of her own design, standing beside him.

Back then, she naively believed that with enough hard work and talent, she could stand by Sebastian's side. 

Now she saw how ridiculous that dream had been. He was marrying Edith. And she was just an errand girl, a bag carrier, a background character ordered around at their whim. Not even a supporting character—merely a prop to highlight their "happiness."

Scarlett took a deep breath, stood up, and picked up the heavy garment bag, limping toward the dry cleaner.

As she pushed open the glass door of the dry cleaner, wind chimes tinkled softly. 

She leaned against the doorframe for a moment, looking down at her right foot. Her ankle had swollen, flushed with an unnatural redness.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. The screen lit up with a message from Sebastian: [How's your foot?]

Scarlett stared at those words, finding them incredibly ironic. She could imagine his expression as he sent this message—probably casual, with a hint of patronizing concern, as if this could compensate for his earlier indifference. 

A cold laugh escaped her lips. She darkened the screen, shoved the phone back into her pocket, and didn't reply. 

What was the point? This act he was putting on—he might not be tired of it, but she was exhausted watching it.

Just as she reached the curb, a tall man in a black suit approached her.

"Ms. Seymour, Mr. Howard requests you join him in the car."

It was Sebastian's personal assistant, Mark Rogers. 

Scarlett frowned, following his gesture toward a black Volkswagen sedan parked at the corner—unremarkable, definitely not the Maybach Sebastian usually drove.

She understood immediately. He had ditched Edith, followed her here, and even switched to an inconspicuous car to avoid detection, planning to whisk her away without anyone knowing. 

How absurd. One moment ignoring her pain, the next playing the role of the "concerned one."

"I don't—" Scarlett began to refuse, but Mark had already opened the rear door, his tone respectful but his eyes unyielding, "Ms. Seymour, Mr. Howard is waiting for you."

As the door opened, she caught the familiar scent of cedar—Sebastian's signature cologne. 

He sat in the back seat, his profile hidden in shadow, his expression unreadable.

Scarlett's foot still throbbed, but the anger in her heart burned hotter than the pain. She knew she had no choice, just like countless times before. Where Sebastian wanted her to go, she had to go.

She bent down and got into the car, slamming the door with unnecessary force. She leaned heavily against the seat back, not sparing Sebastian a glance. 

The car interior was dead silent, broken only by occasional bursts of cool air from the vents.

Scarlett watched the dry cleaner recede in the rearview mirror, along with the corner where she'd stood moments before. Suddenly, she couldn't hold back a soft, bitter laugh.

That laugh, filled with mockery, pierced the false calm of the car like a needle. 

"Mr. Howard, you seem to be in quite the mood today," she turned to look at the man leaning back with his eyes closed. "You even switched cars just to pick me up? Aren't you afraid Edith might catch you? Or perhaps..."

She deliberately paused, watching him slowly open his eyes, coldness gathering in their depths, before leisurely finishing her sentence, "Perhaps you enjoy the thrill of sneaking around behind her back?"

Sebastian's fingers tapped lightly on his knee. He didn't contradict her, only said coldly, "Shut up."

"What? Did I hit a nerve?" Scarlett laughed, the resentment and anger she'd been suppressing finding an outlet and pouring out. 

"Are you trying to have it both ways? Being Edith's devoted fiancé while keeping me around for 'excitement'? Even greed has its limits, doesn't it?"

Her voice grew more heated, trembling slightly. "Aren't you afraid of being exposed someday, losing on both fronts? Or do you think Edith and I are both so stupid that we'll let you play us like puppets?"

Sebastian's frown deepened, the atmosphere around him growing suffocating. He suddenly turned, grabbing her wrist with enough force to crush bone. "I told you to shut up. Are you deaf?"

Rage swirled in his eyes. Despite the pain in her wrist, Scarlett defiantly met his gaze, her mockery intensifying, "What? Embarrassed by the truth? Did I say something wrong?"

Sebastian stared at her for several seconds, then abruptly released her hand, leaning back and closing his eyes again, as if he couldn't be bothered to argue further. 

The car lapsed back into silence, oppressively heavy.

---

The car finally stopped in front of a familiar private villa—the place where they'd often met in secret, hiding countless clandestine nights. 

As Scarlett got out, the pain in her ankle made her stumble.

Sebastian reached out to steady her, but she jerked away. "Don't touch me."

She limped into the villa, heading straight for the guest room, wanting to be as far from him as possible. 

She had barely reached the center of the living room when Sebastian called from behind, "Stop right there."