Page 30 of Sebastian.

“Well, have a fantastic time, and don't forget to make lots of new friends,” I encourage them, ruffling Joris's hair and giving Aleida a playful wink. Their nanny stands nearby, looking slightly uncomfortable at my sudden presence. I can understand her apprehension; it's not every day that the children's father shows up unannounced to observe. “Thank you for taking such good care of them,” I say sincerely, hoping to put her at ease.

Maybe this was the wrong thing to say, though, because she looks even more confused. “O-of course, sir.”

After bidding farewell to Aleida and Joris as they head off to the park, I turn my attention to Arthur, who is happily engrossed in his play outside. I join him, watching him chase after butterflies with his giggles filling the air.

“Come here, buddy,” I say softly, holding out my hand. Arthur rushes over to me, and I pick him up, settling him on my hip. We walk to the rose gardens, and I’m immediately taken back to my own childhood with my mother moving serenely among the rows of roses. And then later, a much more somber memory–my own father tending the flowers as some sort of repentance to his dead wife.

“You know, your grandma Dina used to love these roses,” I tell him, pointing to the beautiful flowers that adorn the garden. Red, yellow, white, and pink blooms dot the dark green bushes, and as we walk, I pluck a butter yellow one for Arthur, quickly flicking off the thorns before handing it to him.

I show him around the garden, sharing memories of my mother and how she adored taking care of these roses. It's a bittersweet moment, reminiscing about the past while trying to create a meaningful connection with my youngest son.

“Your grandma would have loved seeing you here with her flowers,” I tell him, looking into Arthur's eyes. “You've got her spirit and her love for the little wonders of life.”

I continue to share stories with Arthur, Floris walking four or so feet behind us as we go. Being with him in the garden, surrounded by the beauty of nature, I realize that there's so much I've been missing out on in my pursuit of success and business matters.

I’ve got to be more present in my children’s lives, cherish every precious moment, and create lasting memories with them. No more allowing work and other distractions to take precedence over the people who matter most. As important as my job is, I need to remember that the company is in a good place and that we are more than financially secure for the time being.

The hours of the day unfold, and I find myself fully immersed in the world of my youngest son. We play games, laugh together, and I even manage to coax some smiles and giggles from Arthur as we play hide-and-seek among the bushes.

“He’s such a happy boy,” I tell Floris, pushing my hands into the pockets of my jeans as I watch him run through the grass. “Not a care in the world. I wish life stayed that simple.”

Floris lets out a little laugh. “Oh, little Arthur has his moments of rebellion, I promise you that.”

Remembering the trouble that Andries used to get into––especially when he was older, with Dan at his side––I chuckle. “I believe you.”

I’m about to tell the nanny a story about my oldest son and the trouble he got into at the horse stables, when I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. I excuse myself, leaving Arthur in the very capable hands of his nanny, and go to answer the call.

It’s Karl, and I consider not answering for a minute. He’s caused so much trouble for me lately, intentionally or not, that I’d like to ignore him for the day. But something tells me I need to hear whatever he has to say, so I answer.

My greeting is simple and straightforward. “Karl.”

“Sebastian,” he responds, sounding relieved that I answered. “How are you doing?”

Hearing Karl’s worried voice on the other end of the line, a sense of dread washes over me. “I'm good. Just home, enjoying my morning. Why?” I try to sound nonchalant, but my heart is pounding in my chest, fearing what he might say next.

“So…you haven't checked the news yet?” Karl’s tone is hesitant, as if he doesn't want to be the bearer of bad news.

My anxiety starts growing at his question. “What news?”

“Well, your PR manager is here beside me, and you are on speaker,” Karl says, and I hear Peter joining the call.

“Peter, what the heck is going on?” I demand, my voice tinged with panic.

“Morning sir,” Peter greets, and I can immediately tell that the man is exasperated, which doesn’t bode well for me. “Sorry that we have to get into this right away, but I just sent you a text with the link. I think it's best if you check for yourself.”

I quickly open my message app and find the link sent by Peter. My heart sinks as I see the article published by none other than Kenneth, the infamous reporter who seems to relish in portraying my family in a negative light. The headline reads, “Sebastian Van den Bosch chooses to party instead of attending his own son’s wedding.”

I scroll through the article, and my worst fears are confirmed. There are pictures from the wedding, and the article spins a narrative of me not supporting my son's marriage and instead choosing to party with Karl at the club. The mention of Roxanne's past only adds fuel to the fire.

There is a photo of Margaret and Julia sitting together, holding hands, right next to a photo of Karl and I. To make it worse, I’m tilting a glass of champagne to my lips in the picture. The caption next to it states, “With his absence, Sebastian Van den Bosch makes it clear that he doesn’t support his oldest son’s wedding to former escort and madam, Roxanne Feng, and would rather stay partying in Amsterdam with Karl Townsend."

I feel a wave of anger and frustration wash over me. This is not how it happened. I had my reasons for not attending the wedding, but they were personal and had nothing to do with siding with Karl. The media has always been ruthless when it comes to our family, but this time, it feels like they are determined to tear us apart.

“Seb, this is bad," Karl says, his voice tense.

I simply heave a long sigh as I try to remain in control of myself. “Yeah, it is.”

Then Peter tells me that similar stories are being broadcasted through other news outlets. The situation is spiraling out of control, and I don't know how to contain it.

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