Chapter 8

I take back everything I said before.

Ethan wasn't clever at all.

He was an idiot.

He was still seeing her, still moving things forward — and he never said another word about the photo.

I went through his messages every chance I got, and they made me want to put a hole through something.

Completely unreasonable. Absolutely maddening.

That weekend, I decided to sit down and have a proper talk with him.

But when I came downstairs, I found him already dressed in a sharp suit, fixing his hair in the mirror.

I floated over to stand behind him, like a ghost.

"Ethan. Where are you going?"

He startled — visibly — then looked a little sheepish.

"Can you tell me... does this look okay?"

"It looks. Good. But you still haven't answered me. Where are you going?"

He touched his forehead, and then something rare crossed his face — a kind of boyish shyness.

"Her birthday. I'm taking her out."

Her. We both knew exactly who he meant.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Flowers and a cake — his order had arrived.

He carried them in carefully and set them on the dining table.

"I'm heading to the shopping center after to pick out a gift. Do you want to come?"

"No."

The word left my mouth before he'd even finished the sentence, my face flat.

"Alright then. I'll head out."

He went back to the mirror and straightened his tie one last time.

He lifted a hand in a small wave, and the corners of his mouth curved.

His smile carried something in it — a brief, almost naive nervousness, like a boy heading to his first date.

The door closed softly.

I stood in the exact same spot, unmoving.

I have no idea how long I stood there.

Then something went rigid in me, and I turned.

My eyes landed on the glass he'd been drinking from.

Without a moment of hesitation, I reached out, closed my fingers around it.

And smashed it down.

The pieces exploded outward like a burst of ice, scattering in every direction.

I looked down at the wreckage, my face completely blank.

Then I stepped over it and walked upstairs.

That night, Ethan didn't come home until the early hours.

I'd already swept up the broken glass and was sitting on the sofa scrolling through my phone.

When he came in, I was already forming the cold, cutting thing I planned to say.

But then he sighed, set the cake and flowers back down on the table.

My expression shifted despite itself. "What happened? Don't tell me you didn't deliver them."

"I didn't."

He nodded.

"She changed plans at the last minute and forgot to let me know. By the time I called, she was already halfway through dinner with friends. Showing up at that point would have been awkward."

"Awkward for you, or awkward because she said so?"

Ethan's eyes flickered. "Well, obviously it would've been awkward — by then they'd have already cleared the extra place settings and—"

I understood at once, and I was barely holding back a cold laugh.

"And then? What did you do until this hour?"

"I... I went to wait outside her building. I wanted to hand her the gift in person.

"But close to midnight, she sent me a message saying she and her friends were going to watch the sunrise. She wouldn't be home tonight.

"I asked which unit she lived in so I could leave it at her door, but she wouldn't say. Which makes sense, of course — a woman living alone can't be too careful."

Ethan said it with a small, practiced attempt at a light laugh.

But the sound fell flat in the silence between us, oddly hollow.

I forced my mouth into some approximation of a smile. It didn't quite work.

"You really like her that much?"

Ethan looked down. Said nothing.

Fine.

I clenched my fist.

Drew in a long, slow breath that burned a little on the way in.

"Can't you see she doesn't care about you? At all? Will you please just wake up?"

"I can't judge the whole situation based on tonight alone..."

He avoided my eyes, voice quiet.

"She has a lot of friends. Of course her birthday is going to be hectic. I'm the same way when I'm swamped — I don't always follow through. I understand that."

In that moment, I could have strangled him with my bare hands.

Was this actually my brother? Was he himself?

"I—"

He started to add something.

My instinct overrode everything. I nearly shouted:

"Don't. I don't want to hear another word of it."

I left him standing there and went upstairs, face like stone.

Afraid if I stayed one more second, my hands would do what they were threatening to.