Chapter 2

Three pairs of eyes. Dead silence.

Cold sweat ran down the back of my neck. I needed something — an explanation, an excuse, anything — but my mind had gone completely blank.

Then Cole spoke. Perfectly casual. "Oh, you're back too. I was just finishing dinner — Nora literally just walked in."

Exhale.

Preston kicked off his shoes and swept me up, spinning me around with unmistakable joy. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming back early? You didn't even reply to my message—"

Cole cut in. "Come eat."

His voice was flat, cool. He turned away — and his bare back came into view.

Preston's brow furrowed. "Cole? Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

Cole's steps slowed.

My fingers curled together.

"Washing it," he said, and kept walking toward the kitchen.

I nearly collapsed with relief. There was laundry on the balcony — his, freshly washed, actually hanging there.

Wait.

My stomach dropped.

My underwear was out there too.

I grabbed Preston and kissed him hard.

He staggered back, startled — then caught on quickly, his hands warm and certain as he kissed me back. His voice went low. "Babe... slow down. Cole's still here—"

Crash.

A ceramic dish shattered in the kitchen doorway.

Cole stood there. His eyes had gone pink-rimmed in an instant.

We pulled apart immediately.

Preston cleared his throat. "We haven't seen each other in a while. Ignore us."

Cole's lips trembled faintly. "That devoted, huh," he said under his breath.

Preston didn't catch it. "Sorry?"

Cole said nothing. He crouched down and started cleaning up the pieces in silence.

From where I sat, I could only see his back — hunched, still, impossibly lonely.

The food was beautiful. I tasted nothing.

My entire attention was locked on the leg that kept brushing against mine under the table. Not Preston's — he was on my left.

No one spoke.

Then Cole lifted his chopsticks and placed a piece of steamed bok choy into Preston's bowl.

"Eat your vegetables," he said.

Then he placed the braised ribs — glistening, perfectly done — into my bowl.

Preston's expression went very still.

I started coughing.

Preston stood up. "I'll get you some water."

Yes. Anything to break this tension.

I nodded frantically.

The moment he was gone, I finally exhaled and turned on Cole. "What are you doing?"

He chewed rice with great composure, then glanced at me sideways. "The fridge is on the balcony," he said languidly.

The underwear—

It hit me like lightning.

I bolted for the balcony.

Preston was already coming back with a glass of water, expression neutral. "What's wrong, babe?"

I swallowed hard.

But I caught the slight pallor around his mouth — and the way he said, very quietly, "You're... that eager? Do you need the water, or not?"

On edge. Every single nerve.

That was the only honest description of how I felt.

Preston hadn't asked a single question. But guilt has a way of turning silence into an interrogation. I kept waiting for him to save it all up, let Cole leave, and then unleash everything.

I couldn't stand the suspense.

Then Preston looked up, voice flat and cold: "You can go tonight."

He was talking to his brother.

The two men looked at each other.

Even the neighbor's dog stopped barking.

I was somewhere outside my own body.

By the time I came back to myself, Cole had already grabbed his bag.

At the door, he paused and looked back at me.

"See you around," he said quietly.

The door closed.

The apartment had never felt so still.

Preston and I were alone — the most normal thing in the world, except that I couldn't look at him.

His hand closed around my wrist.

I looked up.

His eyes were red. "Nora... you have no idea how much I've missed you these past few days."

The guilt almost drowned me.

I took a slow breath.

I'm going to tell him.

But before the words came, Preston sealed his mouth over mine.

He kissed me like he was making a confession of his own — quiet and desperate and aching. Something wet landed on my cheek.

He was crying.

This time, he held nothing back. The warmth of it, the intensity — it swept me under completely.

Somewhere between moments, I heard him murmur against my skin:

"Can he make you feel the way I do?"

I went rigid.

"What did you just say?"

Another wave hit before I could think.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He'd always known my body better than I knew it myself. A few practiced moments and my thoughts scattered into nothing.

When it was over, I was boneless, barely conscious.

Half-asleep, I thought I heard him talking — soft and rough at once, like a bedtime story told to himself:

"Cole was born when I was four... He always knew how to charm everyone — my parents, the teachers, everyone. I couldn't help resenting him... so I took everything he had, from the time he was small. Until the night he turned eighteen. My parents and I were on a trip. He called, and I thought he was just playing for attention. I turned off their phones... When we came back, we found out he'd had an acute pancreatitis attack. No one had answered. He almost died alone in that house..."

"I made a promise to him after that. I told him — whatever he wants, I won't compete with him for it. I won't take anything from him. Not anymore."

A pause. His voice dropped lower.

"But Nora... why did it have to be you?"