Chapter Thirteen #2
Near the back of the room was a staircase—elegant, spotlighted, and unfortunately positioned directly in my line of sight. And standing at the top of it, descending slowly—deliberately so—eyes locked on mine…
Was Ethan.
But not just Ethan.
Ethan dressed in the most exquisitely sinful way I had ever seen him in my life.
His summer-warm skin gleamed—actually gleamed—candlelight dragging gold across it with every step. And there was so much of it on display. An alarming, illegal amount. Because the only thing he was wearing was the smallest, most perfectly arranged Greek robe.
Golden straps wrapped up his calves in tight, crisscrossing lines, drawing my gaze up the firm cut of his legs.
The miniature skirt hit high on his thighs—far too high—and a single white sash crossed over his otherwise bare chest, leaving every line of muscle exposed.
His curls were a chaotic, beautiful mess around his face as he moved, each step unhurried, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
And then—because apparently my sanity wasn’t fragile enough—he had wings. A small, fluffy white pair of angel wings perched on his back, soft and ridiculous and devastating, because the rest of him looked like sin carved into flesh.
This wasn’t a costume. It was a provocation.
And I was speechless.
“Hey, are you alive?” Henry’s voice came from somewhere to my right.
Still no words. No breath. Just Ethan continuing his slow descent. Heads turned as he passed—double takes, outright stares—and that small, tantalizing smirk on his mouth.
A hand waved in front of my face. “Ash?”
“Oh my fucking god,” I whispered. My body reacted before my brain caught up, heat unfurling low, the kind that made thinking nearly impossible.
“What—” Henry shifted beside me, following my line of sight. “Oh boy.”
Ethan reached the first floor and started toward us—toward me—while the crowd seemed to part for him like he was some goddamn deity stepping down from Olympus.
“Ash.” Henry’s hand landed on my shoulder, firm. “Ash, pull it together.”
“What?” It didn’t even sound like my voice.
“He’s getting closer. Pull it together,” Henry hissed, shaking me like he could physically shove sense back into me. “Pull it together. Pull it together.”
Whatever he was trying to aim for, it wasn’t working.
“Okay—fine. Then at least close your mouth?”
My jaw clicked shut on command just as Ethan stopped in front of us, chin tipped up to hold my gaze.
“Hi, birthday boy,” he said, voice even raspier than usual.
A sound came out of me—something caught between a hum and a groan and absolutely not a dignified greeting. I cleared my throat like that might erase it.
Ethan’s perfectly plush lips curved. “Save me a dance?”
My throat refused to function, so I lifted my glass and gave what I hoped passed for a nod.
He grinned—slow and intentional—and that’s when I noticed the golden leaves woven into his curls.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Gotta make the rounds,” he murmured, then winked. Naturally. He turned, walking away with the kind of confidence that guaranteed I’d be watching. His entire back was bare, the tiny skirt downright obscene, pulling my gaze down the line of his spine to the flex of the back of his thighs.
Another sound slipped out of me—this one undeniably a groan.
“Christ,” Henry muttered, pressing his fingers to his temple. “I’ve never felt secondhand embarrassment this bad. Absolute cringefest.”
I rounded on him, setting my glass on the table before grabbing his shoulders.
His eyes went wide. “What?”
“You cannot leave me alone with Ethan tonight, Henry.”
His lips parted, tongue pushing into his cheek as his gaze flicked away for a beat. “Yeah, that’s fair. You’re already drinking like a maniac, sad because you’re turning—”
I shot him a warning look.
“Thirty-nine,” he said carefully. “And he’s dressed as what I’m guessing is your biggest fantasy. You’ve gotta hand it to him, though—the kid’s smart.”
I gave him a shake. “Henny.”
His eyes snapped back to mine.
“It’s imperative.”
He slipped out of my grip, smoothing his shirt like I’d wrinkled his soul. “Okay, yeah. I get it. Keep you two apart. Super easy, by the way.” The sarcasm was back in full force.
I reached for my drink again, but Henry stopped me halfway, palm to my wrist. “Are you really going to make my job harder?”
Now I wanted the drink purely out of spite. Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong.
“Now what?” I asked, defeated.
“Now we mingle.” Henry adjusted his collar, grinned, and pulled me straight into the crowd.
What followed was a blur. Hour after hour of greeting people—colleagues, clients, business associates, all drinking behind masks while the room tilted a little more with each passing minute.
Henry dragged me through photos and endless toasts, and I did my best to pretend my smile wasn’t so fake it could’ve cracked off my face, aware of eyes lingering a second too long, of the quiet appraisal that came with rooms full of investors and partners.
And every time I caught a flash of golden curls or warm, shimmering skin somewhere in the crowd, I turned away immediately, focusing on anything else. Anyone else.
My brother deserved a fucking award for shepherding me through the night.
Until he spotted Mateo.
One smile—that was all it took. Henry veered off like a heat-seeking missile, leaving me stranded with a pack of investment bankers and absolutely no emotional support. Apparently, the Langley brothers shared a crippling lack of responsibility in the face of sexual attraction.
The second I could excuse myself, I drifted away and through the crowd, nodding at passersby, lifting my glass in greeting, trying to look like a functioning adult instead of a man circling a breakdown.
Eventually I found an exit—a stone balcony draped in roses, with a few scattered tables and chairs. Blessedly empty.
I sagged into the nearest chair, slumping back with a groan. Tugging the mask off my face, I let the cool evening air hit my skin, and for the first time all night, I actually breathed in. Unfortunately, the way the balcony tilted when I closed my eyes probably wasn’t a great sign.
“What a surprise,” a husky voice said. “You’re hiding again.”
My eyes lifted—baby blue hit me straight in the chest. Ethan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, curls a mess around his face.
Fuck. Me.
“Needed fresh air.” At least I could get words out now. Improvement, technically.
He smiled, then walked over and sank into a seat. The tables were tiny, the chairs shoved close together, so his thigh brushed mine immediately and stayed there. Bare. Warm. Glimmering.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Sebastian, don’t—
“Nice party.”
My gaze drifted over him before I managed to drag it back to his face. Not much safer. I fucking loved his face. “Henry’s good at that.” I finished what was left of my drink and set the glass down, maybe a little harder than I meant to.
Ethan’s eyes flicked to it. His lips twitched, and then his hand moved—fingers walking over until they found my wrist. Heat shot up my arm as his thumb traced lazy circles on my skin.
“Are you having fun?” he asked, voice low, hypnotic. It always did things to me, but tonight—Christ, it was worse. Or better. Both.
Alarms should’ve been blaring, but apparently, I was ignoring all of them. I leaned in automatically, careful not to disturb his hand. “I am now.”
Ethan grinned. “Do you like the outfit?” His leg slid between mine, his thigh tensing against me. The gold shimmer on his skin caught the moonlight.
“I love it,” I said before I could stop myself.
He looked entirely too pleased with that.
“How did you know?”
We were closer—his hand had somehow reached the bend of my elbow now. I’d ditched the jacket and rolled up my sleeves earlier, so the slow drag of his thumb there felt… really fucking good.
“You said something once,” he murmured, swallowing. “That I looked like a Greek statue come to life. You told Charlotte. Remember?”
I nodded dumbly. “So… was this for my benefit?”
“Happy birthday,” was all he said.
I licked my too-dry lips, and his eyes followed the movement like he wanted to taste it. “What did I do to deserve such pleasure? I thought we were fighting.”
Ethan hummed, moving into me. Of course I followed. His hand slid up from my arm, fingertips brushing over my beard in a slow caress.
“You’re supposed to get gifts on your birthday.”
A low chuckle slipped out of me. “And are you mine?”
Something flickered in his eyes—too quick for my drunken brain to catch. Then he leaned in closer, guiding my face with a soft press of his fingers until his cheek hovered right beside mine.
“You know what I’d do if I were?” he whispered, warm breath spilling into my ear and sending a full-body shiver down my spine. “Yours.”
“What?”
His hand glided from my neck down to my chest, curling into my shirt and tugging me closer. “I’d take you somewhere dark,” he breathed, “but still in plain view. Crowd you against a wall, hold your hips in place.”
My pulse hammered, my restraint snapping thread by thread.
“Then I’d get on my knees.”
My cock—which had been hard from the moment he appeared on that staircase—throbbed in my pants.
His fingers released my shirt, then traced slowly downward, stopping at my belt.
“I’d pop this button, drag the zipper down, and reach inside…
” His voice dropped into something lower, filthier.
My eyes fluttered shut. “…pull that big cock out, and give it a few slow strokes. Just enough to make sure it’s nice and hard for me. ”
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“And then,” he whispered, “I’d run my tongue all over it—”
The warm drag of his tongue against the shell of my ear made a sound tear out of me, raw and helpless.
“—before taking it into my mouth and making you cum down my throat.”
Hard. I was so hard it was painful.
My body was coiled tight, mind emptied of every rational thought. Everything except him. Taking him. Having him. Pulling him into my lap, kissing him until he melted, getting him naked and open, and letting him ride me however the fuck he wanted—
I reached for him without thinking, my hand sliding to the thigh pressed between mine, my palm molding to the heat of his skin, and a broken sound almost slipped out of me at the relief of finally touching him.
Ethan was panting softly into my ear when his fingers closed around my wrist. But instead of guiding me where I wanted, he lifted my hand away. “Too bad you don’t get to touch.”
What?
My mind lagged behind, still trying to process what he’d said, while my body had already surged ahead, already choosing him without hesitation.
He leaned back just enough for me to see his face—close, but out of reach. All that molten warmth gone, replaced with something cold.
“Too bad you made the wrong choice,” he said, head tilting slightly. “So instead of doing all of that…”
He let the silence drag, punishing.
“…the only thing you get to do is go back to your apartment—alone—and jerk off thinking about me.”
The words landed like a slap.
Realization filtered through the haze, piece by brutal piece, until I understood exactly what this was. “We’re still fighting.” It wasn’t a question. It landed in my chest like a weight.
Ethan nodded once, dropping my hand. “Happy birthday, friend.” Venom coated the word.
I sank back into the chair, humiliation burning up my throat. I had no right to feel betrayed—not after everything—but the denial, the distance, the reminder of what I had forfeited twisted something raw inside me. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through it.
You chose this. You let this happen. You failed him. You failed everyone.
Pressure built behind my ribs, tight and relentless, Elena’s voice folding into Henry’s disappointment, into my father’s warnings, into the audit and the freeze and the slow collapse of everything I had built, until the weight of it pressed down so hard it felt impossible to draw a full breath.
And Ethan—right here, within reach and yet utterly out of bounds—was the one thing that had always quieted the noise; the one place I could set the burden down, and now even that was closed to me.
I couldn’t control anything.
Not the company. Not the damage. Not myself.
The guilt raked through me, sharp enough to tear, and without the thin layer of restraint I had been clinging to all night, the words slipped out. “Why are you here?” The accusation sounded foreign to my own ears, jagged and raw.
Because if he wasn’t here, I could think.
Because if he wasn’t here, I wouldn’t feel myself splitting open.
“Why did you have to follow me here?” My voice cracked. “I can’t think with you everywhere.”
Silence answered me.
Too much of it.
I forced my eyes open—
And the look on his face knocked the breath from my lungs.
Wide eyes. Wounded. Unprotected.
Because I had put that there.
My stomach dropped.
No. No, no, no.
“That’s not what I meant,” I said quietly, uselessly, but it was already too late.
Ethan pushed to his feet, jaw tight, eyes bright in the low light, and without a word, without looking back, he turned and walked out, leaving me sitting there like the world’s biggest fucking idiot.
What the hell had I just done?
My phone pinged, the sound slicing through the noise in my head.
I stared at it for a moment before reaching into my pocket, my hand unsteady as I pulled it free. My breath turned shallow, pulse hammering as I looked down.
Aria
I hate being the bearer of bad news
but I thought I’d give you a heads-up
I had this one taken down but you know they have a habit of popping up anyway
Happy birthday Ash
A link waited beneath the message. Somewhere in the middle of it, I’d stood. I hadn’t even felt it happen.
My thumb hovered before tapping down. The page loaded slowly, and when it did, two photographs filled the screen.
The first showed Luca and me arriving at Mateo’s gallery opening, his hand at my back, cameras catching us mid-step as if we were something curated for display.
The second was from the café—that afternoon, the day I had set out to break Ethan’s heart.
They had captured the exact instant he’d looked up at me, smiling warmly, something open and unguarded in his face, something that had never belonged to anyone but me.
Below the images, a headline stretched across the page—not kind in the slightest—accusing me of exactly what had happened and dragging both of them into public scrutiny once again.
“Fuck!” The word ripped out of me, loud against the terrace air, taking the last thin thread of sanity I had left with it.
Happy fucking birthday to me.