Chapter Fourteen
ETHAN
The apartment door slammed shut behind me, the echo carrying through the space as anger surged under my skin. But beneath it—under the heat and the sting—something far worse pulsed. Something empty.
He doesn’t want me.
Why the fuck did I even come here? Why the hell was I in this city, dressed like this, chasing after what? A man who couldn’t even look at me without flinching?
Tearing at the costume—the sash, the skirt, the stupid wings—I yanked everything off in one frantic motion.
Storming into the bathroom, I twisted the shower to hot until steam swallowed the mirror, then grabbed a fistful of makeup wipes, dragging them over my skin with shaking hands, scrubbing at the shimmer, the bronzer, the glitter clinging like a reminder of how stupid I’d been.
Desperate. I looked desperate.
Because that’s what I was, right?
Desperate to have him.
Desperate to matter.
Desperate to be someone worth choosing.
So fucking desperate that when my dad took everything from me, I just… let him. Didn’t fight. Didn’t defend myself. Didn’t even ask why.
And this job? This city? I had to run straight to him. Of course I did. I insisted on staying close because I always fucking do that. I always choose the people who won’t choose me back. I gave him my heart once, and he shoved it straight back at me. Because who would want it in the first place?
I scrubbed harder until my skin went red under my fingers and the wipes piled up in the sink. The shower roared behind me, fogging the mirror until I couldn’t see myself at all.
His words replayed over and over, hitting deeper each time.
Why are you here?
I can’t think with you everywhere.
My breath stuttered out of me.
I stepped into the heat, but the shower didn’t help, because underneath the humiliation, the shame, the glitter smeared across my hands… was the truth I hated most:
I’d wanted him to look at me the way I’ve always looked at him.
And he couldn’t even stand to be around me.
Nothing was helping. Nothing slowed my thoughts or steadied my breathing or eased the raw burn in my chest.
Why did you follow me here?
The tone of his voice—his beautiful, smooth voice—turned cold and resentful. Turned on me.
He didn’t want me.
I pulled on sweats with clumsy hands, shut off the lights, and crawled into bed, yanking the covers over my head as if that could silence everything. Like darkness could drown the noise.
My heart wouldn’t settle on a single emotion. It ricocheted between heartbreak and rage so fast it made my head spin. My eyes stung, and I blinked hard, refusing to let that happen. I was not crying over him. Not again.
Why did I have to provoke him?
Did I just fuck this up? For good?
No.
No, I wasn’t letting this take me apart. If he didn’t want me like this—
He did.
I knew he did. I saw it in the way he looked at me tonight, like he was starving. But I didn’t know how to reach out for the thing I actually wanted from him. Not sex. Not the power play. Not the games.
Henry’s voice crept in: Ask for what you want.
What if what I want sends him running? What if he rejects me again?
An hour passed. Maybe more. An hour of lying there, trapped between longing and self-loathing, between wanting him and resenting him, between hating myself for caring and hating him for making me feel like this. An hour of wanting sleep and knowing I wasn’t going to get it.
And then the buzzing started.
I pushed the covers down and checked my phone.
A call from the doorman? At this hour?
“Hello?”
“Mr. Bennett, Sebastian Langley is here for you, asking if he can come up.”
My stomach dropped. First relief—he came, he fucking came—then indignation rising fast.
“Let him up,” I said, already pushing out of bed.
I walked to the front door, every step fueled by everything he’d said to me tonight, but paused with my hand braced against the frame, forcing a slow breath into my lungs.
This was close to what I wanted. But not close enough for me to give in.
By the time I stepped into the hallway, the softness had already sealed itself away. A moment later, the elevator opened, and Sebastian stepped out—rumpled, flushed, eyes going straight to mine. He didn’t look angry anymore. He looked wrecked.
My chest ached, but I held the line. “You’ve got some real nerve showing up here right now.”
He stopped in front of me, jaw tight. “Ethan—”
“No.” I cut him off immediately. “I didn’t let you up here for you to take the easy way out.”
He faltered, guilt written all over him. “I came to apologize—”
“Yeah,” I interrupted, “but you’re not doing it drunk in the middle of the night because you’re lonely on your birthday. You don’t get the easy way out.” My arm stayed braced across the doorway, keeping him where he was.
“Then what?”
Do it, Ethan. Fucking do it.
Ask for what you want.
“You’re going to break up with your fucking boyfriend, then you’ll apologize.” I leaned in a little. “And you’re going to admit you fucked up. With me. With all of it. But you’re not doing it like this.”
His gaze stayed locked on mine.
Ask. For. It.
“You’re going to do it on your knees, Sebastian,” I said, my voice unsteady despite the control I was forcing into it. “I want you to crawl to me. I want you to beg.”
His eyes widened—probably more at the conviction behind the words than the demand itself—and for a split second, something in them broke through.
Not arrogance. Not control. Something raw and unsteady.
It hit me deep in the chest—the same place he always reached without trying, making my resolve waver.
I could end this right now. Pull him inside.
Let him hold me. Let everything fall back into the shape it always took when he touched me.
But if I folded now, nothing would change. I would still be the secret. The almost. The thing he reached for in private and denied in daylight.
I held his gaze and didn’t move. “And you’re going to be stone-cold sober when you do it,” I added. “I deserve that much.”
He swallowed, then nodded once.
“Go home.” And I closed the door before he could say anything else. I stayed there against it, breath unsteady. “Fuck.”
He deserved that.
He really did.
But doubt pushed at me anyway, trying to wedge its way in. I dragged my hands down my face.
From the other side of the door came the soft scrape of his shoes, then a dull sound—maybe his forehead resting against it. “You’re right,” he said. “You don’t deserve this.”
Pressure built under my ribs as his steps retreated. The elevator chimed—metal slid shut, and he was gone.
Again.
I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. “Fuck,” I whispered. “Fuck.”
Charlotte was about to arrive. Henry had stepped out to get groceries and then stayed downstairs, waiting for them to get here.
They’d landed a couple of hours ago, gotten settled at the hotel, and were coming straight over.
After that, Charlotte would stay with me, and Oliver and Henry would go see Sebastian.
Because that’s where we were right now. Like a divorced couple splitting up the kids.
This last week had been terrible. I’d felt solid in my resolve, waiting for Sebastian to come find me and finally say I’m sorry. But he hadn’t.
Vanessa told me he’d left for Seville on a work trip, which—fine—at least meant he wasn’t actively avoiding me again. But he’d been back since yesterday, and when Henry suddenly announced that tonight was brothers’ night, I hadn’t been invited.
I was fucking miserable and one short step away from crying or breaking something.
No.
Not breaking. The anger had quieted—backed down from rage and gone stale. It didn’t feel better, though. It felt heavy. And I couldn’t ignore the fact that he still hadn’t chosen me. I didn’t even know whether he’d broken up with Luca or not.
I thought I was holding it together, but that illusion shattered the moment I opened the door and saw Charlotte standing on the other side of it.
My eyes welled instantly, and her easy smile turned into concern in under a second.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, and I let the tears fall quietly against her shoulder, holding on, something in me giving in.
Her perfume—warm jasmine—was familiar enough to crack me wide open.
“Hey, E. What’s wrong?”
“I missed you.”
Her arms tightened. “Is that all?”
I shook my head, and she didn’t push. Just held me.
Oliver looked confused and a little worried when we finally stepped apart. I wiped my eyes, tried to keep the conversation light, and after the Langleys left, it was just Charlotte and me on the couch with glasses of red wine and takeout on the way.
“Okay. Done.” She set her phone down, took a sip, and fixed me with that Charlotte look. “Let’s talk about it.”
I slumped deeper into the couch, practically sinking into the cushions. “Sebastian and I are fighting.”
“I figured. About the boyfriend?”
“That and… a bunch of other stuff.” My gaze flicked to hers, sheepish, fingers picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “We kissed.”
Her eyes widened. “What? When?”
“A little while ago.”
“And was it like…” She let the implication hang.
“Cheating, yeah.”
Her expression didn’t just shift—it hardened. The disappointment was clear, turning my stomach sour.
“Ethan…”
“It’s Sebastian,” I cut in quickly, the words coming out defensively before I could make them anything else. “This isn’t like—they weren’t all that serious.”
“Come on, E. Don’t make it smaller than it is.”
“I’m not,” I muttered.
“But you’re acting like it’s not a big deal.” Her voice took on that familiar edge—too tight to be calm. “You don’t get to do that just because it’s Ash.”
Something in me pushed back immediately, instinctive and stubborn. “He’s not just—” I stopped, exhaling sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. “This is different.”