Chapter Fourteen #2
“Is it?” Her brows lifted. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks pretty similar. Someone on the outside, convincing themselves it means more. That it’s justified. That it’s—what—inevitable?”
Heat flared under my skin. “It is different. You don’t get it.”
“I do get it.” Her voice didn’t rise—it dropped, controlled in a way that made it worse. “And you do too.” A beat. “You know what this does to the person on the other side. You’ve seen it happen.”
The guilt hit hard, but I pushed against it once more, clinging to the only thing that made this make sense in my head. “He was mine first,” I said, quieter now, but no less certain. “Before all of this. Before Luca.”
“Ethan.” Charlotte’s gaze didn’t waver. “That doesn’t give you a free pass to hurt someone else.”
My gaze dropped to my hands. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone.”
“But you did.” The words settled heavily between us.
She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling, some of the tension slipping but not disappearing.
“I’m not saying this is all on you. Sebastian should have known better,” she said.
“But I’m going to take a wild guess and say you were pushing all the right buttons? ”
My stomach roiled. “Fine,” I muttered. “Fine. Yes. I fucked up.”
Charlotte’s lips curved into a small smile—relieved. Her hand landed on my knee, giving it a light squeeze. “Admitting it is the first step. I get that things can get out of hand, E. I do.” She hesitated, her tone softening. “I just… don’t like seeing you be that person.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Me neither.” I didn’t know what to do with that. Did Luca even know? About the kiss. About any of it? Or was he still walking around thinking everything was fine?
If I was being really honest with myself… he wasn’t the bad guy here. He hadn’t done anything wrong—he’d just been there. I was the one who crossed the line.
And that made it a hell of a lot harder to sit with.
Charlotte propped her elbow on the back of the couch, fingers threading through her hair. “There are a couple of pieces floating around online. You, Sebastian, and Luca. I thought it was just gossip.”
I rolled my eyes. “There’s always gossip.” It barely registered. People had been talking about me long enough for it to blur into background noise.
But the thought snagged a second later.
Sebastian hated that noise. Hated the scrutiny. He’d spent years keeping his life sealed off from it—no personal interviews, no social media, no trail that wasn’t strictly professional—especially after the first time our names had been dragged through the headlines.
And now, with the company already being picked apart, with articles dissecting every move VistaReal made, this would only feed the narrative. Personal scandal layered neatly over professional instability.
I reached for my glass and took a longer sip, unease settling in heavier over the whole mess.
“Did he break up with him?”
I sank even further into the couch. “I don’t know.”
She blinked. “How do you not know?”
“Because he’s annoying and can’t say anything to my fucking face in a way that’s actually clear.” I rubbed my feet on the carpet. “The only thing I know is that Luca hasn’t been around or calling because his assistant told me. And he didn’t go to Sebastian’s birthday.”
She arched a brow. “His assistant?”
I reached for my glass too fast, sloshing the wine a little. “We’re office friends.”
“Right… because you’re working with him.” Her voice softened into suspicion. “Can you explain to me why? Because that’s a question you’ve been avoiding too.”
I didn’t want to tell her the truth about everything. My eyes dropped to the wine, watching it swirl around the bowl of the glass, my thumb tracing the stem over and over just to give my hands something to do.
Guess I was just as good as Sebastian at sidestepping conversations—hiding what mattered until it spilled out somewhere public and messy.
Fuck that—
I told her everything instead.
Right from the beginning with Dad, all the way to that final call and me having to accept everything was gone. Charlotte went through her glass of wine. Then a second one. Her eyes kept getting wider through the whole story, and that little vein at her temple started to throb.
By the time I finished, she was pacing in front of the couch, shaking her head like she could barely contain herself.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” she declared.
Whoa. Charlotte swearing?
“There’s a line for that,” I muttered.
“That slimy weasel”—she jabbed a finger in the air—“And Mom did tell me he moved. She was furious because he left without telling her and apparently owed her money. This is just too much.”
Yeah… I really was never going to see a cent of it again. Things genuinely couldn’t get worse.
She sat down again, hand landing gently on my thigh, eyes huge and pleading. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped.”
“I figured it out, Char.” I swallowed. “Sebastian helped, but… I figured it out. And I don’t want you to worry or feel like you need to support me. The last thing I want is for him to be right and for me to just live off the Langleys forever.”
Her expression didn’t budge. “If you didn’t want the money, that’s fine. But why didn’t you let me help you go through all of that? Just talking. Listening. There are other ways to help, Ethan.”
I stared at her.
“When the whole thing with Sebastian blew up, I told you to stop doing this,” she went on, voice tight. “To stop carrying everything on your own. You and me? We’re it for life, E. If something like that happened to me, would you want me to hide it and go through it alone?”
“Of course not.”
“Then stop thinking letting people in makes you weak.”
My brain stalled. Literally stopped.
Because she was right. And because—god—it hit somewhere deep enough that something inside me flinched. I could picture myself saying that exact same sentence to Sebastian. And that was the part that gutted me.
When had I started behaving like him? When had I turned into the thing I spent so long resenting?
“I just…” The words scraped on the way out. “I just don’t want people to have a reason to leave me.”
Charlotte’s eyes welled the second I said it—like she’d been waiting for me to say something that honest. “That’s not going to happen.”
But it already had. Over and over.
I never realized how much Sebastian leaving was carved into me. How deeply my parents’ bullshit had lodged under my ribs. And now… this. All of this fucking mess. I’d crossed the same line I’d spent years hating them for.
And instead of dealing with it, I felt myself shutting down all over again. Every disappointment made me colder. Every time it happened, I pulled further back. Suddenly I was looking at myself through her eyes and realizing—
Was that what it was like for him too? Carrying everything alone until the fractures began to show somewhere he couldn’t control? Was he just… shut down? Not because he didn’t care, but because he genuinely didn’t know how to reach out?
The thought was so sad my eyes burned.
Charlotte’s arms wrapped around me again, fast and tight, and I leaned into her without thinking.
“Fuck, this is sad,” I said against her shoulder.
She let out a wet laugh. “A little.”
“I’m sorry. You’re finally away from the kids, and I have you here looking after me.”
She pulled back just enough to pinch my arm.
I yelped, hand flying to the spot. “What the hell was that for?”
“Stop apologizing for being human, Ethan. We all are.”
I rubbed the sting, a small smile tugging at my mouth as something in my chest unclenched. “I hope that’s not how you correct your kids. This kind of thing is illegal now.”
She smacked my arm—lighter—before grabbing her wine and downing it. “I would never. You just need extra help.”
The tension in me eased after that.
We ate, we talked, she curled her feet under her on the couch the way she always did, and for the first time in days, the noise in my head felt manageable. I felt more grounded. More like myself and less like the spiraling mess I’d been since arriving in Madrid. Probably before that, honestly.
And when I finally lay in bed later, replaying everything—our fight, his voice in that doorway, his face when he looked at me—it didn’t hurt the same way.
It gave me clarity.
Because even if I understood him better now—even if I could see the parallels between us—I didn’t have to turn into him. I knew Sebastian wasn’t intentionally cruel; he just didn’t know how to offer more. But I deserved better, and I wasn’t going to settle for scraps.
Three days later, there was no more avoiding it. Not for either of us.
The space between Sebastian and me hadn’t eased—not even a little. We hadn’t spoken since the night he showed up at my door. No text, no call, no attempt to fix what’d been broken.
By the time lunch rolled around, I’d rehearsed exactly how to handle being in the same room with him—calm, civil, braced for whatever version of him I’d get. Guarded enough that nothing slipped through the cracks I’d spent the week stitching shut.
November had arrived quietly, slipping into the city without ceremony.
The light felt thinner now, the sun lower even at midday, and the chill that lingered in the shadows followed you indoors if you let it.
The restaurant was meant to feel casual, but the private room felt stifling the moment I stepped inside.
Henry had invited Mateo and Raúl; Sebastian sat beside Elena and a couple of directors; Oliver, Charlotte, and a few friends filled the rest of the table. I slid into the seat beside my sister, quietly putting as much distance between us as I could.
We didn’t say hello.
Our eyes met for a second—his unreadable, mine trying not to show anything—and then we both looked away.
It was strange how quickly things had changed. How we’d gone from wanting to be near each other, from the effortless pull that used to drag our gazes together and tug smiles out of us… to this quiet separation. To silence. To regret.
Maybe he didn’t care as much as I thought.
Maybe I was waiting for a version of us that was never going to exist.
Halfway through lunch, while I was debating getting up and leaving, Sebastian’s phone buzzed. He frowned, murmured an apology, and stepped away to take the call.
Something about it immediately put me on alert.
I watched his back as he listened.
In a single heartbeat, his posture changed—shoulders locking, head dipping forward. When he turned slightly, his eyes were wide, startled in a way I had never seen on him. His mouth moved fast, voice low and too far away to pick up.
Then he looked back at the table… and his gaze caught on mine.
Not pleading.
Not asking.
Just raw emotion leaking through the cracks he usually kept sealed shut.
I was on my feet before I realized I’d moved, my chair scraping softly against the floor.
Charlotte tugged on my sleeve. “E, what is it?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered—because I didn’t, not exactly. But something in me recognized it was bad.
Sebastian turned toward us again, eyes bright with something dangerously close to fear. That was what got me moving, my feet already taking me to him.
“Calm down and—” Sebastian’s voice shook as he spoke into the phone. His chest rose and fell too fast. “What happened?”
“Ash?” I said quietly.
His eyes snapped to mine. He didn’t answer. He didn’t seem capable of it. His free hand twitched at his side—just once—like he was fighting the urge to reach for me.
So I made the choice for both of us. I took his hand, interlocking my fingers with his. His grip closed around mine instantly—too tight.
I steadied him with a small nod and turned to the table. Most of them were already standing, alarm rising like heat in the room.
“Henny. Oli,” I called.
The panic on their faces twisted something sharp inside me.
Sebastian squeezed my hand again—harder. “Where is he now? Vivian—” His voice cracked on her name.
Oh, fuck no.
“Vivian, where are they taking him?” His breathing sped up, thin and uneven.
He listened, eyes darting from side to side as he tried to piece together words we couldn’t hear. Oliver and Henry rushed to us, Charlotte right behind me.
Finally, Sebastian looked at his brothers, and his grip tightened around my hand until it hurt. He lowered the phone slightly, not speaking into it but still listening. “It’s Dad,” he said. “They’re taking him to the hospital.”
Shit.