Chapter Twenty-One #3
The day had passed without incident. I was still waiting for Elena to get back to me, but it was already late in Madrid, so I wasn’t expecting a reply tonight.
Dad was asleep when we left, but today had been better.
He’d been more present, more himself. We talked about nothing and everything—the weather, his company.
Like old times. For the first time since the heart attack, I hadn’t felt like I was clinging to him with white knuckles.
I told him I was staying a little longer, and he’d smiled—a small step that felt gigantic.
He even spoke with Ethan, and watching them interact so casually was… interesting. Ethan stayed beside me the entire time, his hand warm at the small of my back—steady, grounding, never asking anything in return.
Then he insisted we stop for food. More specifically, at a deli fifteen blocks out of the way in the already bitter November night.
I shifted one of the bags into my grip as I reached for my keys. Ethan stood beside me, burdened with the rest—three overstuffed paper bags balanced with our coats and his satchel.
“This is what happens when you can’t make up your mind,” I said, eyeing the stack. “What the hell are we going to do with this much food?”
“I wanted to try everything.” Ethan adjusted the bags higher against his chest, one slipping until he caught it with his elbow.
“It’s wasteful. And excessive—and that’s coming from someone with a mild shopping addiction.”
Ethan chuckled. “You’ll eat it.”
“I will not eat four sandwiches.” I pushed the door open, still shaking my head, and frowned as light spilled across the floor, voices drifting down the hall. “That’s odd.”
We stepped inside, the warmth of the apartment settling around us. I reached out automatically to relieve some of the weight from Ethan’s arms as we moved toward the living room—then halted.
Everyone turned.
Elena was by the coffee table, Raúl beside her. Mateo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Aria perched on the arm of the sofa like she’d been waiting for us to arrive, and Oliver lingered near the window.
And Henry—
At the front of the room, Henry stood with a marker in hand, a massive whiteboard set up behind him, the furniture rearranged to make space.
“Oh good,” he said brightly. “You brought food.”
I blinked, my brain still struggling to catch up. “What’s this?”
Henry gestured toward the board. “Isn’t it obvious?” He spread his arms like an orchestra conductor cueing a performance, a wide grin breaking across his face. “It’s a worktervention.”
I let out a short laugh, caught off guard, the shock still keeping me rooted in place.
Ethan nudged my arm as he passed, drawing my attention to the unmistakable satisfaction on his face. “Told you it wasn’t too much,” he murmured, winking. Then, louder, “Okay, who’s hungry?” He took the bags from my hand and headed toward the group like he’d known exactly what he was walking into.
“So this is why you weren’t answering your phone?” I asked Elena.
She grinned. “Your brothers said you were finally ready to listen to the voice of reason. I couldn’t stay behind and let them take all the credit.” Her expression softened. “And this is ours, Ash. We built it together. We’ll save it together.”
The words lodged somewhere deep, leaving me momentarily without a response.
“And I’m here because no one knows how to talk Sebastian Langley out of a crisis better than me,” Aria announced, crossing her arms. “Or force him out of it.”
A quiet laugh slipped out of me.
Raúl stepped closer, looking as unimpressed as ever. “And I have the connections to make sure you can act fast.”
Oliver pushed off the wall, already halfway through a thought.
“State contracts are what’s bleeding you right now,” he said, like we were picking up a conversation we’d already been having.
“You don’t fix that—you sidestep it.” His gaze met mine.
“There’s room in private infrastructure—energy, logistics, smaller-scale developments that don’t get tied up in red tape.
Mid-size municipal partnerships, too. Less exposure, faster turnaround. ”
I held his gaze, caught between pride and something harder to swallow. He’d already mapped it out.
“We reallocate resources out of the stalled contracts, prioritize projects with shorter cycles, and bring in private capital where we need liquidity. You tighten the pipeline, keep cash moving, and you’re not stuck waiting on approvals to stabilize.”
Aria waved a hand toward Oliver. “See?” she said, giving me a pointed look. “Right on cue—the financial genius.”
Something in my head kicked into gear, chasing the path Oliver had just laid out. Not fixed, but within reach.
Then our attention went to the last piece of the lineup—Mateo, still leaning against the wall.
His eyebrows lifted. “I’ve got nothing.” He jerked his thumb toward Henry. “I’m here for emotional support of this Langley.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the room, and I felt some of the weight I’d been carrying finally ease. Enough that I didn’t feel like I was bracing anymore.
Elena’s hand came to rest on my shoulder. “When we started this,” she said, “you told me you wanted the CFO role so you could have more time. So you could build a life outside of work.”
Ethan drifted back to my side, close enough that our arms brushed. I slipped mine around his back without thinking.
“You also said you’d need me to remind you of that,” Elena continued. “So here I am. Yes, we’re in a crisis. We’ll solve it. And then you’re going to step back and remember what life looks like outside your office. Okay?”
Life outside my office…
The idea of a life with some balance—of having something that wasn’t just work—felt… right. And then it was there all at once—the pull to stay in it. To live in the moment. To enjoy it. To stop thinking five steps ahead and just be in what was right in front of me.
My grasp on Ethan tightened as I smiled through the ache. “Okay.”
“Good.” Henry clapped once and pivoted into motion.
“Okay, people, positions. We have a crisis to solve and sandwiches to demolish. Mateo, stop leaning and start contributing. Raúl, drop the attitude.” He pointed at Oliver.
“You—keep going. Whatever you’ve got, that’s where we start.
And Elena—” he paused, eyeing her. “You’re actually terrifying, so I’m just going to hand the proverbial mic back to you. ”
The room came alive around me—chairs scraping, coats dropping, voices overlapping—everyone falling into place with an ease that made my throat tighten.
I stayed where I was for a moment, taking it all in. Ethan remained tucked against my side, solid and warm beneath my arm, his presence steadying in a way words never could.
“Thank you,” I said, leaning in closer, my voice low.
“Wasn’t me.” His gaze moved across the room—my brothers, my team, my family. “You’ve got a lot of people in your corner, Ash.”
Something in my chest gave, quiet and undeniable.
“Guess I do.”
The apartment had only just quieted.
The whiteboard stood in the living room, marker caps scattered across the coffee table, the faint smell of deli sandwiches lingering in the air.
Chairs sat slightly out of place. Everyone had filtered out one by one.
Only Henry—the last to leave—had drifted to the terrace with Ethan while we sat going over numbers.
Their voices carried faintly through the cracked door as I stepped into my bedroom, loosening the buttons of my shirt as I went, the weight of the day settling into my muscles. Not the bone-deep strain I’d been carrying for weeks—just the heavy pull that comes after you finally stop moving.
I was about to knock on the frame when I heard my name.
My hand stilled.
Through the narrow opening, I could see them near the railing, shapes softened by the night beyond. Henry leaned back against the metal, arms folded loosely, Ethan beside him, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold, head tipped down like he was listening and bracing at the same time.
Something about the sight kept me in place.
Ethan around Henry had always been a slightly different version of himself. Softer. Less guarded. And I couldn’t make myself interrupt it—that openness, that rare unarmored honesty.
“I’m just saying,” Henry murmured, his breath fogging in the cold, “for someone who swears he doesn’t want drama, you really like walking straight into it.”
Ethan huffed a soft laugh. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious.” Henry bumped his shoulder. “So? Should I congratulate you? Are we doing champagne? Flowers? Matching sweaters? What’s happening?”
“Nothing’s happening.”
Henry didn’t buy it. “Sure. Nothing. That’s definitely what it looked like this morning when you both walked out like you’d been fucked six ways to Sunday.”
Ethan groaned. “Jesus, Henny.”
“Well?” Henry pressed as he laughed. “You’re glowing and bruised. I feel like I’m owed at least a little transparency.”
Headlights streaked from far below, the space between them holding.
Then Ethan sighed. “Of course we had sex,” he said. “It’s Sebastian. What else would you expect?”
I didn’t know a sentence could hit two places at once. First, the sting of dismissal. Then the weight of guilt. But lie in the bed you made and all that.
Henry’s voice softened. “And?”
“And nothing,” Ethan said. “We slept together. That’s it.”
“Ethan—”
“I’m serious,” he insisted, though his voice wavered. “I’m not doing this thing where I build castles in my head and then watch him knock them down again. I’m not doing that twice.”
Henry stayed quiet, letting him keep going.
“So no,” Ethan continued, quieter now. “I don’t know where we are right now—what we are. We’re… whatever. Temporary. Situational.” A humorless breath. “Who knows? Maybe in a few weeks there’ll be some article or scandal, and suddenly there’s a branch to open in India. Or Singapore. Or Jupiter.”
“He’s trying,” Henry said gently. “Look at what happened here tonight.”
“Yeah,” Ethan replied. “He is, and I’m not saying I don’t believe him. I just… can’t afford to believe too much, you know?”
My chest clenched—not in anger or offense, but with a deep, aching grief for the damage I’d done.
“Things are always complicated with us,” Ethan said. “Circumstances haven’t changed. I just need to see if he has.”
Henry nudged his shoulder lightly. “For what it’s worth, I think he knows that.”
Ethan didn’t respond.
And I didn’t move.
Because, yes—it hurt. But I deserved every bit of it.
He didn’t doubt me because he was dramatic or suspicious.
He doubted me because I’d taught him to.
I’d trained him to brace for impact when it came to me.
Reinforced the same lessons life—and his fucking father—kept drilling into him.
If that didn’t make me want to drop to my knees and apologize forever, nothing would.
Their voices softened after that, the conversation drifting into something lighter. A quieter laugh dissolved into the night air, and that finally broke whatever held me there. I stepped back from the door and moved farther into the room, giving them the privacy I should have given from the start.
Leaning my shoulder against the wall, I pulled in a slow, steady breath.
He wasn’t wrong to protect himself… But I wasn’t walking away. Not this time.
My resolve came quietly but with certainty as I straightened. I was done reacting—done waiting. From now on, I was choosing.
If he needed proof, I’d fucking give it to him.
For as long as it took.