Chapter 27
Ella
I see him later that day in the apartment mailroom. He’s standing by the boxes, flipping through envelopes.
I walk up to him without pretending I’m not thinking about the way he left my apartment only hours ago. Without pretending I don’t still feel him in my bones.
“So,” I say, meeting his eyes this time. No fidgeting. No nerves. Just honest. “My family’s having a get-together this weekend. Nothing fancy. Burgers, wine, and a couple of backyard games. I was hoping you’d come with me.”
I hold his gaze, give him the space to really hear it. It doesn’t come out rushed. It doesn’t come out small. It comes out exactly the way I mean it to.
He doesn’t answer right away.
He just looks at me. Really looks. Like he’s weighing something he doesn’t want to name., I think he’s going to say no.
Then he exhales slowly. “Maybe,” he says. “Yeah. I think… I could do that.”
Something in my chest loosens. Not a yes, exactly—but better than a no. “I’d really like that,” I say.
He nods once, like he’s already bracing himself. Then, almost like it occurs to him only now what he just agreed to, he says, “You’re close with your family?”
I nod. “My mom is one of my best friends.”
He studies that for a moment. “That’s… really nice.”
I watch him, curious. “Are you close with your mom?”
His eyes flicker. Something in his posture shifts. “You could say that. She raised me alone.” His voice cracks just slightly.
It’s the most personal thing he’s ever told me. And it’s barely a crumb.
I don’t say anything right away. I just nod, letting it sit between us, not asking for more. Just holding it.
He gives me a small almost-smile.
I spot a brightly colored flyer pinned to the corkboard.
SEATTLE COUNTY FAIR — THIS WEEK ONLY!
Rides, games, food trucks, fireworks.
A tingle ripples through me. “Oh my God, the fair!” I glance back at him. “I love the fair.”
But before the words have fully left my mouth, I see it. His whole body changes. The light drains from his face. His posture stiffens. His eyes go distant. He doesn’t say anything. He just blinks like he can’t even see me anymore and… walks away.
No explanation. No reaction. No goodbye. Just silence and retreat.
I’m left standing there, holding my keys, watching the elevator doors close behind him.
The warmth in my chest turns to ice.
What did I say?
No—what did I touch?
Something in him just broke the surface, and I don’t know what it was.
A dull ache settles in my chest, not anger—worry.
Concern.
That awful, helpless feeling of watching someone you care about get pulled under by something you can’t see.
Finally, I tug open my little silver box 4B, expecting the usual: grocery flyers, an overdue electricity bill, maybe a coupon for pizza I’ll never order. Instead, a thick cream-colored envelope slides forward, teetering on the edge before dropping into my hand.
I stared at the envelope in my hand. Nathan Reign is written in a looping, feminine script across the front, and the return address is stamped with a name that makes my stomach tighten, even though I’ve never seen it before.
Maddison Morgan
Of course, the mailman screwed up again. Half the time, he shoves pizza flyers into my slot like my apartment is a recycling bin. But this isn’t a flyer. This is personal.
Respectful, sensible Ella knows what to do. Bring it upstairs, hand it to Nathan later, smile politely, and pretend I didn’t spend the elevator ride wondering what a letter from this woman could possibly say.
By the time I set it on my kitchen counter, I’ve already given myself the lecture ten times.
It’s not yours. Don’t even think about it.
Boundaries, Ella. You have them. Use them.
My fingers get dangerously close to it again.
My eyes refuse to leave. I should walk away.
Walk. Away. Desperation has me in a chokehold, though.
Desperate to dig away and give me something, since he refuses to give me any hints whatsoever.
“Ugh.” I groan into my hands. “No. No, Ella.” I do the only logical thing I can think of: run toward the bathroom, strip, and jump into the shower for the second time today before the temptation eats me alive.
I’m rinsing when I hear my front door creak open.
“Ella?” Ashton’s voice floats in, casual as ever. “I brought matcha. Don’t worry, I let myself in.”
I cup my hands around my mouth. “Be out in a second!”
She doesn’t answer.
Which should’ve been my first red flag. I keep washing my body anyway and focus on the soap, the smell, the feel—everything but the misplaced envelope in my apartment.
I groan into my hands and turn off the shower.
“Ashton?” I call.
No answer.
I step into the kitchen and stop.
She’s standing by the counter, holding something in both hands. Not moving. Not breathing. Just… staring.
Dread slips through me. “What?”
She looks up at me, and her face is pure panic.
“I screwed up.”
My heart jumps. “What kind of screwed up?”
“I was going through your mail,” she says quickly. “The stuff on the counter. I saw a couple of envelopes marked “Cup & Cake,” so I started opening them. Invoices, flyers, boring stuff. And then I grabbed another one and—”
She swallows.
“And I read it.”
Cold spreads through me. “Read what?”
“The letter.”
My pulse starts to roar in my ears. “What letter?”
She lifts the envelope with shaking fingers.
The cream-colored one.
The one that does not say Cup & Cake on the front.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper. “Ashton… tell me you’re joking.”
“I didn’t realize,” she says fast. “I swear. I didn’t even look at the name on the front. I just assumed it was more bakery stuff. But it didn’t make any sense. The contents were… confusing. So, I read it again. And then again.”
My stomach drops.
“And then,” she says quietly, “I picked up the envelope to see who it was for.”
She turns it so I can see.
Nathan Reign
My chest goes hollow.
“I just stood there,” she says. “Like an idiot. Holding it. Realizing what I’d done.”
I can’t speak. I can barely breathe.
“That wasn’t ours,” I whisper. “That was his. That was… private.”
“I know,” she says. “I know. I would never do that on purpose. I thought it was yours. I thought it was Cup & Cake.”
I stare at the envelope like it’s about to explode. My voice comes out small. “You read all of it?”
She nods.
Silence crashes down between us.
My brain is screaming that I shouldn’t ask. That I don’t get to know. That this is a line you don’t uncross.
But my heart is already breaking for reasons I don’t understand yet.
I close my eyes. Then I open them.
“What did it say?”
She hesitates. “Ella…”
“Just tell me.”
She exhales slowly. “It’s from someone named Maddison. And she sent him some keys. Said she couldn’t see him face-to-face because it was too hard.” Ashton swallows. “She said she still worries about him. That she’s still in therapy. That she hopes he is too.”
Something tight and sad moves through me.
“She said she loves him,” Ashton continues softly. “And always will.”
My chest aches.
“And then she said…” Ashton’s voice drops. “She said, ‘What we lost will be found. We will never stop looking.’”
The room feels like it’s tilting.
I sink into a chair.
Silence swallows the room whole.
Ashton’s eyes flicker to mine. “Okay… what the hell does that mean? What did they lose? Why would he need therapy? What are these keys for?”
My stomach twists into massive knots. Questions buzz like angry bees in my head. Therapy? Love you always? Never stop looking?
I shake my head, stepping back like the letter might explode in my hands. “We shouldn’t have read this. Oh, my God, Ashton, what did we do? He’s going to know. He’ll know we opened it. I’m going to have to move. Change my name. Go into witness protection.”
Ashton looks around, already in damage control mode. “Ok...I can fix this.”
“You can’t fix federal mail tampering!” I hiss.
“Yes, I can,” she says, pulling open my junk drawer like she lives here. “I’ve got a new envelope in my bag, and I’m pretty sure I can match the handwriting on the front. We’ll repackage it, slip it under his door, and boom. Crisis averted.”
My chest is tight, like guilt is strangling me from the inside. “I can’t believe we did this. This was his. His private… his private pain, Ashton.”
She gives me a sideways look, softer this time. “And now you know a little bit more about what he’s carrying. That’s not nothing, Ella.”
I bite my lip, staring at the envelope in her hands, my conscience twisting like a knife. Because no matter how wrong it is, Ashton is right. What’s in that letter is not nothing.
And it scares me—terrifies me, actually.
Minutes later, Ashton is hunched over my kitchen table like she’s defusing a bomb, tongue caught between her teeth, pen in hand.
“Don’t talk,” she mutters. “You’ll jinx it.”
“I’m already jinxed,” I whisper back. “I’m actively committing mail fraud.”
“Details.”
She makes a few more careful strokes, then leans back and holds it up.
I stare.
My stomach drops. It looks… identical.
“Oh my God,” I breathe. “You’re a terrifying person.”
“Thank you,” she says, very proud of herself. “Alright. Go.”
My palms are already sweaty when I grab the envelope and head for the elevator.
The ride up feels like a slow descent into bad decision hell.
I slide the letter under his door, hold my breath, then practically sprint back to the elevator.
By the time I’m back in my apartment, my heart is still racing—but the relief doesn’t come.
Instead, my stomach twists.
Because now it’s done.
And I can’t shake the feeling that we crossed a line we can’t uncross.