Epilogue Lila #2
“Your optimism is stupid.”
His hands tighten slightly. “Come here, Lila.”
I exhale, then let myself lean in.
I don’t know when our life became this, exactly. The soft chaos of a baby, the warm routines, the quiet power of him showing up every day, and the way he still looks at me like I’m the only thing he wants.
I also don’t know when fear stopped running the show.
Gavin and Victoria and Sabrina went down in one sweep, months ago now, and the aftermath was loud and messy and satisfying. Ethan didn’t just end them, he erased their access. He tore out the roots, he closed loopholes, he made sure nobody could touch us again without consequences.
There were court dates. There were meetings. There were headlines I avoided reading because I didn’t want my happiness contaminated by their names.
There was also the night Ethan came home after the final hearing, put his phone on the counter, and said, “It’s done.”
I’d stared at him like I didn’t believe him.
Then he’d walked to me, put both hands on my face, and kissed me like he was sealing it into reality.
“It’s done,” he’d repeated, and for the first time in my life, I’d believed it.
Now, in our kitchen, with Sofia making tiny noises in the background, Ethan slides a hand under my shirt and cups my breast like it’s familiar, like it’s home, like he’s not asking permission because he already has it.
I still shiver.
“You’re distracted,” I whisper.
He kisses my jaw. “I’m focused.”
“You’re literally trying to turn me on while I’m holding coffee grounds.”
He pauses, then looks down at the coffee grounds like they offended him. “Put them down.”
I do.
He backs me against the counter, mouth at my throat again, and my phone buzzes once more because apparently he’s committed to this bit.
I pull my head back. “Are you texting me while you’re kissing me?”
He doesn’t even flinch. “Check it.”
I snatch my phone and open the message.
Ethan: Tonight, after she’s asleep, I’m taking you upstairs, and you’re not going to talk me out of it.
My breath catches.
I glance up at him, and his eyes are dark, steady, and completely calm like he didn’t just send that in broad daylight.
I type back with shaky fingers.
Me: Bold of you to assume I’d try.
His reply hits instantly.
Ethan: You will. You always do. And I’ll still win.
I swallow, then look at Sofia again.
She’s still fine. Still distracted. Still tiny and safe.
I look back at Ethan, and my mouth curves before I can stop it.
“You’re impossible,” I whisper.
“I’m consistent,” he says.
“That’s not the flex you think it is.”
He leans in, kisses me again, then murmurs against my lips, “It’s exactly the flex I think it is.”
Sofia chooses that exact moment to make a sharp little sound, a warning noise that means her mood is about to change.
Ethan lifts his head. “We’ve got time.”
“We do not,” I tell him, but my voice is already ruined.
Sofia’s face scrunches, and she starts to fuss.
Ethan exhales, then steps away like a man reluctantly leaving a battlefield. He walks to her bouncer, crouches, and picks her up with that careful confidence that still gets me.
He rocks her once, then twice.
She calms.
He looks over at me with an expression that says, See? and I hate him for being right, but I also want to kiss him for existing.
My phone buzzes again.
I open it.
Ethan: Ten minutes. Told you.
I stare at the screen, then at him.
He’s holding Sofia, rocking her gently, completely unbothered, and he looks like the kind of man who always gets what he wants because he plans for it, then executes it.
I type back.
Me: If you’re going to be smug, at least be useful. Can you warm her bottle?
He replies instantly.
Ethan: Already did.
I blink.
Then I laugh, because of course he did.
I walk over, press my shoulder into his, and kiss Sofia’s soft little head. She smells like milk and clean laundry and that sweet baby scent that makes your brain melt.
Ethan’s hand slides to the small of my back.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, the real question, the one he always asks when he thinks I’m carrying too much.
I nod. “I’m happy.”
His eyes hold mine. “Good.”
Then, because he can’t help himself, his mouth tilts.
“And tonight,” he adds, “you’re not getting away.”
I roll my eyes, but my body reacts anyway.
“Ethan.”
He kisses my temple. “Lila.”
Sofia makes a tiny satisfied noise, like she approves of our nonsense.
I glance down at her, then back up at him, and I feel it, the strange, steady peace of this life we built out of chaos.
“Fine,” I whisper. “But you’re doing the bedtime routine.”
His eyes sharpen, amused. “That’s a trap.”
“It’s a boundary,” I say, because I’m not above using his own language against him.
He nods once. “I can handle it.”
My phone buzzes one more time.
I open it.
Ethan: I handle everything.
I stare at the message, then look up at him with my eyebrows raised.
He looks innocent.
He looks like a liar.
I type back.
Me: Prove it, Mr. CEO.
Ethan’s gaze drops to my mouth, then to my eyes.
He shifts Sofia in his arms, safe and steady, and his voice is quiet when he says, “I will.”
Sofia yawns.
Ethan rocks her again, and she settles.
And I stand there in our kitchen, three months into motherhood, still in stained leggings, still healing in places nobody sees, and I realize I’m smiling so hard my face hurts.
Because we’re okay.
We’re more than okay.
We’re done running, and we’re home.
Loved Lila and Ethan? Read Lena and Gabe’s Dirty Sexting Romance here.
It started with one reckless sext…
And ended with my father’s best friend telling me to be a good girl.
I meant to send the photo to someone casual.
Someone safe.
Instead, I sent it to Gabe Holt.
My dad’s best friend.
Twenty years older.
Ex-military. Silver at the temples.
Built like protection and trouble wrapped into one.
Five years ago, he carried me to bed and whispered I deserved real desire.
Then he walked away
He never knew I left that night pregnant.
Now one accidental photo brings him straight to my door—
Straight into the path of a four-year-old boy with his eyes.
Continue reading here.