Chapter 3 Storm Warning
~Felicity~
I woke up to a quiet that was so soundless it was almost deafening.
No footsteps. No voices. No TV. No clinking bowls in the kitchen.
I shivered. Why did we have two vents in this room?
The AC had been running all night, blasting cold that hit me from head to toe.
Matching the way I felt inside. There weren't enough blankets in the world to warm me last night.
I thought of my sister and her constant need to be cold—the room was the perfect temperature for her.
I sat up, looking around the space. I’d furnished this room a few years ago.
The bedding was muted blue and seemed dull now.
The walls were dove gray with white trim.
The furniture was a matching solid wood set painted gray.
I’d loved it when I had made this room up.
Now it just felt sterile—almost like a hospital room.
I shook my head. I needed to redecorate. I hate it now. Cold and impersonal. It was like a metaphor for what had become of my marriage.
I showered, dressed, put my face on. I felt almost restless instead of rested, but at least I looked passable. It would have to do.
When I went downstairs, Caden was already at the kitchen table. Laptop open, coffee in hand. Staring at the screen. He looked completely unfazed, like nothing had happened. Like we hadn’t torn each other apart the night before.
He looked up. "Hey. You sleep okay?"
I didn’t answer. I just looked at him and turned, walked to the coffeepot, and poured a cup.
There was a beat of silence before he tried again. "You working from the office today?"
"Yes."
"You need anything this morning?"
Yeah—for you not to have fucked up yesterday. But I held back. I didn’t say it—he can thank me later. Instead, I just remained silent.
He leaned back in his chair. Clearly, my silence said enough since he didn’t follow his question up.
The Dior purse was gone. Macy had obviously taken it with her when she left for Jessica’s last night.
I’m guessing she will probably never let it out of her sight.
I wouldn’t if it were mine—wait, it actually is mine.
The gut punch I felt just thinking about it caught me off guard.
I felt tears spring to my eyes. It’s not about the purse, Felicity.
It’s not about the purse. I exhaled—okay… it’s a little about the purse.
I took a sip of my coffee and turned to him. "You still taking Macy to that school thing this weekend?" I asked.
"Yeah. The ice cream social."
I nodded. "Good."
Another stretch of silence. I waited for him to catch on. Needless to say, he didn't.
I stared at him, waiting for the words that should have tumbled out of his mouth: " No, Felicity, I’m so sorry I completely fucked up already, and I know how much I need to make it up to you.
So, I called Jess to take her because it's your DAMN BIRTHDAY and I'd rather DIE than drag you to a sticky-fingered kids’ ice cream social when you should be wearing something devastating in a restaurant where the wine costs more than my first car. " But did he say that? Nope.
The silence stretched between us like a rubber band about to snap. And his face remained blank. Oblivious. Fucking clueless.
I put my mug down and reached for a granola bar from the cabinet.
Putting the bar in my purse, I stared at it.
Fuck it —I reached back into the cabinet and grabbed the whole box.
I looked him dead in the eye as I dumped all twelve bars into my bag.
No idea why. I just didn’t feel like sharing, and I wanted him to know.
I dropped the empty box on the counter, still looking him in the eyes.
Take that! Fuck, I feel petty. But. I. Don’t. Care.
"You’re not going to talk to me?" he asked.
"I am talking."
"Felicity—come on."
"What do you want me to say, Caden?" I looked at him. "That everything’s fine? Say something to make this easier on you? My voice cracked slightly on the last word, betraying the exhaustion that had settled deep in my bones. I think I’ve done that enough."
I leaned against the counter and continued, "Cade, you screwed up. And I’m not going to sugarcoat it. It’s not just a purse and I’m not just being dramatic. That’s it. Full stop."
He shook his head. "That’s not what I meant."
"It’s what you said—just last night, in fact."
Silence.
I put my mug in the sink, hand lingering on the ceramic.
"Look. I have meetings all day." I turned halfway toward the door, then back to him.
"I'll be home for dinner." I paused, swallowing hard.
"Or I won't. I don't know." My voice softened despite myself.
"I'll let you know." I reached for my keys, gripping them until the metal bit into my palm. "Or maybe not."
I walked toward the door.
"I said I’m sorry," he added.
I stopped. "You said it after I told you to. And even then, you looked like you were swallowing glass. And honestly, sorry just doesn’t cut it."
He stood up and made to move closer, approaching carefully and tentatively—like I was a wild animal. Damn straight I’m a wild animal—and he should definitely be approaching with extreme caution.
"I didn’t mean for any of it to go that way," he finally said as he stopped walking. Good. I think he could tell I was two seconds from losing it on him.
"No, Caden. That’s the problem. You didn’t mean for anything. You didn’t plan. You didn’t think. You just reacted like you always do." I opened the door. "I’ve got to go."
"Felicity—"
"Nope…I’m not doing this now."
I stepped out into the warm air, my hand sitting on the doorknob.
For a second, I pictured myself slamming it—the satisfying crash, the way the frame would shudder.
Instead, I eased it shut with a soft click that felt both like restraint and surrender.
Even now, I couldn't decide if I was being reasonable, avoidant, or whatever.
The elevator doors slid open with a whoosh, and I stepped out onto the twenty-second floor of BAC Banking International.
Everyone knows that Mondays have a certain feel to them, and today felt like every ounce of Monday it possibly could.
The hum of gossip, the clacking of keyboards, the smell of burned coffee already told me I was behind.
I knew stopping for a venti latte would make me late—but honestly, I didn’t care.
I forced a smile that felt like a bandage over a bruise and headed toward my office.
My lips twitched at the corners, threatening to collapse.
Part of me wanted to scream about it to anyone who would listen—make them understand the magnitude of his betrayal.
Another part whispered that I was overreacting to a luxury accessory, that there were marriages surviving far worse.
Both voices drowned in the relentless loop playing in my head: He gave my birthday gift to Macy.
.. My customized, stupidly-expensive, ridiculously extravagant bag—to his eleven-year-old daughter who probably wouldn't even appreciate it.
"Morning, Felicity." Callie, our newly hired project manager and analyst, said as she handed me a stack of briefs. I haven’t had much time to get to know her, but she seemed nice—if not a bit annoying. "Ethan asked if you’d swing by his office when you have a sec."
Of course, he did. I don’t know if I have the energy to deal with nice people today.
I thanked her and headed for my office, dropping my tote beside the credenza.
The Boston skyline was visible through my floor-to-ceiling windows, sunlight gleaming off towers and rooftops.
The foot traffic below buzzed with movement, people going somewhere, doing something.
I loved this city. I loved this office. Just standing inside it reminded me of how hard I’d worked to get here.
I blew out a breath and started to unpack my bag.
Laptop. Files. An unnecessary quantity of baked goods to accompany my latte.
I laughed softly when I pulled out the selection of granola bars.
What the hell was I supposed to do with all these?
They weren’t Reese’s, so the reality was they only had so much value.
Reese’s, I’d gladly go up a size for today.
I tossed everything into my desk drawer where my stash of sweets usually landed for snacking, and connected my laptop to the docking station. All three monitors blinked to life.
Finally—something I could control.
A soft knock at my open door pulled me from my inbox—three rapid taps, hesitant but deliberate, the sound of knuckles against wood cutting through the artificial quiet of my sanctuary.
I sighed, the exhale carrying the weight of more than a hundred unread emails and the impatience to go along with it.
"Knock-knock."
Ethan Hayes leaned against the frame, his crisp white shirt sleeves rolled precisely three turns up his forearms, revealing tanned skin stretched over the kind of defined muscle that comes from actual rock climbing, not just gym sessions.
A thick silver watch glinted against his wrist bone.
Most of the office called him McSteamy behind his back, and they weren't subtle about the way "work husband" rolled off their tongues whenever we collaborated.
The office gossip mill thrived on speculation I had no interest in feeding.
I nodded toward the guest chair. "You summoned?"
"I did." He grinned, but his expression softened the longer he looked at me. "But first—happy early birthday. I know it’s not until the end of the week, but I leave tomorrow for that conference, so I’ll be out of the office, and I didn’t want to miss the chance."
My pulse stumbled. My birthday wasn’t exactly my favorite subject this week. "Thank you. But really, you didn’t need to do anything. It’s just another year."
Ethan tilted his head, one brow arched. "Just another year? It’s not every day you turn twenty-one for the nineteenth time."