34. Ethan
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Ethan
By six o’clock, I’ve reconsidered going to the gala twelve times.
Addy is getting ready, Oliver is with Diane two floors below, Captain has been bribed with a treat puzzle he will almost certainly solve in under four minutes, and I'm standing in my bedroom adjusting my cufflinks as though the alignment of silver and fabric can restore order to a situation that has steadily moved beyond control.
It cannot.
Still, habit persists.
The gala isn't merely social. It's an industry event, a demonstration, a statement to investors, partners, regulators, and competitors that Strong AeroTech remains exactly what it has always claimed to be.
Precise, innovative, reliable.
The AI stabilization system is meant to be the centerpiece.
I dislike every part of it.
The patch, the timing, and Bryce inserting himself into the situation immediately after reappearing in my life.
A week ago, I would’ve called it a coincidence.
Now I’m not sure what to call it.
Every time I think about Bryce lately, I see Addy crying in my hallway.
I see the way she tried to hold herself together while he stood there looking annoyed by the inconvenience of consequences.
But the past week has been consumed by code, comparisons, old records, new inconsistencies, and the increasingly difficult task of not drawing conclusions before the evidence permits it. Jeffrey has been careful. Sara has been relentless. I've slept badly.
And Addy found the timing discrepancy. The thing I missed.
Then the bedroom door opens.
I look up, and for several seconds, every structured thought I possess simply stops functioning.
Addy stands in the doorway wearing the dark green dress from the shopping trip. I remember choosing it. I remember the way she looked at herself in the mirror, startled by her own reflection, as though beauty was something she had to be convinced belonged to her.
It does.
The satin skims her body with quiet precision, off one shoulder, fitted at the waist, soft over her hips. Her hair falls in loose waves, honey and gold and fire where the light catches it. Her freckles remain visible beneath whatever minimal effort she has made to hide them, which I prefer.
She looks elegant, warm, dangerous, and far too young for the weight my life seems determined to place near her.
“Well?” she asks, lifting her hands slightly. “Do I look like I know what AI flight stabilization means?”
I step toward her. “No.”
Her face falls a fraction.
Then I add, “You look like you don’t need to.”
She blinks. Then narrows her eyes. “That was suspiciously smooth.”
“It was the truth.”
“Worse.”
I stop in front of her, close enough to catch the faint scent of vanilla and citrus. My fingers brush one loose strand of hair back from her shoulder before I can decide not to.
Her breath changes.
So does mine.
“You look beautiful,” I say.
Addy’s expression softens before she covers it with a small roll of her eyes. “Careful. Complimenting the nanny before a public event feels like an HR video waiting to happen.”
“You’re not here as the nanny tonight.”
She stills. “As what, then?”
“Mine,” I say quietly.
Her lips part. For once, she has no immediate response. I take that as a victory.
The drive to Lakeview Terrace Hotel is quieter than it should be.
Addy sits beside me, hands folded in her lap, looking out at the city as it sharpens into evening. Chicago moves in glass and light around us, the skyline cutting cleanly against the darkening sky. The lake catches stray color at its edge, cold and endless.
She adjusts the bracelet on her wrist. She’s nervous.
“You’re doing that too much,” I say.
“What?”
“The bracelet.”
She looks down, then immediately stops touching it. “I'm calm, poised, and fully equipped to discuss aviation with terrifying rich people.”
“You don’t need to discuss aviation.”
“What if someone asks me a question?”
I smirk. “Refer them to Sara.”
“What if Sara asks me a question?”
“Pretend you didn’t hear her.”
She chuckles. “That feels dangerous.”
“It is.”
She smiles, but it fades quickly.
I watch her profile. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” A pause. “Mostly. I’m nervous, but at least I’m over that sickness bug.”
I take her hand between us, not looking away from the road. Her fingers tighten around mine. Neither of us comments on it.
Lakeview Terrace is already crowded when we arrive.
Photographers line the entrance. Sponsors, executives, engineers, journalists, investors. The aviation world condensed into formalwear, polished shoes, expensive watches, and conversations designed to sound more casual than they are.
Sara intercepts us within thirty seconds. She looks impeccable and mildly murderous, which is her preferred event state. “You’re late.”
“We’re on time.”
“You’re late for my preferred anxiety window.”
Addy brightens. “I respect that.”
Sara looks at her, then at me, then back at her. An assessing look passes across her face. “You look lovely.”
Addy blinks, as though she expected corporate disapproval. “Thank you. You look like you could destroy someone with a seating chart.”
“I have.”
“I knew I liked you.”
Sara’s mouth twitches before she turns back to me. “Board members are already here. Press is controlled for now. Jeffrey is pretending not to hover by the demo team.”
“That sounds unlike him.”
“He said if anyone asks, he’s networking.”
I laugh. “He’s never networked voluntarily in his life.”
“Correct.”
Then she disappears into the crowd.
Addy watches her go. “She’s terrifying.”
“She’ll appreciate the compliment.”
The beginning of the evening proceeds as expected. Handshakes, introductions, and statements delivered with enough warmth to appear human and enough precision to avoid misinterpretation.
Addy surprises me by handling it better than many people born into these rooms. She doesn’t try to become someone else. She smiles when appropriate, listens when people speak, and occasionally says something so dry that the recipient needs a second to determine whether they’ve been insulted.
It's inconveniently attractive.
At one point, an investor asks her whether she has a background in aviation.
Addy glances at me, then says, “Mostly emergency muffin logistics and five-year-old flight theory.”
He laughs.
She doesn’t explain.
I nearly do.
Then decide against it.
Across the ballroom, the demo installation glows beneath carefully designed lighting. Large screens display Strong AeroTech branding, predictive flight models, and system schematics simplified for public consumption. The real system remains isolated behind layers of access and oversight.
Still, every time I look at it, I feel the patch beneath.
Jeffrey joins us near the edge of the reception area, glass in hand, expression too casual. “Everything stable?”
“For the moment.”
“That wasn’t reassuring. But Sara needs you in ten,” he tells me. “Board introductions before the presentation.”
“I know.”
“Of course you do. Lord forbid I provide useful information.”
“You’ve managed it before.”
“Once. 2018. Huge day for me.”
For nearly an hour, the evening holds.
Addy stays near me when appropriate and drifts when she wants to avoid another conversation about private aviation regulation.
She finds Sophie’s influence useful, apparently, because at one point I hear her describe a venture capitalist as “a man who definitely says synergy to children,” and I have to look away to avoid smiling.
The atmosphere shifts before I even see the cause of it.
A shift near the entrance, a ripple of attention, and him walking in.
Bryce.
His girlfriend is with him, dressed in pale silver, her expression already uncertain. Bryce, however, looks entirely comfortable. Too comfortable.
My grip tightens around the glass in my hand.
Addy is at my side, speaking to someone from the board’s advisory committee. She sees my expression before she turns.
Then she sees him.
Her entire body stills.
The glass in her hand remains steady, but only because she forces it to.
I place my hand lightly on her lower back.
“Excuse us,” I say to the advisory member, without waiting for permission.
Addy doesn’t speak as I guide her a few steps away. “Did you know he was coming?”
“No.”
Truth be told, he sort of was invited before the disastrous dinner. Was that not enough to keep him away? I wouldn’t want to be somewhere I’m so unwelcome.
Then Bryce sees us. His expression shifts into something I recognize. Charm. Performance. A man stepping into a room prepared to manage its reaction.
The moment our eyes meet, irritation flares sharp and immediate.
After dinner, after Addy, after the patch situation, the last thing I want tonight is Bryce turning this into theater. I know he helped me, but he must be able to see this is insane.
I hand my glass to a passing server and move toward him.
Addy follows. I’d prefer she didn’t, but I also know better than to tell her that.
Bryce smiles as we approach. “Ethan.”
“You need to leave.”
His smile falters for half a second, then recovers. “Good to see you too.”
“You weren’t invited.”
Bryce’s smile flickers briefly before settling back into place. Polished and controlled. I used to mistake that look for confidence.
Now it just feels calculated.
“I assumed after everything, you’d want to talk.”
“Your assumption was incorrect.”
His girlfriend shifts beside him, looking between us. “Bryce, maybe we should—”
“It’s fine,” he tells her.
It isn’t.
Addy’s voice is controlled when she speaks. “You really do have a gift for walking into rooms where no one wants you.”
Bryce looks at her then. An ugliness flashes under the polish. “Addy.”
“Don’t.”
His gaze moves between us, landing briefly on my hand, which has returned to the small of her back.
His jaw tightens.
“You know,” he says, forcing a laugh, “I wasn’t expecting this whole thing to become so dramatic.”
Addy laughs once. “You blew up my life at an airport and then showed up at my boss’s house as his old friend. Dramatic seems generous.”
A few heads turn nearby.
I step slightly in front of her to shield her from the room.
Bryce notices.
“This is a public event,” I say. “You will leave quietly.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then security will escort you out.”
His smile fades properly this time. “That’s how you want to handle this?”
“Yes.”
“After I helped you?”
The bitterness underneath the words catches me off guard.
Bryce has always hated feeling excluded from something he once considered his.
Addy’s gaze snaps to me.
I don’t look away from Bryce. “You sent an unverified patch into a live demo environment without authorization.”
“And it worked.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you can’t be here.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re welcome.”
“You don’t get to create proximity through usefulness.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
“Careful.”
Celeste touches his arm. “Please. Let’s just go. I told you this was a bad idea…”
He ignores her.
“You always were good at acting like everyone else was a liability,” Bryce says. “Even when you needed us.”
“Us?”
“The people who helped build this.” He gestures around the ballroom. “You stand up there as if you did it alone.”
I study him, feeling the burning resentment. “This isn't the place.”
“No, it’s exactly the place.”
Addy shifts beside me. “Bryce, stop.”
His attention cuts to her. “You don’t know anything about this.”
“I know enough to know you’re embarrassing yourself.”
His expression hardens.
Sara appears at the edge of my vision, assessing whether intervention or cleanup will be required. Jeffrey is behind her, no longer pretending not to be involved.
Bryce laughs, but there's no humor in it. “Of course. This is what it is now.”
“This,” I say, “is you being asked to leave.”
“I have every right to be here.”
“No. You don’t.”
“I helped build your company.”
Exasperation burns through me. “You left it.”
“You mean I got pushed out.”
I roll my eyes. “That isn't what happened.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
I part my lips, about to yell back, but a scream interjects.
A sharp gasp, followed by a woman’s voice cutting through the ballroom. “Someone help! She fainted!”
The world changes instantly. I turn.
Addy is on the floor, and for one impossible second, the entire ballroom seems to lose sound. Only her. Green satin against polished marble. One hand curled near her body. Hair spilling across her face. Too still.
Then I’m on my knees beside her.
“Addy!”