Chapter 18 Treason and Tech Support #2
Before Ethan could object, she slipped her phone from her clutch, turned slightly into him, and snapped a photo. The angle was perfect—cheekbones catching the crystalline light, city skyline behind them, her gold dress catching fire in the lens.
She showed him the photo. He looked tired, maybe, but devastatingly so.
She typed something—quick, confident—and he watched as she posted it to her story with zero hesitation.
Ethan studied her, then really looked. Past the sparkle and the smirk, past the confidence she wore like perfume. There was something steadier beneath it all. Not softness exactly—but awareness. She wasn’t here to play savior. She knew the terrain.
And he hated how much that steadied him.
“I should go,” he said quietly.
Jules didn’t move. “I know.”
“I’m still a mess,” Ethan said.
“I like messes,” she replied. “I just don’t clean them up anymore.”
A beat passed between them. The music pulsed gently beneath the rooftop hum. Somewhere behind them, the shutter of another camera clicked.
And then, for the first time in months, he actually felt something. A strange mix of longing, hope and desire.
So standing there under the lights, in full view of half the party, he threw caution to the wind and he kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t planned. Just the quiet, deceptive kind of kiss that says I want to, but I shouldn’t. An achingly soft kiss, tender and restrained, like the start of something he didn’t dare finish even as she kissed him back.
When he pulled back, Jules just looked at him with a faint smile, tilted with something that could’ve been regret—or hope. “That was the most civilized bad decision I’ve ever made.”
Ethan’s voice came out low, unsteady. “I aim to disappoint with elegance.”
She laughed, soft and knowing, then tapped two fingers against his chest—right over his heart. “Get your head sorted, Ethan Klein. Then call me.”
And just like that, she melted into the crowd, the shimmer of her dress vanishing into shadows and flashbulbs.
He stayed where he was, glass forgotten in his hand, staring after her—unsure if he felt better or worse for it.
But definitely not nothing.
* * *
The next morning Sebastian was already up and standing in his kitchen counter, disturbingly alert for someone who’d allegedly had “two hours of sleep and a moral crisis.”
He walked over to the dining table and slid into the chair across from Ethan, who—for once—was sitting up straight, espresso in hand, looking borderline smug.
“You’re alarmingly chipper,” Sebastian said, narrowing his eyes. “What happened? Did your crypto bounce back?”
Ethan sipped his drink like it was vintage champagne. “The sun is shining. The birds are singing. The yoga cult hasn’t posted a passive-aggressive quote about me in twenty-four hours.”
Sebastian raised an eyebrow and slid his tablet across the table. On the screen: the photo—Ethan and Jules on the rooftop, backlit by city lights, dangerously attractive and just ambiguous enough to set off alarm bells in several time zones.
“Oh, that,” Ethan said, glancing at it like he hadn’t stared at it for over half an hour last night.
Sebastian smirked. “So. Jules.”
“She’s very photogenic.”
“Uh-huh. You look… surprisingly not like a man whose ex set fire to his emotional foundation.”
“My friends in California saw the photo. One of them texted ‘king behavior.’ Another sent a Gatsby cheers meme. So I’m choosing to believe I’m in my healing and slay era.”
Sebastian let the sarcasm drain from his face just enough to show the shift. “You okay, though?”
Ethan hesitated, then gave a half-shrug. “No. But at least now I’m not the sad story everyone whispers about at brunch.”
Sebastian picked up his coffee, solemn. “To the soft launch of your post-breakup renaissance.”
Ethan clinked his cup. “Long may it thrive.”
They sat and quietly enjoyed their coffees while they continued to check news, status and emails. After a little while, Sebastian turned to Ethan, “So, what’s on the agenda for Operation Burn It Down today?”
“You know,” Ethan said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a laptop, “most people bond over normal stuff, like sports, not coups.”
Sebastian reappeared from the kitchen with a refill and a dry look. “I’m a viscount-slash-bastard prince. You’re a tech bro with a revenge spreadsheet. Since when are we most people?”
Ethan caught the fresh mug and smirked. “Fair point.”
Sebastian dropped back into the armchair, looking impossibly polished for someone plotting a political assassination—metaphorically speaking. Probably.
“You didn’t come here to wallow,” Sebastian said, kicking his feet up onto the ottoman. “You came here to commit crimes.”
“Correction, no actual crimes are being committed. I’m merely providing research services. Possibly billable.”
“Right,” Sebastian said dryly. “Is this where I offer you hazard pay?”
“You can’t afford me,” Ethan said, opening the laptop with a flourish. “But I’ll settle for a vague sense of purpose and avoiding the tabloids.”
He pulled up a screen crowded with tabs, charts, and enough encrypted files to make a lesser man sweat.
Sebastian leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. “What am I looking at?”
“Latest recon,” Ethan said, swiping through windows. “More shell companies. Questionable real estate transactions. Offshore accounts with very creative names.”
“Creative how?”
“Creative like ‘Sunshine Trust’ and ‘Happy Future Holdings.’” Ethan snorted. “Because nothing says ‘innocent’ like laundering millions through a company that sounds like a discount daycare.”
Sebastian rubbed his jaw, half amused, half murderous. “And this is just what you found in a week?”
Ethan grinned. “Yes, I wasn’t even trying that hard.”
Sebastian shook his head, a low whistle escaping. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
“You’re on the list already,” Ethan said cheerfully. “But lower down. Somewhere between my sixth-grade math teacher and the guy who keyed my car.”
“Touching.”
Ethan tapped a folder labeled Hawthorne Assets (a.k.a. Satan’s Retirement Plan).
“Here’s where it gets fun,” he said. “Hawthorne’s been quietly acquiring property outside Caledonia. Vineyards, hotels, tech start-ups. Nothing under his real name, of course. But the patterns are there if you know where to look.”
“And you know where to look,” Sebastian said.
“I’m vindictive and good with computers,” Ethan said modestly. “It’s a powerful combo. Anyway, I also found some interesting financial records linked to a development project in Canning Street.”
Sebastian’s hand stilled midair. “Canning Street?”
Ethan gave him a sidelong glance. “Yeah. You know it?”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “Unfortunately.” He sighed. “Charles got me to sign off on some investments back when I was too naive to realize what was actually happening.”
Ethan closed the laptop, sitting up straighter. “Well, it looks like Hawthorne’s been using that project to funnel campaign funds and bribes. But yeah, bad news, your name is technically on some of the paperwork.”
Sebastian’s mouth twisted. “Of course it is.”
“It’s buried. Deep,” Ethan added. “No one would find it unless they were actively looking. But if this blows up… it might not just hit him.”
Sebastian leaned back, staring at nothing. “Yeah, I thought that might be the case.”
A pause. Real and sharp.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Ethan asked. “Because it’s starting to look less like a takedown and more like a controlled demolition—with you wired into the foundation.”
Sebastian looked out the window, where the sun had the audacity to make the world look golden and ordinary.
“He made my mother’s life a cage,” he said, voice flat. “Used me as his pawn and called it protection. I was a child. He taught me how to lie before I learned how to choose.”
Ethan didn’t interrupt.
Sebastian turned back, eyes cold now. “If the only way out is through the fire, then fine. Let it burn.”
Ethan let out a long breath. “When I said I needed a distraction from my breakup, I wasn’t expecting ‘mutually assured political ruin.’”
“You could still walk away,” Sebastian said.
Ethan gave a humorless laugh. “Please. This is better than therapy. Plus, I’d miss your delightful spiral into vengeance.”
Sebastian smirked. “And I’d miss the part where you pretend your hacking is noble.”
“I never said noble,” Ethan said. “I said satisfying.”
Sebastian lifted his mug. “To mutually assured destruction.”
Ethan clinked his mug against Sebastian’s. “To better outlets for rage.”
“Partnership of the century,” Ethan declared.
“Dysfunctional and petty?”
“Always.”
Sebastian drained the rest of his coffee, feeling something he hadn’t felt in months—something unexpected.
Hope.