Chapter 26
ETHAN
“Mr. Wilder, Mr. Blake is here to see you.”
Clarice opens the door.
I don’t look up right away. I’m mid-email, and the last thing I want is another pointless interruption. But the way the air shifts—like tension walks in wearing a designer suit—makes me glance toward the door.
Roland.
He looks like hell. Pale. Thin. Still walking stiffly, favoring his left side, his breath coming out in short puffs in the frigid December air.
The heavy winter coat he's bundled in—wool, expensive, but hanging loose on his diminished frame—does nothing to hide the toll surgery took on him.
Melting snow drips from his shoulders onto my office carpet.
His complexion carries the waxy pallor of someone who should probably be in bed, made worse by the harsh contrast against the gray winter light filtering through my windows. Which means this visit isn't casual .
He steps in without being invited and shuts the door behind him.
I sit back in my chair, studying him. “You planning to haunt my office now, or is this a one-time thing?”
His mouth flattens. “I need to speak to Natalie.”
“She’s not here.”
“I’ve tried her phone. It’s off.”
I lean back further. Calm. Cool. The kind of still that makes people uneasy.
“Why are you trying to get in touch with her?”
“I just need to talk to her,” he says, tone clipped.
“And I just asked you why.”
His eyes flick to me, sharp. “It’s personal.”
I smile, slow and deliberate. “Everything involving Natalie is personal. You’ll have to be more specific.”
He doesn’t answer. His fingers twitch on his cane, like they’re itching to be used—either in defense or offense. He’s uncomfortable. That makes two of us.
“You know,” I murmur, “at first, I thought that you wanted her, like a younger trophy girlfriend or something.”
His face grows a bright red. “How dare you?—?”
“But then, I began to suspect that it was something else. You wanted something from her alright, just not what I was expecting. Natalie is na?ve enough to believe that all you are seeking is friendship, but I’m not that easily fooled.
That first time you saw her, you freaked out.
I didn’t see it for what it was, but that is exactly what happened. You saw her, and you heard her name.”
He watches me, his gaze razor-sharp. His mouth tightens. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I smile again. “That’s the thing. I usually do.”
He steps forward, face hard. “You don’t know a damn thing.”
“I know more than you think, Roland,” I say, voice smooth as ice. “You’re not going to congratulate me? ”
The sudden change in subject has Roland’s brows knitting. “For what?”
The moment hangs there. I almost feel bad for how good it’s going to feel when I drop this next line.
Almost.
“I’m going to be a father.” The words land with a thunderous thud between us.
Roland blinks. Once. Twice. Then the realization sets in. His entire body tenses. “You got her pregnant?”
“I did,” I reply evenly.
Silence swallows the room.
He takes a slow step forward, his face twisted with disbelief. “You think this is something to be proud of?”
“I do,” I say, jaw tight. “Very proud.”
“She’s not ready for this. You’re not—she’s—” He cuts himself off, gripping the back of one of the chairs in front of my desk like he needs it to keep from unraveling.
I watch him, expression unreadable. “If you’re about to say she deserves better than me, save it. She’s made her choice. You don’t get to rewrite it.”
His knuckles whiten against the leather of the chair. “You little punk! How dare you put your hands on?—”
“On whom?” I ask coolly. “Your daughter?”
A heavy silence falls across the room. Roland’s face turns white as a sheet as he clutches the top of his cane.
“You—How long? How long have you known?”
“A week. I confirmed it with a DNA test. It wasn’t hard. I picked up a cup you were using at the hospital during one of Natalie’s visits, and I had the hair from her brush.”
“Nat—Does she know? Have you told her?”
“That the father who abandoned her as a child has been hovering around her?” I ask sharply, my tone cutting.
He looks up, and for a second, something raw flashes through his eyes. Guilt. Grief. Maybe even regret. But it’s fleeting. Swallowed up by fury.
“You’re manipulating her.”
“You don’t get to project your past mistakes onto me,” I snap. “If you want to blame someone for where she is now, try looking in a mirror.”
His chest rises and falls rapidly. “She’s my child.”
“She’s the mother of my child.”
That does it.
He lets go of the chair and takes a few shaky steps back. Like the weight of the words finally registered.
“She’s not safe with you,” he mutters.
“She’s safest with me,” I growl. “And you know it.”
We stare at each other. Two men with completely different brands of fire—and one woman in the middle.
He shakes his head, eyes distant now. “I want to talk to her, to explain?—”
“She’s faced enough rejection for a lifetime. I want you to stay the hell away from her!” I get to my feet now.
“You don’t get to make that decision,” he snarls. “She’s my daughter. You’re just the bumbling fool who got her pregnant. If you hurt her, I’ll?—”
“You’ll do what?” I sneer. “She’s mine now, Roland. I’ve laid my claim to her. That’s my child in her womb.”
He lifts his cane, but before he can utter a word, the door to my office opens.
To my surprise, my mother walks in.
“Roland?” She blinks. “What are you doing with that cane? Put it down, you’ll hurt someone. Ethan, has Natalie called you yet?”
“Called me?” I stare at her. “Isn’t she supposed to be with you? You took her out to lunch.”
“Well, she was. We were just leaving the restaurant when a young woman showed up, and Natalie left with her. She wanted me to tell you.”
I reach for my phone, for a missed call, a message, anything, but there’s nothing.
A ball of tension forms in the pit of my stomach. She would have called me. She would have let me know.
“Did she have her phone on her?” I demand.
“I believe so.” My mother looks troubled.
“Who was the girl? What else did she say?”
“Hey Mom—Woah, what’s going on?” Jake enters the room and pauses at the palpable tension.
“Natalie took off with some woman,” I mutter. “What did she look like, Mom?”
“I didn’t get a good look at her,” my mother murmurs. “But I heard Natalie call her Rose. She said she was her brother’s ex.”
“Rose?” My blood turns cold as I exchange a look with Jake.
“Rose Carrington?” Jake nearly chokes.
“I’m sorry, boys.” Our mother looks between the two of us. “Am I missing something here?”
“Rose is—” I try to temper the ugly fear beginning to choke me. “—Rose was Lucas’s ex-girlfriend. She was obsessed with me. She dated Lucas for years, but it was a ploy to get to me. I rejected her multiple times. She broke up with Lucas when she realized I wasn’t falling for it.”
Rose was a special kind of crazy.
In college, when I had tried to date briefly, she had attacked one of the girls I had been seeing and cut her face viciously.
Her uncle had been on the board of regents, so she hadn’t been expelled.
The girl she had attacked, however, had been.
Aside from Jake and me, nobody knew this.
I had told Lucas, but he hadn’t believed me.
The room tilts.
It actually tilts, like the floor shifts sideways and the walls lean in, closing me off from oxygen and logic and every bit of control I’ve ever pretended to have. I can hear Roland in the background but I can’t focus.
Rose.
Rose has her.
Natalie.
I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t move—and then I do, suddenly and violently, knocking over the chair behind me as I reach for my phone again. Useless. Straight to voicemail.
My fingers tremble.
I never tremble.
Jake is talking to someone on his Bluetooth, rapid-fire commands to Caleb or security, I don’t know which. My mother is asking me what’s going on, what Rose wants—but her voice is distant, like I’m underwater and nothing can break the surface.
Frantically, I press my hands against the edge of the desk to steady myself, but it doesn’t work. Natalie’s name pulses behind my eyes like a warning siren.
She’s pregnant. She’s vulnerable. And she left with her. She just left .
What the hell did Rose say to make her go?
No. No, Natalie wouldn’t just go. She’s not reckless, especially not now. She must’ve thought it was safe, or necessary. Maybe she wanted to avoid making a scene. Maybe?—
“Ethan.” Jake grabs my shoulder. “We’re tracking down traffic cams. Caleb’s pulling footage from the restaurant’s parking lot. I already pinged her phone. It’s off, but we’ll get a last-known location.”
“Her phone’s off,” I repeat, numb.
“She probably didn’t do it herself.”
That sinks in like a knife to the gut.
Natalie didn’t turn off her phone. Rose did.
I grit my teeth, swallowing down a surge of panic that doesn’t belong to the man I used to be. That man would’ve handled this with strategy. With calculation. With cold, flawless execution.
But that man never loved anyone. That man never had anything to lose.
“She said her name,” I whisper, looking at my mother. “She said ‘Rose.’ And you let her go.”
My mother blanches, and instantly I regret it. The fear on her face is real.
“I didn’t know,” she says. “I didn’t know who she was, Ethan. She looked harmless. I thought it was a friend?—”
“It’s not your fault,” Jake says quickly. “No one could’ve guessed.”
But I should have.
I should’ve known Rose wouldn’t stay gone, that she wouldn’t stay away from me after all the restraining orders served to her. I should’ve guessed that it was Rose behind everything. Her family has enough money and influence.
I should’ve had someone with Natalie at all times. But I’ve been distracted. I’ve been wrapped up in wanting to give Natalie peace, space, something resembling normal.
And now she’s gone.