18. Ethan
ETHAN
She answers on the second knock. Her hair is pulled back in a loose knot, face bare of makeup, wearing black leggings and an oversized sweater that makes her look smaller than she is. The shadows under her eyes suggest she's slept about as well as I have.
"Come in," she says, stepping aside.
The apartment feels different tonight. Smaller, maybe, or just weighted with everything we're not saying. I follow her to the living room where she's already set out two glasses of wine on the coffee table.
"You didn't have to do that," I say.
"I know. But I figured we both need it."
We sit on opposite ends of the couch, a careful distance between us. She tucks her legs beneath her, wraps both hands around her wine glass like she's trying to warm them despite the apartment being perfectly heated.
"Derek approached me today," she says without preamble. "Outside Sable. He grabbed my arms, said he's looking at apartments in the neighborhood. Told me we should have coffee sometime."
The fury that rises is immediate and consuming. I set down my wine before I crush the glass.
"He touched you."
"For maybe three seconds. Just steadying me after we collided."
"He grabbed your arms, Mia. That's assault."
"It's Derek being Derek. Pushing boundaries, testing how close he can get."
"It's a violation of the restraining order and I'm calling Kenley first thing tomorrow." I pull out my phone, make a note. "Did anyone else see it happen?"
"Just people on the street. No one who knows me."
"Security cameras?"
"Probably. The bodega on the corner has one pointed at the sidewalk."
"Good. I'll get the footage." I type faster, building the case in my head. "What else did he say?"
She recounts the conversation, her voice steady but her hands tight around the wine glass. When she gets to the part about Derek mentioning the wedding venue in Connecticut, something in her expression cracks.
"He remembers things I tried to forget," she whispers. "Details I thought I'd buried. He brings them up like they're fond memories instead of... instead of evidence of how thoroughly he studied me."
I shift closer, closing the distance between us. My hand finds hers, gently prying her fingers from the wine glass before she shatters it.
"He's trying to destabilize you," I say. "Make you second-guess your own perception of reality. It's a control tactic."
"It's working."
"No, it's not. You documented what happened, you told me immediately, you're doing everything right."
She looks at me then, really looks at me, and I see the exhaustion etched into every line of her face.
"Am I? Because it feels like I'm drowning and the only person I want to reach for is someone I'm supposed to be keeping at arm's length."
"...About that," I start. "We need to talk about what happened."
"It was a mistake," she deadpans.
I knew it was coming, prepared for it during the cab ride over, but hearing her say it out loud makes something in my ribs contract.
"A mistake," I repeat flatly.
"Yes. We had rules, Ethan. Clear boundaries about what this arrangement was and wasn't. And we crossed them."
"We've been crossing them for weeks."
"I know. Which is why we need to stop." She pulls her hand from mine, wraps her arms around herself. "We need to go back to the way things were before we complicated everything."
"And you think we can go back to that? After everything?"
"We have to."
I stand, needing movement, pacing to the window and back. "Why?"
"Because this isn't real, Ethan. You married me to fix your public image. I married you to get legal protection from Derek. Those reasons haven't changed."
"Haven't they?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I stop in front of her, force myself to meet her eyes.
"It means I haven't thought about my public image in weeks.
It means when Derek sent those photos, my first thought wasn't about legal strategy, it was about keeping you safe.
It means I kissed you in that doorway because I wanted to, not because there were cameras. "
"Ethan—"
"It means everything about this arrangement stopped being transactional the moment I started calling you at midnight just to hear your voice."
She's shaking her head before I finish. "You're confusing proximity with feeling. We've spent a lot of time together, played the part well enough that it's starting to feel real. But it's not. It's just... good acting."
"You don't believe that."
"I have to believe that."
"Why?"
"Because the alternative terrifies me!" she yells.
"Because the last time I let someone this close, he spent two years systematically dismantling my sense of self until I couldn't tell what was real anymore.
And now Derek's back, and you're here, and I can't…
I-I don't know how to separate what's genuine from what's just another performance. "
I sink back onto the couch, close enough that our knees almost touch.
"I'm not Derek," I remind her gently.
"I know you're not. But that doesn't change what this is. We signed a contract, Ethan. The deal needs to continue exactly as we planned."
"Even if neither of us wants that anymore?"
"Especially then. Because wanting something doesn't make it real. It just makes it more dangerous."
I lean back, run both hands through my hair. She's wrong. Every instinct I have is screaming that she's wrong, that what we have is real in ways that terrify both of us, but arguing with her when she's this fortified won't accomplish anything.
"Fine," I say finally. "The arrangement continues. Everything we agreed to."
Relief flickers across her face. "Thank you."
"But I'm moving the timeline."
"What?"
"Derek's escalating. He's not going to stop, Mia. Which means we need to accelerate the legal response."
"How?"
"Criminal charges. Kenley can fast-track prosecution if we present enough evidence. I'm building that case, starting tomorrow."
"And if it doesn't work?"
"It will work. Because failure isn't an option."
She studies me for a long moment, searching for something in my expression. Whatever she finds makes her nod slowly.
"Okay. We do it your way."
"Mia—"
"I'm serious. You're the lawyer. If you think criminal charges are the right move, then that's what we do. Just... keep me informed this time. No more surprises about sealed cases or prior restraining orders you've known about for weeks."
The reproach stings because it's fair. "I was trying to protect you."
"I don't need protection from information. I need to know what I'm up against."
"Noted."
She picks up her wine glass, takes a long swallow. The silence that follows is loaded with everything we're not saying, all the ways this conversation didn't resolve anything.
"I should go," I say, standing.
"Yeah. Probably."
I collect my coat from the chair, head toward the door. My hand's on the knob when she speaks again.
"Ethan?"
I turn. She's still on the couch, wine glass cradled in both hands, looking smaller and more vulnerable than I've ever seen her.
"Thank you," she breathes. "For coming over and for not... pushing."
"I meant what I said at Lincoln Center. Derek Wayne is done. And whatever this is between us, we'll figure it out."
"You can't promise that."
"Watch me."
Then I leave before I do something stupid like kiss her again, before I argue that walking away from what we have is the biggest mistake either of us could make.