27. Addy
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Addy
There’s a very specific kind of bedlam that exists in Ethan’s penthouse.
It’s not loud, not really. Not in the way my life used to be loud, with slammed doors and raised voices and emotional whiplash.
This is softer, domestic. The kind that sneaks up on you in the form of a five-year-old arguing with a dog about his Lego tower while a billionaire tries to open a bottle of wine like it personally offended him.
“Captain can’t be on the runway,” Oliver says seriously, pointing at the dog sprawled across the magnetic tile airport. “Planes gotta go there.”
Captain lifts his head, wags once, and continues being completely useless.
I bite back a laugh. “Maybe he’s protesting.”
Oliver squints at the dog. “What’s protesting?”
“Complaining dramatically.”
“Oh.” He nods. “Then yes. He’s doing that.”
Across the room, Ethan snorts quietly while wrestling with the wine bottle.
I crouch beside Oliver. “Should we move the criminal?”
“Yes,” he says immediately. “He’s ruining it.”
“Terrible behavior.”
Together, we try to shove Captain sideways, but the dog instantly rolls over onto his back like this is the greatest game ever invented.
Oliver gasps. “He’s too fluffy.”
“That’s definitely slowing us down.”
Ethan finally steps in, lifting Captain with the long-suffering patience of a man who’s done this a thousand times. “There. Crisis handled.”
Captain immediately licks his jaw.
“For now,” I say.
Ethan sets him outside the tile airport perimeter. “Good enough.”
I straighten, brushing my hands down my dress automatically, even though there’s nothing to fix. It’s not the gala dress, thank goodness. I don’t think I could survive wearing that under normal social pressure, let alone… whatever tonight is.
This is simpler. Still nice. Still a little outside my usual aesthetic, but manageable.
Ethan notices anyway.
He always notices.
His gaze flicks over me, quick but not careless, and that makes my stomach do that annoying, traitorous flip.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod. “As I’ll ever be.”
Which is a lie, but a convincing one.
We move through the rest of the evening prep in that same strange, easy rhythm we’ve somehow built over the past few weeks.
Dinner’s prepped. Table set. Wine breathing like it’s about to deliver a TED Talk. Flowers arranged in a way that suggests Ethan did, in fact, listen to me.
We get Oliver ready for bed together, which still feels surreal. He insists on showing me the finished airport before he’ll even consider brushing his teeth.
“It has three runways now,” Oliver tells me proudly.
“Wow. International airport level.”
“And a tower.” He points at a stack of blue magnetic tiles. “That’s air traffic troll.”
“Control,” Ethan corrects automatically.
“That too.”
I grin.
“And Captain isn’t allowed anymore,” Oliver adds.
Captain chooses that exact moment to steal a tile and sprint away with it.
Oliver sighs dramatically. “He never follows the rules.”
“Honestly,” I murmur, “same.”
Ethan watches the whole exchange with that quiet softness he doesn’t seem to realize he has.
We get Oliver into bed eventually, after a story that turns into two stories and a brief debate about whether planes have feelings.
“They do if you name them,” Oliver insists.
I look at Ethan. “Honestly, that feels true.”
Ethan tucks the blanket around Oliver with a quiet huff of laughter. “You two are impossible.”
“We’re right,” Oliver says sleepily.
“Sure, buddy.”
Oliver smiles smugly like he’s won.
When we finally step out of his room, closing the door softly behind us, the apartment settles into that evening quiet again.
Ethan exhales once. “We have approximately fifteen minutes.”
“Before your mysterious friend arrives.”
“Yes.”
I cross my arms. “So? What should I expect?”
“A conversation.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“He’s… unpredictable,” Ethan says finally. “Intelligent. Occasionally irritating.”
“Wow,” I deadpan. “Sounds familiar.”
His gaze sharpens slightly. “Careful.”
I grin. “You walked into that.” I clear my throat. “Right. Okay. Dinner. Normal. Social. I can do that.”
“You can,” he says.
The confidence in his voice should be reassuring.
It isn’t.
It feels like pressure, expectation, like I’ve just stepped into a world I don’t fully understand, and I’m about to be evaluated without knowing the criteria.
I shake it off. I’ve handled worse. Much worse.
The doorbell cuts through the moment, right on time.
Ethan moves before I do, crossing the room with that same controlled ease, like everything in his life operates on a schedule he doesn’t need to check.
I hover near the dining area, suddenly very aware of my hands, my posture, my entire existence.
This is fine. This is normal. This is…
The door opens.
I hear Ethan. “Bee, Celeste, good to see you.”
The footsteps come toward me as I smooth down my dress, trying my damndest to catch my breath.
And I turn.
The world stops.
Because standing in Ethan’s living room, like some kind of twisted cosmic joke, is Bryce.
Bryce Biggs.
In a tailored jacket and that same smug, too-easy smile I used to think was charming and now want to set on fire.
And beside him the woman I’ve seen online with him. She’s pretty, polished, the kind of effortless composure that screams I’ve never had to wonder if I belong in a room like this.
His arm is around her.
I genuinely think I’ve lost my mind.
This isn’t real. This cannot be real.
There's absolutely no universe in which the man who dumped me at an airport like I was inconvenient luggage is now standing in Ethan’s living room like he was invited and he belongs here.
“Oh,” Bryce says.
Like he’s just recognized me.
Like I’m the surprise.
My entire body goes cold, then hot, then something in between that feels dangerously close to combustion.
This is a prank.
It has to be.
Some kind of elaborate, deeply unfunny prank.
I look at Ethan. Because surely he knows. Surely this is a setup, a misunderstanding, something that can be explained in five seconds or less.
But Ethan is looking between us, confusion flickering behind his eyes.
He doesn’t know, which means…
Which means this is real.
“Addy?” Bryce says, like he has any right to say my name.
Like it hasn’t been sitting in my chest like a bruise for weeks.
Like he didn’t…
I can feel it building. The pressure, the humiliation, the anger. All of it, rushing back at once, loud and overwhelming and too much.
“No,” I say.
It comes out quieter than I expected. It isn’t the dramatic explosion I deserve. Just a flat, disbelieving refusal.
“No,” I repeat, shaking my head. Laughter bubbles up, sharp and wrong. “No, this isn’t… this isn’t happening.”
“Addy,” Ethan says, stepping toward me.
I flinch. Suddenly everything feels like too much.
The room, the people, the fact that Bryce is here.
“That’s your friend?” I ask, my voice climbing without my permission. “That’s your Bee?”
Ethan’s expression tightens. “I don’t understand—”
“You didn’t know?” I laugh again, louder this time, hysteria creeping in around the edges. “Oh, that’s even better. That’s actually so much better.”
“Addy—”
“No,” I say, louder now, backing away. “No, I’m not… I’m not doing this. I’m not doing this again.”
Bryce edges closer to me. “Hey, can we just—”
“Don’t,” I snap, the word cracking through the room like glass. “Don’t talk to me.”
His girlfriend looks between us, confused.
Good.
Let her be confused.
I’ve been confused for weeks.
“I can’t…” I start, then stop, because I don’t even know how to finish that sentence.
I can’t stay, can’t breathe, can’t stand here and pretend this is normal.
“I need… I need a second,” I manage, already moving.
“Addy, wait—”
But I don’t.
I need to get the hell out of here before I combust entirely.