Forced Cohabitation

The villa had 3 toothbrushes waiting — and one of them was pink with "Mrs. Knight" on it.

The villa was on the cliff of Long Island. Not the Knight family mansion that was in all the magazines. This one didn't exist on G****e Maps. You had to drive through twenty minutes of private forest road to get to it. No paparazzi. No drones. Ethan said he had a signal jammer on the roof. No mothers. No Vanessa.

Chloe stepped out of the Maybach holding Leo against her chest. Leo was asleep again, his face hot against her neck, his little hospital bag bumping her hip. The sea wind was strong and cold and it made her wrinkled t-shirt flap.

The house was all glass. Warm light inside. Too perfect. Like no one had ever lived in it.

Ethan punched in the code and the door slid open silently.

Inside was even more perfect. Fireplace was already on. Someone had left fresh strawberries and water on the coffee table. The air smelled like clean linen and wood.

Chloe walked in slowly, her old sneakers squeaking on the expensive floor.

Then she saw the bathroom.

From the hallway you could see straight into the master bathroom. And on the sink, in a clear glass holder, were three toothbrushes lined up neatly.

One black, for a man.

One small blue one with little dinosaurs on it, for a kid.

And one pink one, brand new, still in plastic, with gold letters written on the handle: "Mrs. Knight"

Chloe stopped breathing.

Her suitcase handle slipped in her hand.

Ethan followed her gaze. His whole body went stiff.

In two fast steps he went into the bathroom, grabbed that pink toothbrush, and threw it straight into the trash can so hard it cracked.

"My mother," he said, his voice flat. "She had this house cleaned and prepared two years ago. When she thought Vanessa would move in after the wedding. I forgot."

He didn't look at Chloe. He looked angry, but not at her.

Chloe held Leo tighter and said nothing. The word Mrs. Knight was burned in her head. That was supposed to be Vanessa. That was never supposed to be her. Three years ago she was the girl who altered Mrs. Knight's dresses in a back room.

"There are only two bedrooms," Ethan said quickly, like he wanted to erase the toothbrushes.

He showed her.

First door: It was not a bedroom anymore. Ethan had turned it into a private medical room. White sheets. A small hospital bed that was exactly Leo's size. Next to it, a huge air purifier humming, an oxygen concentrator, monitors that beeped softly, and a whole shelf full of medicine boxes. Chloe recognized every single one. It was Leo's exact prescription from Boston Children's. Same brand. Same dosage. Even his favorite apple-flavored electrolyte drinks were in a small fridge.

Chloe's eyes got hot. He had done this while they were driving. How?

Second door: Master bedroom. One king-size bed. One bedside table. One huge window facing the black ocean. The closet was half empty, half full of men's suits.

That was it. Two bedrooms. One for the sick child. One with one bed.

Chloe stood in the master doorway with her broken-zipper suitcase. "Ethan, we can't live here. People will see the video from the hospital. They already think I'm—"

"People already think you are my mistress," Ethan cut her off. He was carrying Leo to the medical bed, so careful with the IV line. "Now at least you will be a mistress who sleeps somewhere safe where reporters can't film her son's oxygen mask."

He laid Leo down. Leo didn't wake up. He was exhausted from all the crying and the fever.

That left one problem standing in the hallway.

One bed left.

"I'll take the sofa," Ethan said before she could even open her mouth.

Chloe looked at the sofa in the living room. It was a beautiful low designer sofa, but it was short. Ethan was six foot three. His legs would hang off completely.

"No, Ethan, this is your house, I can't take your bed—"

"And you are the mother of my son who just got called a bastard by my mother and was filmed by my fiancée in an ICU. You take the bed. End of discussion."

He didn't wait. He took a thin blanket from the master closet and threw himself onto that sofa in his wrinkled white shirt and black pants. He didn't even take off his shoes at first.

Chloe went into the master bedroom and closed the door softly. She sat on the edge of the huge king bed. It was too soft. Too big. The sheets were cold and smelled faintly like Ethan's cologne — that expensive cedar and sea salt smell she remembered from three years ago.

She stared at her hands for a long time. Her hands were rough from sewing. She could hear the sea outside and the soft beep of Leo's monitor through the wall.

She couldn't sleep. How could she sleep?

At 2:11 AM, she got up to get water. Her throat was dry.

The house was dark except for the blue glow coming from Leo's medical room.

Ethan was on the sofa and he looked terrible.

He was too long for it. His legs were hanging off the armrest, his feet on the floor. His back was twisted at a weird angle. His white shirt had ridden up, and the white gauze bandage on his hip — from where he donated bone marrow for Leo two days ago — had a fresh small spot of red blood seeping through. He was frowning even in his sleep, one big hand hanging off the sofa, touching the floor. He looked nothing like the cold CEO of Knight Group. He looked tired and in pain.

Guilt hit Chloe so hard she had to hold onto the wall.

"Your hip is bleeding," she whispered before she could stop herself.

Ethan's eyes snapped open instantly. He always was a light sleeper.

"It's fine," he said, his voice hoarse. He tried to sit up and winced hard, his hand going to his hip.

Chloe didn't think. She walked past him straight to Leo's room to check on him, because she needed to do something with her hands.

In the medical room, Leo was sleeping but he was restless. His little face was sweaty. His tiny hands were grabbing at the blanket, searching for something.

And he was mumbling in his sleep, crying a little.

"Daddy... don't go... Daddy... stay..."

Chloe's heart shattered.

Leo had never had a daddy. In three years, he never said that word to anyone. He had seen other kids at the hospital with daddies, and he would ask Chloe, "Where is my daddy?" And she would say, "He's working far away."

Now in his fever dream, he was calling for Ethan. A man he had known for two days.

She stood there for a full minute, tears running down her face silently.

Then she walked back to the living room.

"Ethan," she whispered.

He was sitting up now, holding his hip bandage.

"Leo calls for you in his sleep," she said.

Ethan looked up sharply. "He does?"

Chloe nodded, wiping her face. "He keeps saying 'Daddy don't go.' Maybe... maybe you should sleep in his room? On the floor next to him? So when he wakes up scared, he sees you right there?"

Ethan stared at her, then at the master bedroom door behind her, then back at Leo's room.

"And you? Where will you sleep?"

"I'll take the master. It's big enough. Leo needs you more tonight."

It was a messy plan, but it was the only one that felt right.

So Ethan dragged the spare mattress from the master closet into Leo's medical room. He put it on the floor right next to Leo's little hospital bed, squeezed between the oxygen machine and the wall. It barely fit. He lay down on it in his wrinkled clothes and gently, so gently, took Leo's tiny hot hand in his big one.

Chloe stood in the doorway and watched.

For the first time in three years, Leo stopped tossing. His breathing slowed down. His little fingers curled around Ethan's one finger and held on tight. He smiled in his sleep, a real smile, drool on his chin.

Ethan looked up at Chloe in the doorway, the blue monitor light on his face.

"He's holding me," he whispered, like he couldn't believe it.

Chloe whispered back, tears still there, "He never held anyone like that. Not even me."

Ethan didn't answer. He just kept holding that tiny hand and laid his head back on the mattress, his eyes never leaving Leo's face.

At 5:23 AM, Ethan woke up because Leo, still asleep, kicked him right in the face with his small foot.

Ethan sat up, holding his nose, and then he started laughing. Quietly, so he wouldn't wake Leo. A real laugh that shook his shoulders. The first real, warm laugh he had laughed in three years.

Chloe, who had fallen asleep sitting against the master doorway watching them, woke up to that laugh and smiled without knowing why.

Downstairs, on the coffee table, Ethan's phone lit up the dark living room.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Chloe walked down barefoot and picked it up. She shouldn't have, but the name flashing made her blood run cold.

Vanessa Lee.

Three new messages. Time stamped 4:58 AM.

Vanessa: _You think one slap will make me disappear, Ethan? You hit me in front of reporters. You will pay for that._

Vanessa: _You love her little fashion show so much? Let's see if her ugly dresses can walk in the dark._

Vanessa: _I already paid the lighting crew for Sincerely Chloe SC show tomorrow night. $20k cash. Main fuse will blow at 8:05 PM when first model walks. Let's see how beautiful she looks when no one can see her._

Chloe's hand went ice cold. Her phone almost dropped.

Her SC show. Tomorrow. 8 PM. New York Fashion Week. At the Brooklyn Navy Yard warehouse. The show she had been sewing for for six months, the show she had been stitching in the hospital corridor while Leo had fever. The one show that would decide if Sincerely Chloe gets bought by a big house or dies. The show Leo had been asking about every day — "Mommy, will I see princess dresses?"

Ethan came out of the medical room, holding his bleeding hip, seeing her white face.

"What is it?" he said.

Chloe held out his phone, her hand shaking violently.

Ethan read it. His face went from soft to stone cold in one second. He deleted the messages and grabbed his car keys.

"She wouldn't dare touch your show."

But Chloe knew Vanessa. Vanessa always dared. Vanessa had money and hate and nothing to lose.

And far away in Brooklyn, in an empty dark warehouse that was already set up with Chloe's dresses hanging in a row, a lighting technician in a cap was opening the main power box with a screwdriver, counting a thick envelope of cash Vanessa's assistant had given him, and smiling as he loosened the main wire just enough to blow everything tomorrow.

Chloe's biggest comeback show was in 15 hours — and the lights were already rigged to go black the second her first model stepped out.