Marriage Isn't Ours to Play Around With

The terrace at the Blackwood estate was hosting a low-key private get-together.

Everyone there had grown up alongside Ethan—his ride-or-die crew from way back.

Each one loaded, from old money or new.

Kevin Newton, heir to Newton Tech Group, six-foot-two, lean and wiry, hooked on extreme sports, total devil-may-care type.

Stanley West, whose family ran the powerhouse West Energy Group nationwide, six-foot-three, built like a tank, and a straight-up player through and through.

Carson Powell, golden boy of a top-tier auto empire, six-foot-three, mixed-race features, steady as they come.

When Ethan stepped into view.

Kevin shot up from the sofa like a rocket, lunging over to grab his face.

"Whoa, you're actually alive? Let me check if this is some plastic surgery imposter."

Ethan's brow furrowed, and he snapped Kevin's wrist in a lock, twisting it back hard enough to nearly slam him into the coffee table.

"Ow—damn it, that hurts!" Kevin winced, face screwed up. "Shit, amnesia and you're still a beast?"

Carson drawled, all casual. "That reflex? One hundred percent Ethan."

Ethan let go, scanning the group. "We go way back?"

The three of them chimed in unison: "Duh!"

Kevin nursed his 'wounded' wrist, sounding all put out.

Ethan: "..."

Stanley chuckled. "Ethan, how'd you get so tanned? Mining coal out there for three years?"

Kevin bit back a grin. "Word is, after they took him in, he was out fishing and hawking catches every day. No wonder."

Stanley ribbed him. "Who's got the guts to put the Blackwood heir behind a fish stall?"

"Make that fishing too." Kevin piled on.

The group went quiet for two beats, then cracked up, their laughs echoing across the whole terrace.

Ethan's face stayed stone-cold. He picked up his red wine and took a sip. "Long as I'm breathing, that's enough."

"Fair point." Stanley reined in his chuckles. "Lucky break you came back in one piece."

Carson adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. "Ethan, what the hell went down those three years?"

Kevin jumped in. "Yeah, spill! I'm dying to hear how you reeled in fish and played salesman."

Stanley shot him a look. "Kevin, ease up. Give the guy a shred of dignity?"

Kevin played innocent. "Hey, this is concern, not ribbing. What skeletons don't we already know?"

The four of them had been thick as thieves since kids, spilling every embarrassing story under the sun.

"Water under the bridge. Not worth hashing out." Ethan's vibe was flat, his tone clipped.

The three traded glances.

Carson smoothed it over. "Alright, skip the rough stuff. Point is, you're here now."

"Oh yeah, Ethan—it's really all blank up there? No memories at all?"

Kevin steered back.

"Yeah, zilch. Had my assistant round you up to fill in the blanks on who I was."

Kevin thumped his chest, all cocky. "Buddy, you hit the jackpot. We know you inside out."

"Remember Spain? You had to go deep-sea diving, got stung by a jellyfish right on the ass?"

"Ha!" Kevin slapped the table, losing it. "You played it cool, said it was nothing. That night? Fever hit a hundred-four, butt swelled up like a balloon."

Ethan's mouth twitched. "You're making this up."

"Swear to God." Carson stayed cool. "Don't believe us? We've got video on our phones."

Ethan: "Delete it."

Kevin grinned wicked. "Nah, might jog something loose if you watch."

Ethan's face went thunder-dark.

"Fine, fine, new topic."

Stanley flashed his phone screensaver. "Check this—us four, back in the day."

The pic showed them as teens, posed in front of a chopper, Alps snow peaks looming behind.

"We had this bet: first one down the slope wins the pot."

"You went all in, wagered that one-of-three global supercar. Ended up fracturing your leg."

Ethan eyed the photo of himself, casted up and flat on his back in a hospital bed, a vein throbbing at his temple.

"Where's the car now?"

"Well..." Kevin straightened his collar, smug as hell. "Parked in my garage, naturally."

Ethan pegged them quick: a pack of backstabbers, piling on the dirt while he couldn't remember jack.

"No highlight reel? Nothing where I come out on top?"

"Oh, tons." Kevin nodded. "Ethan's got glory stories for days."

"So why skip 'em?"

Kevin's lips curved sly. "Embarrassing bits hit harder, might kickstart that brain of yours."

"We're doing this out of the goodness of our hearts, and you don't appreciate it."

His puppy-dog pout was straight-up pitiful.

Ethan couldn't stomach it, looked away. "Keep going, then."

By the end of the roast session, he'd pieced together a rough sketch of his old self.

As a teen: wild, domineering, hooked on adrenaline rushes like street racing.

Grown-up: calculating, poker-faced, cutthroat when it counted.

Bottom line, he wasn't the forgiving type—cross him, and he'd make you regret it.

That flew in the face of Mom's tales of the straight-A, even-keeled kid.

But he bought the bros' version more. Maybe he just played nice for her.

Once they'd run through the highlights, Ethan threw out: "You guys know anything about me and Sophia?"

The three froze.

Wineglasses hovered mid-air, eyes darting.

Ethan's gaze sharpened. "What's with the looks?"

Kevin rubbed his chin. "Well, uh..."

"Honest? We were floored. You and Sophia, sneaking around on the down-low?"

When word hit that Sophia rolled up pregnant, claiming Ethan's posthumous kid, their jaws hit the floor.

Stanley leaned in close. "Ethan, what's your take on her now?"

Ethan tossed back his wine. "Kid's in the picture. What take you think?"

Carson nodded slow. "Makes sense."

Stanley muttered under his breath. "Who says you can't have options? Plenty of ways around it."

The other three zeroed in on him.

"Why the stares?" Stanley shrugged. "Just saying, no need for the guilt trip."

"That kid? She decided to keep it solo. Who knows if you two even dated."

Implying Sophia pulled some strings to get knocked up.

"Don't call me cold-hearted. Put me in your shoes, I'd cut a check: mom walks, kid stays."

"Tsk tsk." Kevin shook his head. "Stanley, didn't peg you for the deadbeat type."

Stanley got heated. "Deadbeat? Cut the pure-hearted crap with me."

"We all know the score. Marriage? We don't get to call the shots."

He nailed the truth.

With their pedigrees, hookups were fair game on the sly, but the real deal? Door had to match the frame.

Sophia? Her background didn't clear the Blackwood bar.

So what if she popped out a kid?

Look around—plenty of baby mamas left high and dry outside the circle.

Ethan kept his eyes downcast, his head full of Sophia's soft, teasing voice.