Chapter 3: The Table Between Us

AMELIA

I lasted exactly four bites of the grilled sea bass before I gave up.

The chef had outdone himself: lemon butter, microgreens, the little purple edible flowers Victor loves to show off to guests. It tasted like cardboard. Every time I lifted my fork, my hand shook just enough to clink against the plate. Ethan sat across from me, long legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other, scrolling through his phone like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

He hadn’t looked at me once since we sat down.

I kept waiting for it: some flicker of recognition, a smirk, anything that proved he knew I’d stood outside his door this afternoon like a pervert. Nothing. Just the soft glow of the screen on his sharp cheekbones and the occasional twitch of his thumb as he typed.

Probably texting her. The blonde. Telling her how round two was going to be even better once he got rid of his annoying stepmother.

I set my fork down too hard. The crystal rang.

Ethan’s eyes flicked up for half a second, then back to his phone.

That was it. I couldn’t sit here pretending to chew while my stomach twisted itself into knots.

“I’m full,” I said, pushing my chair back. My voice came out smaller than I wanted. “I’ll head up to my room.”

I was already turning when his voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Is that your hobby? Watching people fuck?”

The words hit me so hard I stopped mid-step, one hand still on the back of the chair. The air left my lungs in a rush.

Slowly, so slowly, I turned around.

He hadn’t moved, but he’d put the phone face-down on the table. Those ice-blue eyes were locked on me now, unblinking, a faint curve at the corner of his mouth that wasn’t quite a smile.

My mouth opened, closed, opened again. Nothing came out.

Ethan stood up. The chair rolled back silently on the polished floor. He was in a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants again, barefoot, and the way he moved toward me felt predatory, like a panther deciding whether the gazelle was worth chasing.

I backed up until my hips hit the edge of the table.

He stopped just close enough that I could smell the faint trace of chlorine still clinging to his skin from this morning’s swim, mixed with whatever stupidly expensive cologne he wore that made my knees weak.

“I asked you a question, Amelia.” His voice was low, almost gentle, which somehow made it worse. “Do you get off on spying, or was today special?”

Heat flooded my face. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to,”

“Bullshit.” He tilted his head. “Door was open three inches. You stood there long enough to watch me come inside her. Don’t lie to me.”

My heart was hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it. “I was just walking past,”

“Walking past,” he repeated, tasting the words. “Right.”

He took another step. Close enough now that the heat coming off his body warmed the thin silk of my blouse. I had to crane my neck to hold his gaze.

“Tell me something,” he murmured. “When you ran back to your room and locked the door, when you shoved those pretty fingers inside your panties and rubbed your clit until you came, did you picture my cock? Or were you just jealous she got it first?”

I couldn’t breathe. My lips parted, but no sound came out.

His eyes dropped to my mouth, lingered, then dragged slowly back up. “Be honest, Mommy. I’ll know if you lie.”

The word Mommy punched the air out of me. He’d never called me that before, not once. It was always Amelia, sharp and cold, like a slap. Hearing it now, soft and filthy, felt like a match struck against my spine.

I swallowed hard. “You’re disgusting.”

That half-smile grew. “And you’re soaked right now. I can smell it.”

I wanted to slap him. I wanted to scream. Instead my traitorous body leaned toward him half an inch before I caught myself.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Ethan leaned in until his lips almost brushed my ear. “Tell me, Amelia,” he whispered. “Is my father that good too? Does he make you shake like that? Does he fuck you until you forget your own name?”

I jerked back like he’d burned me. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“Why not?” His voice dropped even lower. “He’s not here. And you still didn’t answer my question.”

I couldn’t. Because the truth would shatter me, and the lie would taste worse.

Ethan studied my face for another long second, then shrugged like I’d bored him. He stepped around me, the heat of his body gone so fast I swayed.

“Enjoy your bath,” he said over his shoulder, already walking away. “Try not to moan my name too loud. The staff gossips.”

He disappeared through the glass doors that led to the rooftop pool, the night swallowing him whole.

I stood there for what felt like forever, hands gripping the table so hard my knuckles went white.

The sea bass had gone cold.

My wine sat untouched.

And between my legs I was so wet the lace of my thong clung to me like a second skin.

I didn’t go to my room.

I don’t know what possessed me. Maybe it was the way he said Mommy like a threat. Maybe it was the image of him moving over that girl, burned into my brain. Maybe I just wanted to prove I wasn’t the coward he thought I was.

I found myself at the glass doors, barefoot, heart racing like I was sixteen and sneaking out.

The pool lights were on, underwater LEDs shifting from indigo to violet. Ethan stood at the edge, back to me, pulling his T-shirt over his head in one smooth motion. The muscles in his back flexed and released, moonlight painting every ridge silver.

He didn’t look surprised when he turned and saw me standing there.

Just raised one eyebrow, like he’d been waiting.

“Changed your mind?” he asked.

I lifted my chin. “I came to tell you that you don’t get to talk to me like that in my own house.”

His laugh was soft, dangerous. “Your house?” He stepped closer, water beading on his chest from an earlier swim. “Tell me, Amelia. Who pays the mortgage? Who paid for that diamond on your finger? Who bought the marble you’re standing on?”

I hated how every word landed like a slap.

He stopped a foot away. “You want to set rules? Fine. Rule one: don’t watch me fuck someone unless you’re ready to take her place.”

My breath caught.

He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. “Because next time the door’s open, I won’t be gentle. And you won’t be walking away to play with yourself in Daddy’s bathroom. You’ll be on your knees, begging me to let you come.”

I should have slapped him. Should have stormed off. Instead I stood there trembling, nipples tight against silk, every nerve ending screaming for something I refused to name.

Ethan’s eyes flicked down my body and back up, slow and deliberate. “Twenty-nine days left,” he said. “Tick-tock.”

Then he dove into the pool without another word, cutting through the water like a blade, leaving me standing on the edge shaking with rage and something a lot darker.

I didn’t go inside until the city lights blurred from the tears I refused to let fall.

And when I finally made it to my bed, alone under the twelve-thousand-thread-count sheets, I didn’t even pretend to reach for Victor’s side.

I reached for myself instead, biting the pillow so the staff wouldn’t hear whose name I was moaning when I came a second time that night.

Twenty-nine days.

God, I was already losing count.