chapter four

Ethan

The power snaps back at 4:17 a.m.

The sudden flood of light from the LEDs is brutal, clinical, exposing every bruise, every scratch, every smear of sex on the sheets. Lila flinches beside me, burrows deeper into my chest like she can hide from the truth in the glare. I tighten my arm around her waist and stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster I never noticed before.

She’s still asleep, with her lashes fanned against her cheeks, one hand curled over my heart like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go. The raven tattoo on her arm looks alive in the harsh light, its wings are spread, beak open in a silent scream. I trace the fresh ink with my thumb. She added it after she left. I want to ask what it means. I don’t.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Itd the unknown number again. I silence it without looking. Celeste has been blowing up burner phones since the gala photos hit Page Six.

Billionaire’s Ex Crashes Engagement Party, Kisses Groom in Front of Fiancée.

The headline was kind. The comments were not.

Lila stirs. Her eyes open slowly still hazy with sleep and the aftermath of what we did. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak, she just looks at me like she’s trying to decide if I’m real.

“Morning,” I say.

She sits up, with the sheets clutched to her chest. The movement reveals the bite mark I left on her neck

Her gaze flicks to the cracked mirror across the room, then to the divorce papers still crumpled on the floor. The pen lies beside them like a spent bullet.

“Day three,” she says.

I nod. “Twenty-seven left.”

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, stands. The curve of her spine, the dimples above her ass, the way her thighs tremble just slightly, i take in every detail like a man memorizing a map before burning it. She walks to the window. The snow has stopped.

“I used to love this view,” she says

“Now it feels like a prison.”

I get up, cross to her and stand behind her, not touching. “You can leave anytime.”

She turns. Her eyes are sharp now. “We both know that’s a lie.”

I don’t deny it.

She brushes past me, heads for the bathroom. The door shuts. The shower hisses on. I stand there, fists clenched, listening to the water run. My phone buzzes again. This time I look.

Text:They’re watching the house. End it or I will.

I delete it. Then I delete the entire thread. Then I smash the phone against the dresser until the screen spiderwebs and the battery dies.

The shower stops. Lila emerges wrapped in a towel, hair dripping, skin flushed. She doesn’t look at the destroyed phone. Doesn’t ask. Just walks to the closet and pulls out one of my black dress shirts. The hem hits mid-thigh. She rolls the sleeves to her elbows, exposing the raven, the bruises, the ink that climbs toward her throat like ivy.

“I’m starving,” she says.

I nod toward the kitchen. “I’ll cook.”

She arches a brow. “You burn water.”

“I’ve had six months to learn.”

She snorts. Follows me downstairs anyway.

The kitchen is a war zone, there's broken glass from last night, coffee mugs abandoned, the island still smeared with the evidence of round four. I start cleaning. She watches, arms crossed, leaning against the counter.

“You kept my sketchbooks,” she says suddenly.

I pause, rag in hand. “Yeah.”

“All of them?”

“Every page.”

She looks away. Bites her lip. “Why?”

I resume wiping. “Because they were the only part of you I had left.”

She stops behind me, wraps her arms around my waist, presses her cheek between my shoulder blades. I feel her tremble.

“I hate you,” she whispers.

“I know.”

She lets go. Opens the fridge. Pulls out eggs, bacon, spinach. Starts cracking shells into a bowl with practiced efficiency. I watch her mov gracefully. The shirt rides up when she reaches for the whisk. I see the faint outline of my handprint on her ass. My cock stirs. I adjust myself discreetly.

We cook in silence. Bacon sizzles. Eggs scramble. She steals sips of my coffee. I steal glances at her throat when she swallows. The domesticity is a lie, but it’s a good one.

We eat at the island, knees brushing. She moans around a bite of bacon and I nearly choke.

“Stop that,” I mutter.

“Stop what?” Innocent. She licks grease from her thumb.

I stand, round the island, cage her against the counter. “You know what.”

She tilts her head. “Make me.”

I kiss her slowly this time. She melts into it, hands fisting my shirt, pulling me closer. I lift her onto the counter, step between her thighs. The towel is long gone and the dress shirt is unbuttoned to her navel. I slide my hands inside, cup her breasts, thumb her nipples until she’s gasping into my mouth.

“Ethan,” she breathes.

I pull back. “Say the word.”

She searches my face. “Not yet.”

I nod. Step away. The loss of her heat is physical pain.

She hops down, buttons the shirt with shaking fingers. “I need air.”

I follow her to the deck. The cold is a slap after the warmth of the kitchen. She leans on the railing, stares at the ocean. I stand behind her, hands in my pockets.

“They’re watching,” she says quietly.

“I know.”

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She turns. “It matters to me.”

“The Russians. The ones I paid off. They think you’re leverage.”

Her face pales. “You brought me here to hide me?”

“No. I brought you here because I’m selfish. Because I can’t breathe without you. The hiding is a bonus.”

She laughs bitterly. “You’re insane.”

“Probably.”

She steps closer. “If they come—”

“They won’t get through me.”

She studies me. Then reaches up, touches the scar on my eyebrow. “You can’t protect me from everything.”

“I can try.”

Her hand drops. “I’m not a damsel.”

“Never said you were.”

She turns back to the ocean. “I used to dream about this place. Before we bought it. Thought we’d fill it with kids and chaos and Sunday pancakes. Now it’s just a cage with a view.”

I move behind her, wrap my arms around her waist. “We can still have that.”

She stiffens. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

She’s quiet for a long time. Then: “I stopped my pills.”

The words hit like a bullet. I freeze.

“Last week,” she continues. “Before the gala. I didn’t plan it. Just… stopped. Like my body knew before my brain did.”

I turn her to face me. Her eyes are wet but fierce.

“You’re saying—”

“I don’t know yet. It’s too early. But if I am…” She swallows. “It’s yours. Only yours.”

I cup her face. “Lila.”

“Don’t,” she warns. “Don’t say it. Not yet.”

I nod. Kiss her forehead instead. She buries her face in my chest. We stand there until the cold seeps into our bones.

Inside, the fire is dying again. I add logs. She watches from the doorway, arms wrapped around herself.

“Day three,” she says.

I poke the embers. “Twenty-seven left.”

She crosses the room, kneels beside me. Takes the poker from my hand. Stirs the fire until it roars.

“I’m not leaving,” she says. “Not until one of us breaks.”

I meet her eyes. “Then let’s break together.”

She smiles sweetly

“Deal.”