All Chapters of A Twist of Fate with the Callous Billionaire : Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

— Ethan's POVI opened my eyes before the alarm. Not that it mattered. Sleep hadn’t really stayed long.Just fragments. Faces. A door creaking where it shouldn’t. Footsteps I couldn’t place. The sound of Sophia breathing beside me, sometimes too quiet. Like she was holding it in.I lay there a minute. Maybe five. The ceiling blurred into nothing. My hands were numb.She shifted beside me. Not quite awake. Not quite not.I got up slow. Didn’t want to wake her yet. Pulled on jeans from the floor. Shirt from the back of the chair. Same one I wore yesterday. Probably the day before.Kitchen was still. Irene's little blue cup was in the sink. He always forgets to rinse. There was a trail of cereal from the counter to the fridge. He’d call it a “breadcrumb map to treasure.”Coffee. The smell helped. A little. I let it burn my tongue.The back window fogged. Cold sneaking in. Maybe that was good. Real. Honest.I stood there too long.Sophia's voice behind me. “Hey.”She looked like she’d b

— Ethan's POVI woke up with her weight still on my chest.Sunlight smeared thin across the blinds, pale, reluctant. The kind that doesn’t really warm anything. The kind that shows you the dust in the corners.Sophia was still asleep. Barely. That almost-sleep where the body stays but the mind’s already reaching for something.I didn’t move. Just let myself listen.Irene snoring faint down the hall. The ticking of the kitchen clock that always runs a little fast. The fridge humming. The house breathing slow.No knocks.No envelopes.No wind yet.But something felt... off. Like the quiet was leaning too hard on the windows.Eventually she stirred. Curled tighter into me."Did you sleep?" she asked. Her voice still gravel."Some."She didn’t ask more. Just nodded against my chest.We stayed like that a bit.Then Irene's voice broke through. Shouting something about waffles and battle armor.We both laughed, but hers cracked.She got up first. I followed.We moved slow through the kitche

— Ethan's POVWe were living our happily ever after. But there was this kind of silence that sits in your throat.That heavy type. Like grief that hasn't picked a shape yet.We were still on the couch. She still wrapped in that strange half-embrace. Sophia's head leaned into my chest. My arm draped across her shoulders. Her fingers tangled loosely in the hem of my shirt. I think I had stopped breathing without realizing.The candle was long out. Just the smell of smoke lingering in the hall way. It was faint but beautiful. No power. Still.And the dark had changed. Not louder, but thicker. Like it had learned something about us.I wanted to move, or say something dumb to cut the weight. Make her laugh. Or at least smirk.But I didn’t.I listened.Nothing.Not the fridge. Not the hum. Not even wind.Just the kind of hush that has teeth in it.Sophia stirred a little. Just shifted. Her fingers brushed my chest. I felt that more than I should have."You think they're done?" she whis

— Ethan’s POVWe stayed.Even though my skin felt too tight. Even though the air in the house had weight to it, like breathing soup.Sophia was still holding the envelope when morning tried to happen. Tried, because the light that came in wasn’t the kind that wakes you. It was thin, gray. Sickly. Like it’d been traveling too long to get here.I was at the kitchen table. Not eating. Not drinking.Just… sitting. One knee bouncing, fingers drumming on the wood like maybe it’d keep me tethered.The envelope sat in the middle.It didn’t look like much now. Just paper. But my eyes kept going to it like gravity was playing favorites.Soph came in barefoot. Hair tangled, oversized sweater sliding off one shoulder. She didn’t speak. Didn’t have to.Her eyes were red. Not from crying, she hadn’t cried. More like she hadn’t slept right in a decade.Irene padded in behind her. Blanket cape again. His bear now missing one ear. I didn’t remember that happening.He didn’t look at the envelope. Or ma

— Ethan’s POVWe stayed under the warm bright light. Not because we decided.Because we didn’t… move.Soph was still on the couch. Same place she’d been when I closed my eyes for what couldn’t have been more than a minute. Her sweater was twisted at the hem, like she’d been wringing it without realizing.Irene was curled on his side between us. Mouth open. Little, shallow breaths. His hair damp at the edges from sweat.The handprint was still there.I didn’t look at it long. I couldn’t. The size was wrong. The fingers too thin. Like they’d been made from wire wrapped in skin.Soph saw me look. She shook her head. Not “no.” Just… don’t.The house was holding its breath. I could feel it in my ears. That press. That weight.When the sound came, it wasn’t from the walls this time.It was from inside the coffee table.A soft… creak. Then another. Like something shifting its weight in there.I leaned forward, slow, pressing my palm against the wood grain.It was warm.The hum started, not