Ember's POV
When I opened my eyes in the morning, Ethan was gone. The bed beside me was cold and empty, and for a moment, I thought he had already left for work.
But as I stepped out of the room and walked toward the kitchen, I froze.
There he was—shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, his toned muscles flexing as he moved around the stove. My breath caught in my throat. He looked like a scene from a dream I didn't want to wake up from.
"Are you staring, Miss?" he said with a smirk, glancing over his shoulder. "Come eat."
I quickly looked away, flustered. "No—I wasn't," I lied.
He plated the breakfast—two simple dishes—and we sat across from each other in silence, the air thick with unspoken tension. I couldn't stop stealing glances at him, but I also knew I needed answers.
So I broke the silence.
"Ethan…" I started, my voice soft. "Can we talk to Veronica? About what happened that night?"
He looked up slowly, an amused smirk playing on his lips. "Which night are you talking about, Ember? We've been doing something every night lately. What exactly would you like me to explain to her?"
I flushed, my fingers tightening around my fork.
"I mean it," I said, more firmly this time. "I just want to be honest. I don't want to walk around pretending… or hiding… or being the girl who broke something. I want her to hear it from us."
Ethan leaned back in his chair, eyes dark and unreadable.
"What do you want me to tell her, Ember?" he asked calmly. "That I crave you every time you're near? That I lose my mind when you walk away? That I don't even think about Veronica when I'm with you?"
I stared at him, stunned by his bluntness.
He looked down, playing with the edge of his plate. "I'm not asking anyone to trust me anymore. I've already lost that luxury."
Silence settled between us again—but it wasn't the comfortable kind.
Ethan's POV
She was in her room.
I had taken the day off—I didn't even know why. Maybe I was trying to understand this ache that had started to feel permanent. Maybe I just wanted to be near her.
I pushed open the door quietly.
She sat cross-legged on the bed, laptop in front of her, her brows furrowed. She looked so small, so burdened. I watched her take a deep sigh as her eyes scanned something on the screen. Her shoulders slumped the moment she read it, like the weight of the world had just doubled.
Curious and concerned, I walked in and sat beside her.
She didn't even look at me.
My eyes caught the words on the screen just before she slammed the laptop shut:
"Due to your recent scandalous video, we regret to inform you that your admission to our prestigious university has been denied."
My jaw clenched.
She started to move away, maybe to hide, maybe to avoid breaking in front of me—but I reached out and gently held her wrist, pulling her to sit again.
"Look at me," I said softly.
She didn't speak, but when she finally turned her face to mine, I saw it—raw sadness swimming in her eyes, a quiet storm of frustration and pain.
She didn't need to say anything.
Because in that moment, I realized something.
She had lost everything because of me. Her future. Her name. Her peace. And yet, she never once threw it in my face. Never once demanded anything from me.
She just took the hit.
And I hated myself a little more for it
I didn't know what else to do… so I hugged her.
And that's when it happened.
A broken sound escaped her throat—painful, raw, and heartbreaking. She clung to me like I was the only solid thing left in her crumbling world. I held her tightly, silently promising her things I hadn't even figured out yet.
After a few minutes, she slowly pulled away, wiping her tears. "Sorry," she whispered, glancing down at the damp spot on my shirt. "I didn't mean to wet your shirt…"
I shook my head, but before I could speak, she glanced at the clock and murmured, "You'll be late for office."
I just stood there, watching her… so strong and so broken at the same time.
As I turned to leave the room, something tugged at me.
"I took the day off," I said, and when she looked at me with surprise, I added, "Do you want to go shopping?"
Her smile was small, but cold. "Shopping?" she scoffed. "No job. Didn't finish my studies. No money to spend. How can I come with you for shopping, Ethan?"
I could see it—how hard she tried to hide her humiliation behind humor.
"I saved some money," she added quietly, almost like she was trying to convince herself. "But it's for when I leave. It's not even enough to buy something decent, let alone go on a shopping trip with you."
I didn't respond right away. Instead, I watched her, really watched her.