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“Ser,” I begin, taking her hand gently. “There’s nothing between me and Ethan…”

I pause, and she opens her mouth to argue, but this time I’m the one who stops her.

“Nothing except sex,” I confess. “He told me from the beginning that it’s all he wants, all he’s offering,” I explain. “And I agreed because, yes, there’s this insane attraction between us, one that drives me absolutely insane.”

Sierra bursts out laughing, and I let out a frustrated sigh.

“I know it’s never going to be more, and I haven’t let myself hope for anything else,” I continue, wanting to ease her mind. I’m sure she worries about me, and honestly, it feels good to finally say this out loud, to be able to talk to someone.

“I don’t know how long it’ll last, but I know it has an end. And I’m okay with that.”

She inhales deeply, then gives me a small smile.

“Okay, Thalia,” she murmurs. “That’s all I wanted to hear. That in the end you won’t be the one getting hurt, if there’s an end.”

If there is? There absolutely is. This is Ethan we’re talking about. He’ll eventually get bored and return to his normal life.

And me? I just have to be strong enough not to fall in love with him before that happens.

FORTY-TWO

Ethan

I can’t understand how anyone else manages to focus amidst chaos, but for me, it’s unbearable. All morning, Thalia’s assistant has been flying around the office, talking on the phone, gesturing wildly, her voice piercing through the quiet in sharp, uneven bursts that grate against my nerves more with every passing minute. I’ve had to activate my privacy system just to avoid going over there and asking her to sit down at the desk or return to the floor she came from, because the impulse to restore order myself has been growing steadily harder to ignore.

But this is a conversation I will definitely have with Thalia. She’ll need to train her assistant to behave appropriately in the office. My people are working on extremely important contracts; they need silence.

Speaking of Thalia, I can’t even remember the last time I saw her. I’ve called her into my office a couple of times in the past week, but she refuses to have sex with me in the same place I’ve been with others. Those are her words.

I don’t want to force her, so I’ve respected her decision. But it’s getting harder and harder to control myself, the restraint stretching thinner each day, tensing beneath my skin in ways I don’t particularly enjoy acknowledging.

These past few days I’ve been extremely busy, leaving the office only near midnight and sleeping here, in my apartment, the routine mechanical, efficient, and completely devoid of rest.

Today, I want to leave early and go home with Thalia, steal at least two hours with her before I have to leave again, because a last-minute flight is waiting for me tonight. A project in Asia—already signed, already set to begin—has suddenly started to fall apart, shaken by issues no one saw coming, and the partner is demanding an urgent meeting. He can’t come here, which means I have to go there. The only option. And exactly what was missing after this already chaotic week.

I haven’t told Thalia yet, but I’ll send her a message later. Or maybe I’ll go to her desk at five and tell her she has to come with me, not giving her enough time to overthink it, to build one of those careful, polite refusals she hides behind when she’s cornered.

Knowing her, she’ll flush red, won’t know what to say, and will try to find an excuse for the other employees so they don’t start suspecting anything, her composure slipping—giving her away to anyone paying attention. Let them think, suspect, or imagine whatever they want.

A knock on the door, followed by it unlocking and opening, pulls me out of my thoughts.

Theo steps into my office immediately, closes the door behind him with deliberate care, and says, “You wanted to talk?”

Yes. We need to talk. This is a conversation I should have had with him a long time ago, one I’ve postponed with a precision that almost feels calculated now that I’m forced to face it.

“Sit,” I say, without answering his question.

Visibly intrigued, he sits and watches me, saying nothing, his posture relaxed but attentive. A classic negotiation tactic.

Only we’re not negotiating now. I need this to be a conversation from man to man, friend to a friend. Even brother to brother. That’s what he is for me, which is precisely why this sits heavier than it should.

“I have something I should have told you a long time ago,” I begin, looking him directly in the eyes, holding his gaze longer than necessary.

I want him to see my honesty, to read the regret on my face—not for what happened between me and Thalia, but because it happened when I thought she was his woman, the memory still sitting wrong in a way I haven’t been able to fully dismiss.

He keeps his gaze on me, somewhat intrigued, somewhat curious, but calm, which only intensifies my focus further.

Leaning my head back against the chair, I take a slow breath, feeling the tension settle deeper rather than ease, then fix my eyes on him again. And as I always avoid any detours, I do the same now.