"Five years?" he said slowly. "Selene and Marcus… five years?"
He laughed.
Not because it was funny—but because the truth landed so hard, his body chose disbelief over collapse.
The words felt unreal in his mouth. Like they belonged to someone else's life.
He shook his head once, in a sharp, unsettled motion. Then he leaned back in his chair as if the weight of it had suddenly pressed against his chest. I watched it register in real time—the irritation, the disbelief, and the quiet fury. It all simmered just beneath his skin.
His jaw clenched in a tight yet controlled manner. It was like he was holding himself back from saying something he couldn't take back.
"I should be surprised," he muttered. "I really should." He glanced up at me then, eyes darker, sharper. "But I'm not."
That made my stomach drop. "I always knew something was off," he continued, voice low and measured. "I just never had proof. I never had a reason to call it out." He paused briefly, then continued. "Selene always felt… misplaced. Like she was standing too close to something that wasn't hers."
I said nothing. I didn't need to. As he spoke, memories I'd buried began surfacing—uninvited, unforgiving. The way Selene watched me and the questions she asked about Marcus.
She'd come to Valcrest twice. She said it was to see me. I remembered it clearly now. the way she'd walked through the place like it belonged to her. Her moves were slow and deliberate. Her eyes were dragging along the walls, the furniture, and the air itself. It was like she was cataloguing everything. Like she was searching for flaws. For evidence. For something—anything—that could justify whatever story she was already telling herself.
Her gaze never lingered on me the way a friend's should. It skimmed, assessed, and measured. She'd asked harmless questions with a curious smile—too curious. Commented on my space, my routines, my choices, like she was quietly rearranging me in her mind. As if she were deciding whether I fit into Marcus's life… or needed to be erased from it.
I'd felt it then. The discomfort. The subtle tension that didn't have a name yet. And I ignored it. Ignored the way she touched things like she had a right to them. I ignored the way her eyes hardened whenever Marcus's name came up. I ignored the faint possessiveness she tried to mask as concern.
All while—on the other side of the world—she was already with him. Already claiming him.
The realization settled into my chest slowly, cruelly. She hadn't been visiting me. She'd been inspecting the competition. She had been looking out for flaws and loopholes.
Ethan exhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw.
"Five years," he repeated, quieter this time. "Under your roof. Under your trust." His eyes flicked back to mine. "And you had no idea?"
That was when I felt it—the shift. This wasn't just a shock anymore. It was anger finding its footing.
I watched Ethan process a betrayal that wasn't even his. And something cold and terrifying settled in my chest:
This conversation wasn't opening a wound. It was tearing one open.
"Well," I said quietly, staring past him, past the café window, "that's what happens when you're too trusting." My voice sounded steadier than I felt. Detached. Like I was reciting a lesson I'd learned too late.
"That's what happens when you keep giving people the benefit of the doubt—even when the signs are right there. The bad habits and off-behavior. The little things you explain away because you don't want to believe someone you love could hurt you."
I let out a breath that trembled despite my effort to control it. "I was too generous, loving, kind, and gentle." A bitter smile tugged at my lips. "Always too trusting."
Ethan didn't interrupt. He didn't shift. He didn't soften the moment by trying to fix it. He just listened.
"So maybe they saw that," I continued. "They saw a weakness. Something to use, to take advantage of." My fingers curled against my palm. "And they did. They ran with it. They made a fool of me in the end."
My throat tightened. "They made me lose everything I worked for."
I swallowed, then shook my head slowly.
"But that's not even the worst part." That finally got his attention. I felt it—the way his focus sharpened, and the way his body leaned in slightly, like he already sensed what was coming.
"I lost a major job opportunity too," I said. "Today. An important one." I laughed softly, humorlessly. "The kind that changes things. The ones that come with promotions and recognition. The kind of meeting you prepare for months."
My hands began to tremble. I clasped them together, trying to steady myself.
"In the middle of everything… I went back home to grab a file. That's it. A file." My voice cracked on the word. "That's when I saw them."
The memory hit hard—fresh, brutal.
"I was supposed to go straight to work after. But I couldn't. I couldn't think or breathe." My chest tightened. "By the time I showed up, the contractors were gone. The meeting was over."
I finally looked at him and then said, "My boss fired me." The words felt unreal, even as I said them.
"So today?" I exhaled. "Today I didn't only lose my relationship. I lost my job. And I lost my house."
My vision blurred, but I kept going, forcing the truth out before it drowned me. "Everything I own right now is in my car. Parked right around the corner." A hollow laugh escaped me. "The one you walked past."
That was it. That was where my strength ran out. The dam broke without warning. Tears spilled fast, hot, and uncontrollably. I pressed my lips together. I shook my head as I physically stopped myself from falling apart.
"I—I want to talk," I tried to say, my voice collapsing into itself. "I really do. I just—"
Nothing came out. My chest hitched. My breath stuttered. Words crowded my throat and refused to line up. I wiped at my face, frustrated, humiliated, and overwhelmed by how quickly I was unraveling.
I couldn't speak anymore. All I could do was cry messily. I was choked by emotion, by loss, by the sheer weight of a day that had taken everything from me and left nothing behind. And for the first time, I had no idea how to hold myself together.
As I kept talking—rambling now, really—I saw it happen.
The shift. Ethan's stillness fractured. His jaw tightened. His shoulders went rigid. And then the irritation spilled out of him all at once—sharp, incredulous, and edged with fury.
"I don't get it," he said, sitting forward. "I really don't." His voice was low, but it burned. "What kind of CEO fires an employee on the very day she's clearly falling apart? Someone who's been performing consistently—someone they know?"
I flinched.
"And wait," he added, frustration bleeding through now. "Where were you working? Which company?" His brows pulled together. "Because this isn't adding up. You missed a contract, yes—but it should have been a suspension? A warning? A hearing? Something other than firing you on the spot."
His hands flexed. "Was it really that bad? Didn't they see the state you were in? Didn't your manager try to understand—only this once?" The words came fast, layered with disbelief, disgust, and anger.
I shook my head slowly.
"No," I said quietly. "I deserved it."
He froze.
"It took me two years to get that job," I continued, staring at the table. "Two years to get into Nexa Interiors." My throat tightened. "And when I finally did, I couldn't even show up the way I should have."
I laughed weakly. "I was too busy trying to be the perfect girlfriend. I was always cooking and cleaning. I made sure Marcus ate before I left the house. I acted like a housewife when I wasn't even married."
My fingers curled into my palms. "And still," I said, softer now, "I became Designer of the Year." Ethan's eyes flicked up.
"But it wasn't enough," I went on. "My MD said it wasn't enough. He'd been tolerating my inconsistencies for a while. Today was only… the last straw."
I swallowed. "So yes. Mr. Julian fired me. And honestly?" I exhaled shakily. "Why wouldn't he?"
I lifted my head then, the bitterness sharp. "Forget my personal mess for a second. Nexa had been chasing a contract with Wolf Holdings for five years. Five years of begging to be featured in Wolf's Castle Magazine. Five years of pitching, redesigning, and reworking."
My voice cracked. "And the moment the opportunity finally came—when it mattered most—I didn't show up."
"I had the best designs," I whispered. "The best presentation. I was their best designer." I let out a broken breath. "But I wasn't there."
So yes. "I deserved to be fired." I expected Ethan to argue. Instead, I saw something else cross his face. Shock. Real shock.
"Nexa Interiors?" he said slowly.
I looked up.
"You… worked at Nexa Interiors?" His tone had changed completely. "You?" he repeated, quieter now.
I frowned, confused. "Yes. Why?" He stared at me as if a puzzle piece had just snapped violently into place.
"You were the one," he murmured. My chest tightened. "The one what?"
He blinked, then shook his head slightly. "It's nothing." He went silent for a second. "News travels fast. Nexa's been buzzing about a designer who stormed in and turned things around." His eyes searched mine. "I just didn't know it was you."
I looked away—but unease crept in. Because something about that answer didn't sit right.
What would Ethan know about Nexa Interiors? He'd just arrived. This wasn't his industry. This wasn't his space. So how had my name reached him?
I was still trying to make sense of it when he spoke again. In a calm and certain approach.
"We can fix that."
I froze.
"What?" He met my eyes, unwavering. "Your job. The contract. Nexa."
I was already drowning in tears, exhausted, and emotionally wrecked. Those four words sliced through everything.
We can fix that.
I looked up slowly. And I realized something terrifying. There was far more to the man sitting across from me than I'd ever known.
And whatever he was connected to— whatever doors he had access to—my life was about to collide with it.