Chapter 112
Emily's POV
"I brought the blow dryer." Alex's voice was flat. But when I glanced back I saw his hand was clenched white-knuckled around the handle.
"What are you two doing?" he asked, and I could hear the anger he was trying to keep locked down, each word coming out carefully controlled.
"He's freezing," I said. "He asked me to hold him until the chills pass."
"Emily, he's eighteen years old," Alex said. Every word was carefully measured. "He's not a child. You can't just—"
"Can't just what?" I interrupted. "Can't show basic compassion? Can't give him a hug when he's sick and scared?"
"You can't be this naive," Alex said. "His mother never hugged him? Come on, Emily. You're smarter than this."
"And you're more paranoid than I thought," I shot back. "Look at him, Alex. Actually look at him. Does he look like he's faking hypothermia to manipulate me?"
Mason pulled away from me suddenly, his movements jerky and graceless. He stood up and his face had gone completely blank, but his eyes were glassy with unshed tears.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice coming out small and broken. "This is all my fault. You're fighting because of me."
He wrapped his arms tighter around himself, still shaking.
"I'll just leave," he said. "Right now. I'll get my stuff and go. Then you won't have to fight anymore."
The way he said it—like he was used to being the reason people argued, like he'd spent his whole life being told he was the problem—made something twist painfully in my chest.
"No—" I started.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Alex said, and now there was something almost like admiration mixed with the anger in his voice. "Really? You're really going to pull that move right now? The 'I'll just leave' card? I invented that!"
"Alex, stop it," I said. "He doesn't have the energy for whatever game you think this is."
"It's not a game when you're taking his side without even considering I might have a point," Alex said. His voice had gone cold again. "You met him two days ago, Emily. Two days. And you're already choosing him over me."
"Maybe because he's actually vulnerable," I said. My voice was shaking now. "Maybe because his fever isn't fake and he can't play the kind of calculated games you're so good at."
Alex went very still.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you don't get to accuse an eighteen-year-old kid of manipulation when you literally wrote the manual on it," I said. "You think I don't remember how you worked every angle to get past my defenses? How you used vulnerability and timing and every psychological trick in the book?"
"That was different—"
"How?" I interrupted. "How is it different? Because you're a CEO and he's nobody? Because you had resources and he has nothing?"
"Because I wasn't lying about needing help," Alex said, his voice going sharp. "Because everything I showed you was real even if I was strategic about when and how I showed it. Can you say the same about him?"
Before I could answer, a laugh came from the doorway.
I turned to see Ethan leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and an expression that managed to be both sympathetic and entertained.
He looked different than he had even six months ago. Still handsome in that effortless way that used to come from good genes and being the most popular guy in school. But there was something new layered over it now. Something more solid.
The confidence he'd always had—the kind that came from a comfortable middle-class upbringing and knowing everyone wanted to be around him—had shifted into something deeper. More grounded.
It was the kind of self-assurance that came from making his own money. From standing on his own two feet without anyone's help.
From knowing exactly who he was outside of anyone else's expectations.
"How long have you been standing there?" I asked, my voice coming out somewhere between mortified and relieved because at least Ethan's presence meant this couldn't escalate into a full-blown fight.
"Long enough," Ethan said. He pushed off the doorframe and walked into the room. "Alex, man. Karma's a bitch."
Alex's jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle jump. When he spoke his voice came out tight and bitter. "Stop enjoying this so much. When he takes over, we're both fucked."
"I'm fine with that," Ethan said, and the ease in his voice was almost startling. "I already accepted one more person. I can accept a little brother too."
The way he said it—calm, unbothered, completely secure—made him sound like the primary wife in some historical drama.
And Alex, seething with jealousy, like the temperamental concubine.
The thought hit me so suddenly I felt my face go hot with shock.
I'd accepted this arrangement. Lived in it for two years. But this was the first time I'd ever thought of myself as anything other than the person being shared.
This was the first time I'd put myself at the center. At the top.
"Don't," I said quickly, my voice coming out sharper than I meant it to. "Don't talk like that. Mason's just a kid. I don't—I'm not thinking about him that way."
"Maybe you're not," Ethan said. His tone stayed light but there was something knowing in his eyes. "But I'd bet money the kid is."
"Enough," I cut in, my voice going firm. "Can we please focus on the actual problem?"
I turned back to Mason and my stomach dropped.
His face had gone from pale to flushed, his skin taking on a hectic red color that made alarm bells start ringing. His hair was almost completely dry now. We'd been too busy screaming at each other to even notice him standing there. God, I was terrible.
When I pressed my hand to his forehead the heat radiating off him made me pull back instinctively.
"Jesus," I breathed. "He's burning up now. The fever just spiked."
Mason's eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing. As I watched, his body swayed.
I lunged forward just as his knees buckled, catching him around the waist and easing him down onto the couch before he could hit the floor.
"We need to get his fever down," I said, looking up at Alex and Ethan. My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Right now."