Chapter 154: To family

Chloe

I realized this was the first time he was seeing Kim in person.

While he'd known about my search for my twin sister, he hadn't been prepared for the reality of seeing another version of my face—the same gray-green eyes, the same delicate bone structure, the same auburn hair, though Kim wore hers shorter and straighter than my own waves.

"Jesus," Ethan breathed, then caught himself. "I'm sorry, I just... you look exactly like..."

"Like Chloe?" Kim stepped forward with an amused smile, apparently unbothered by his reaction. "So I've been told. You must be Ethan."

I watched, fascinated, as a flush crept up Ethan's neck. He was staring at Kim with an intensity that made me uncomfortable—not because it was inappropriate, but because it was so obviously smitten.

"Ethan Sterling," he managed, extending his hand. "It's... it's really nice to meet you."

Kim shook his hand, and I didn't miss the way her own cheeks pinked slightly. "Kim Harper. Chloe's told me so much about you."

"Has she?" Ethan's voice was softer than I'd heard it in months, the hard edge that had developed whenever Julian was around completely absent.

Julian appeared at my elbow, sliding his arm around my waist in a gesture that was both possessive and supportive. "Kim, welcome to our home."

"Thank you for arranging all this," Kim replied, though her gaze kept drifting back to Ethan. "And thank you for taking such good care of my sister."

"It's my privilege," Julian said smoothly, his thumb tracing on my hip.

I felt the familiar flutter in my stomach—not the baby this time, but the effect Julian's touch always had on me. Even after everything we'd been through, he could still make me feel claimed and cherished with the simplest gesture.

Dinner that evening was a revelation in family dynamics. Mrs.Henderson had prepared Korean barbecue—apparently Kim had mentioned loving it during one of our phone conversations—and we gathered around the dining room table like a real family for the first time since Kim had come back into my life.

"So you work with foster children?" Ethan asked Kim, passing her the banchan with careful attention.

"Aging out teens, mostly," Kim replied, her professional composure softening as she talked about her work.

"Kids who are about to turn eighteen and leave the system. I help them find housing, apply for college aid, navigate job applications. Basic life skills that most people take for granted."

I watched Ethan's face as she spoke, saw the way his expression grew thoughtful. "That must be difficult work. Emotionally, I mean."

"It is," Kim admitted. "But it's also rewarding. These kids... they're survivors. They remind me that resilience isn't just about bouncing back—it's about moving forward despite everything."

Julian caught my eye across the table, and I saw my own thoughts reflected there. Kim's words could have been describing either of our childhoods—different circumstances, same fundamental struggle to build something meaningful from broken pieces.

"What about you?" Kim asked Ethan. "Chloe mentioned you're at UCLA?"

"Finance and economics," Ethan replied, and I noticed he was sitting straighter, as if wanting to impress her. "Though I'm thinking about switching to social policy. Maybe nonprofit management."

Kim's eyebrows rose with interest. "Really? What's driving that change?"

Ethan glanced at me, then back at Kim. "Watching how the system failed someone I care about. Realizing that money and connections shouldn't determine who gets help and who doesn't."

The weight of his words settled over the table. I knew he was talking about my years, the way I'd been ultimately abandoned. But there was something in his tone, a passion I hadn't heard before, that suggested his motivation ran deeper than just concern for my past.

"The nonprofit sector needs people who understand the stakes personally," Kim said quietly. "Too many organizations are run by people who mean well but have never lived the reality their clients face."

"Exactly." Ethan leaned forward, animated now. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately. How to make real change instead of just... spinning my wheels."

Julian had been listening to this exchange with the intensity he usually reserved for business negotiations.

"If you're serious about nonprofit work," he said finally, "I could arrange some introductions. Astor Capital has partnerships with several foundations."

Ethan's face went carefully blank. "That's... generous. But I'd rather make my own way."

"Of course," Julian replied smoothly, but I felt the tension ratchet up a notch between them.

Kim, apparently oblivious to the undercurrents, continued talking to Ethan about her work. I watched them discover shared opinions about systemic inequality, about the importance of trauma-informed care, about the way bureaucracy could either help or harm the most vulnerable.

And I watched something else unfold—the way Ethan's attention focused completely on Kim when she spoke, the way her laugh became more frequent as the evening progressed, the way they seemed to forget Julian and I were even there.

It should have made me happy. Ethan finding someone who could capture his interest, maybe even his heart, in a way that had nothing to do with his complicated feelings for me. But instead, worry gnawed at me.

What if Ethan was seeing Kim as some kind of substitute for me? What if he was drawn to her not because of who she was, but because of whatever resemblance she might bear to me—in looks, in mannerisms, in something I couldn't even identify?

And Kim... if she developed real feelings for him, and then discovered the truth about his past feelings for me, she'd be devastated. How could she ever be certain that Ethan truly cared for her as an individual, rather than as some echo of someone else? The uncertainty would poison everything between them.

I couldn't bear the thought of Kim getting hurt because of the messy history between Ethan and me.

After dinner, Kim helped me clear the dishes despite my protests.

"I should probably head back to my apartment," Ethan said, though he made no move toward the door.

"You don't have to leave on my account," Kim said, loading plates into the dishwasher with easy efficiency. "I'm not going anywhere."

The casual intimacy of the statement—the assumption that she belonged here, that this was now her space too—made my chest tight with gratitude and something that might have been relief.

"Actually," I said, surprising myself, "why don't you help me set up Kim's office space? She's going to be working from the sunroom."

It was a transparent excuse to keep them both here a little longer, to watch this tentative connection between them develop. But neither seemed to mind.

We spent the next hour arranging furniture in the sunroom. Kim directed the operation while Ethan handled the heavier pieces, and I supervised from a comfortable chair, offering suggestions about placement and lighting.

Julian rolled up his sleeves and joined in, helping Ethan maneuver Kim's desk into the perfect spot to catch the afternoon light.

When we finally finished, Julian disappeared briefly and returned with a bottle of wine and four glasses. He quietly poured me sparkling water instead when he thought no one was looking.

"A housewarming toast," he said, though his eyes were on me as he poured. "To family."

"To family," Kim echoed, raising her glass.

I felt Ethan's gaze on me as we clinked glasses, but when I looked at him, he was already turning back to Kim.

"So," Kim said, settling into her new desk chair to test it, "tell me about this famous Hollywood Hills nightlife I've been hearing about."

Ethan laughed—actually laughed—in a way I hadn't heard in months. "Famous might be overstating it. But there are some decent places if you know where to look."

"Maybe you could show me sometime," Kim said, and the casual flirtation in her voice made my stomach do an odd little flip.

"I'd like that," Ethan replied, and the warmth in his voice was unmistakable.