CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

LENA

I woke up to the glorious scent of bacon and coffee—the ultimate duo. Separately, they were incredible, but together? Pure heaven.

Still, it was odd.

Stella wasn’t exactly a bacon person. She only ate meat when Mercury was in retrograde or whatever, and she was loyal to her leafy teas and those horrendous green smoothies that tasted like blended lawn clippings.

Strange. Maybe she was experimenting with a new meat-and-caffeine lifestyle.

I stretched, expecting to take in the cozy elegance of my new room at The Mirage, but instead, I was greeted by the ugliest painting known to mankind. A chaotic smear of browns and greens that looked like a cat had yakked on it and called it art.

What the actual hell?

I shot upright, heart racing, until flashes of last night pieced themselves together.

Hyacinth. Max. Ethan. The storm.

I must've knocked out during the movie, and Ethan had moved me into his room sometime afterward.

My pulse calmed a little. At least I wasn’t being held captive in some creep’s basement—though waking up at Ethan's place was still a close second on the questionable decisions scale.

I glanced around. His room was simple but cozy. Wooden furniture, a navy comforter, gray walls.

That painting was still a war crime, but otherwise, it was normal. And the faint scent of citrus and clean soap that lingered in the air? Delicious enough to bottle.

Then my eyes hit the digital clock: 9:32 a.m.

Crap. I should've been out of here hours ago.

I jumped out of bed and did a quick splash-and-swish routine in the hallway bathroom before heading toward the kitchen, ready to blurt out a rushed goodbye.

But the words froze in my throat.

Ethan was at the stove. Shirtless.

Sweet. Actual. Hell.

Apparently, I’d just discovered a new kink, because nothing had ever looked sexier than this man—bare-chested and flipping bacon.

His back flexed as he reached for the salt, all carved muscle and smooth skin, his hair a tousled mess. Morning sunlight streamed in, turning his skin into a golden bronze canvas.

I couldn’t see all of him from behind the kitchen island, but the way those black sweatpants sat dangerously low? Yeah, that mental image was going straight into my X-rated highlight reel.

I stood there, watching in stunned silence. The way he moved—confident, relaxed, in control—was hypnotic.

I’d always pictured him living off takeout and cheap beer like he had in college, but clearly, I was wrong. The organized rows of spices, shining cookware, and perfectly seasoned food told a different story.

And I hated to admit it, but damn… it was hot.

I knocked into one of the island stools in my trance, and Ethan turned at the sharp scrape of wood against tile. His gaze skimmed over me before he looked away.

"You're awake.”

"I've never slept in so late." I slid onto the stool and tried to keep my eyes above his waist. Don't think about sex. Don't think about sex. "Thanks for letting me stay over," I added awkwardly.

Sleepovers hadn't been part of our pact, and I wasn't sure how to deal with it, especially after how, ahem, aggressive our nighttime activities had been.

It wasn't like we'd made long, sweet love and I woke to him cooking me breakfast. It was more like...well, like he fucked my brains out and a thunderstorm trapped me in his house.

"I wasn't going to throw you out in the rain, Red." Ethan slid a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, toast, and crispy hash browns onto the island.

My stomach rumbled, and I peeked over his shoulder at the stove. "Any chance you have a second plate?" I asked hopefully. "I'm starving.

"Nope." He popped a piece of bacon in his mouth. "Only made enough for one. Cooking breakfast for you would be too much like dating, and you already broke the rules by sleeping over. I had to sleep on the couch last night because of you. You can have my leftovers though."

My jaw unhinged. "Are you serious?"

Disbelief erased the last bits of my grogginess. Obviously, I wasn't entitled to breakfast, but it was pretty rude to eat right in front of me without offering me a plate.

"Does it look like I'm joking?"

"It looks like you're two seconds away from a slow, painful death," I growled. "There are plenty of knives in here, and I know how to use them."

"Then use them to cook something for yourself." Ethan continued eating like he didn't have a care in the world.

My eye twitched. Gah, he was so...so...ugh!

"You are such an asshole."

"I remember you calling me the same thing last night." He sipped his coffee. "Right before I fucked your brains out. Seems you have a thing for assholes, Red."

Heat scalded my face and neck. "That was last night. This is now. And I didn't mean to sleep over," I snapped, hating how right he was. "I just fell asleep."

“Yes, Lena, that’s typically what spending the night entails,” Ethan said slowly, with exaggerated patience. “With logic like that, you’ll be crushing it in court in no time.” He stood, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and tossed it into the trash. “I’m hopping in the shower. I’ve got a shift in an hour.” He nodded toward his plate. “Help yourself if you’re still hungry.”

I glared at his back as he walked away.

My ego wanted me to leave immediately, but—unsurprisingly—my appetite won the argument.

I pulled the plate over. It was nearly untouched. He’d barely made a dent in the bacon. Strange. Ethan usually ate like he was prepping for a food-eating competition. I once saw him demolish a double-decker burger, two hot dogs, a mountain of fries, and a milkshake in under twenty minutes.

For a guy in the medical field, his diet was pure chaos.

I polished off half the food before heading back to his room to change into my clothes from last night. The dress scratched and clung in all the wrong places compared to the cozy softness of Ethan’s T-shirt, but I resisted the very real temptation to swipe it. That was a girlfriend move, and I definitely wasn’t his girlfriend.

By the time I was dressed and ready to sneak out, Ethan was still in the shower.

I considered waiting to say goodbye but bailed on the idea—it felt too loaded. So, I fired off a quick text and slipped out quietly.

I’d barely settled into the back seat of my Uber when my phone buzzed with a new message.

No words. Just a photo. A frame from the tape. Me. On my knees.

I deleted it instantly, but the bacon and eggs churned in my stomach.

Max.

I’d managed to forget him for a little while, buried in the warmth and comfort of Ethan’s place, but now? His shadow crashed back into my thoughts, cold and suffocating.

I knew exactly why he’d sent that image—to rattle me. That was his favorite game. Mess with people just enough so they self-destruct. He didn’t need to lift a finger; he let fear do the dirty work.

I shut my eyes and leaned back, trying to breathe through the nausea. The car reeked of fake vanilla air freshener, and it only made things worse.

God, if I could turn back time, I’d pause it right in the quiet calm of Ethan’s kitchen, where life felt manageable, even for a second.

But the day didn’t care how much I wanted to disappear. And neither did Max.

All I could do now was pray that whatever “favor” he was about to ask wasn’t impossible—because if it was, everything I’d built would crash and burn.