Chapter 27
Ethan's POV
As I was about to pull the Navigator away, I caught sight of the scene unfolding at the building entrance.
Nora Grey. Standing rigid by the entrance, facing some guy who looked like he'd crawled out of a bar fight.
Wait. Is that her boyfriend?
I'd been working with Julian long enough to know when something was about to go sideways. Since we'd left the parking spot, the temperature in the car had already dropped several degrees, and now I felt it plummet even further.
Through the rearview mirror, I watched my boss. He sat perfectly still in the back seat, but his eyes were locked on that entrance with an intensity that made my instincts scream danger. His jaw was clenched tight, and I could practically taste the surge of Alpha pheromones flooding the enclosed space.
Shit.
The guy outside dropped to one knee. Even from this distance, I could see the glint of a ring box.
He's proposing.
I risked another glance at the mirror. Julian's face remained carved from ice, but his eyes—God, those silver-gray eyes were practically glowing. The same look I'd seen in that interrogation room in Cold Creek, all controlled fury and lethal precision.
My mind raced through the past few days, connecting dots I'd been carefully ignoring.
The highway accident—he personally smashed the window to pull her out. Drove her to the hospital. Told me to arrange "special care" without explaining why.
Cold Creek—he could've had me arrange the seating, but he specifically put her next to him. She slept on his lap, and there was something in his eyes I'd never seen before... softness.
Fuck. He's in deep.
Outside, the scene was escalating. The guy grabbed Nora's wrist, pulled her into an embrace. She was struggling, clearly trying to get away, and I felt Julian's entire body go rigid.
For one terrifying second, I thought he was going to open the door and get out. Thought I was about to witness my boss throw himself into a public domestic dispute and probably tear that guy's throat out in front of a dozen witnesses with cell phones.
Come on, Nora. Push him away. Give him a reason not to—
She shoved the guy back, hard enough that he stumbled.
I exhaled slowly, realizing I'd been holding my breath.
Look at that Porsche. Rich kid playing romantic hero. Will she buy it? Will she take him back?
I snuck another glance at Julian. His expression was unreadable now, locked down with the kind of control that came from years of military discipline.
He didn't move. He just watched as Nora pushed the man away.
Then, very quietly, he said, "Drive."
"Sir?"
"Drive, Ethan."
I put the car in gear and pulled onto the street, leaving the scene behind. But as we turned the corner, I caught one last glimpse of Julian's reflection in the mirror—his expression unreadable and terrible.
---
Nora's POV
I turned toward the building entrance, my mind still occupied with the stack of case files waiting upstairs. Behind me, I heard his hurried footsteps, and then his hand closed around my wrist again, pulling me back.
"Nora, I've never asked you for anything," he said, his voice breaking. "But this time I'm begging you. Please. Don't leave me."
I took a deep breath, forcing down the rage threatening to explode from my chest. My voice came out cold and flat. "Kyle. Let go."
His eyes were red-rimmed, but the way he gripped my wrist held a stubborn desperation—as if squeezing hard enough could force me to stay.
He released me, but didn't step back. Instead, he started talking—fast, desperate, as if getting all the words out quickly enough would make me listen.
"Do you remember those nights I waited outside your office building until late? Every single time, Nora. Even past midnight. Even when it was snowing. I was always there."
I stared at him, my jaw clenched tight.
"And when you traveled for work," he continued, his voice full of desperation, "I had food delivered to your motel room. I upgraded you to better hotels whenever I could."
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
"Our anniversary dinners," Kyle went on, his voice catching. "I reserved entire restaurants so you wouldn't feel uncomfortable. I planned every detail—your favorite flowers and desserts. Every holiday, every birthday, I spent time preparing surprises."
"Kyle—"
"Doesn't any of this count for something? Doesn't it prove I love you? Can't it make up for one mistake, one moment of stupidity?"
I stood there listening to him enumerate all these details, all these gestures, and felt an indescribable heaviness rising in my chest. Not guilt, not exactly. But a complicated tangle of exhaustion, sadness, and bitter recognition.
Because he was right. He had done all these things. He'd been thoughtful, romantic, generous in ways most women would envy.
And that somehow made everything worse.
"I know about everything you did, Kyle," I said quietly, my voice stripped of emotion. "I know you were thoughtful. I know you tried hard. But have you ever considered that I've been exhausted for a long time? What happened that night wasn't the problem—it was just the last straw."
Kyle's face went pale, confusion and panic flashing across his features. "What are you talking about?"
"This past year." I forced myself to meet his eyes, making sure he heard every word. "Every time I had to cancel plans because of a case, you'd say 'You only care about work, you don't care about me at all.' Every time I attended your family gatherings, your family would hint that I wasn't good enough for you. Every time I tried to talk to you about the work in Cold Creek, about the children sick from pollution, you'd say 'Are those people really worth you killing yourself over?'"
"Nora, I didn't mean it like that—"
"Yes, you did." My voice was steady now, cold and clear. "Because the truth is, Kyle, you never really wanted me. You wanted a version of me that would fit into your life. Someone who'd quit their job, who'd smile and nod at your mother's little comments, who'd prioritize your business dinners over everything else."
Kyle opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw worked silently for a moment before he managed to speak. "That's not fair. I supported your career—"
"You tolerated it," I corrected. "As long as it didn't inconvenience you. As long as it didn't embarrass you in front of your family. But when my work actually demanded something from you? When it required you to defend me, to stand up for what I do? You backed down."
"I'm trying to make things right—"
"By asking me to give up everything I've worked for?" I shook my head slowly. "No, Kyle. You're just trying to make yourself comfortable. There's a difference."
I continued. "The problem between us isn't just what happened that night. We come from vastly different backgrounds, we have completely different views on money, completely different understandings of what careers mean, and more importantly—your parents have never truly accepted me."
He took a step toward me.