CHAPTER 94

CHAPTER 94
POV: Tyler

The rain hadn’t stopped. It came down in quiet sheets, soft enough to blur the city lights into something almost beautiful. Ethan sat on the edge of the couch, still trembling from the cold, his hands gripping a mug he hadn’t touched.

Tyler watched him from across the room, one elbow resting lazily on the back of a chair. He knew the silence well — it was the kind that followed a fight that left nothing but exhaustion in its wake. He also knew how to use it.

“Drink,” he said quietly. “You’re freezing.”

Ethan nodded but didn’t move. The mug steamed, untouched. His eyes were distant, unfocused, still stuck somewhere between anger and heartbreak.

“He didn’t mean it,” Tyler said, testing the air. “He just doesn’t know how to talk when he’s cornered.”

Ethan let out a brittle laugh. “You sound like you’re defending him.”

“Maybe I am,” Tyler said, shrugging. “He’s an idiot, but he’s not heartless.”

Ethan’s gaze finally flicked toward him. “Then why does it feel like he’s trying to make me disappear?”

Tyler tilted his head, studying him. “Because that’s what people like Dominic do when they don’t know how to love properly. They push, they control, and when that stops working—they let someone else take the blame.”

The words hung heavy between them. Ethan’s jaw tightened, his throat working as if he wanted to respond but couldn’t find the right words.

Tyler stepped closer, keeping his tone soft. “You keep waiting for him to come after you, but he won’t. He thinks silence is strength.”

“That’s not fair,” Ethan whispered. “You don’t know him.”

“Maybe not,” Tyler admitted. “But I know you. I know how it feels to be the one who stays—when the other person’s already halfway gone.”

Something flickered in Ethan’s eyes—recognition, pain, maybe both. Tyler caught it and held it, refusing to look away. The trick wasn’t to push. It was to wait.

He took another slow step forward, his voice almost tender. “You deserve more than being someone’s afterthought, Ethan.”

Ethan blinked, startled. “Why do you care so much?”

Tyler smiled faintly. “Because I see you.”

That did it. The tension broke, not loudly but with a soft, shuddering breath. Ethan looked down at his hands, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it sounds like you mean them.”

Tyler moved closer, enough that he could feel the faint tremor in Ethan’s breathing. “Maybe I do.”

Ethan froze, eyes lifting to meet his. The space between them disappeared like it had always meant to — electric and fragile all at once. For a second, Tyler forgot the game. He forgot the plan, the manipulation, the reasons. He only saw Ethan: soaked hair clinging to his forehead, eyes full of something Tyler didn’t deserve.

He leaned in — too close, too soon — and then stopped, his breath brushing against Ethan’s cheek.

Ethan’s eyes widened. “Tyler…”

It wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t an invitation either. Just confusion.

Reality crashed back in an instant. Tyler pulled back, hands up, mask sliding perfectly into place.

“Sorry,” he said, forcing a quiet laugh. “I got carried away. You just—you looked like you needed someone to remind you you’re not alone.”

Ethan swallowed, still tense. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” Tyler said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve had a rough night, that’s all. Forget it.”

The way he said forget it was smooth, practiced. And Ethan, exhausted and vulnerable, nodded slowly. He wanted to believe it was harmless.

Tyler turned away, letting out a slow exhale he didn’t mean to sound shaky. The silence returned, thicker now, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that filled the room like fog — and Tyler knew how to thrive in fog.

He walked to the kitchen, speaking over his shoulder. “You can stay here tonight. Couch’s yours.”

Ethan hesitated. “Are you sure?”

Tyler smiled faintly, back still turned. “Yeah. You need rest. Tomorrow you’ll feel better. Maybe even see him again.”

Ethan didn’t answer. The sound of the couch springs creaking told him enough. A few minutes later, the room went still except for the hum of the rain.

Tyler waited.

He stood there in the dim light, staring at the phone on the counter. His reflection in the dark glass window looked unfamiliar — colder, sharper. He picked up the phone and dialed without thinking.

When the line connected, his voice changed completely.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, a smirk ghosting across his face. “He’s here. Right where I need him.”

A pause. Then a soft laugh, low and cruel.

“No, he doesn’t suspect a thing. Dominic’s hanging by a thread. Another push, and they’ll tear each other apart. Exactly as planned.”

He turned slightly, gaze flicking toward the couch where Ethan lay sleeping, face turned toward the window. Tyler’s tone softened, amused. “He’s better than I expected, though. Makes it almost hard to keep pretending.”

He laughed again, quieter this time. “Almost.”

He hung up, letting the silence rush back in.

But the silence wasn’t empty.

From the hallway, just around the corner, Claire stood frozen — breath caught, fingers gripping her phone like it might shatter. She hadn’t meant to hear it. She’d just come by to return a file Dominic had left behind.

She’d knocked, but no one answered. The door had been unlocked.

And now she couldn’t move.

Tyler’s words looped in her head like poison. Exactly as planned.

She took a step back, careful not to make a sound, her pulse hammering in her throat. Her mind raced — replaying every conversation, every laugh, every time he’d brushed off questions about Ethan and Dominic’s tension.

He’d been behind it all.

Her stomach turned. She pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from making a sound and slipped back down the hallway, heart pounding, the truth burning in her chest.

Inside, Tyler poured himself another drink, still smiling to himself.

When he looked out the window, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. The city gleamed wet and new — like a world waiting to be rewritten. And he was more than ready to write it, one broken heart at a time.