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And now… Now even that is gone. Not slipping. Not shaking. Gone.

Just as I rise from my chair, intending to retreat to my office so I can break down in private, my phone starts vibrating in my hand.

The same name. The same crushing weight presses against my chest, the same surge of panic, the same involuntary flinch running through me.

And the truth is slowly sinking deep into my bones, cold and inescapable. Fate really does have a twisted sense of humor.

And the worst part?

It always wins. Every single time.

TWENTY-FOUR

Ethan

I’m not making it home tonight either. The past few days have blurred into one long stretch of meetings, flights, and constant attempts to do my job without getting cornered—or worse, hounded—by paparazzi. Ever since the Bordeaux Family published that damn article about my supposed relationship with Antonia, the press has lost its mind.

Before, they followed me, sure—but it was manageable. I’d show up in a few gossip pieces, usually about leaving a club or some charity gala with a woman who’d inevitably end up in my bed. Predictable. Routine. Easy to control.

Now? It’s chaos. And exactly the kind I didn’t need.

That’s why I never wanted to agree to this in the first place. I still believe I could’ve secured those shares without getting dragged into this ridiculous game.

It’s Sunday night now, and I’ve just finished putting everything in order at the office so I can leave for vacation tomorrow with the guys. And Sierra. And Thalia.

There she is again.

The thought of her slips in uninvited, cutting straight through my focus until it’s all I can see—feel—the way her body moves beneath mine, the hitch in her breath when I touch her, the way she reacts without restraint.

It’s already happened twice, though only once was actually my decision. And it won’t happen again. I won’t allow it. The last thing I need is for her to believe there’s anything more between us than what it was—sex. Nothing beyond that. Physical. Simple. Necessary.

She responded exactly the way I expected. The way women always do. Her breathing, the sounds she made, the way she moved—those were reactions. Chemistry. Attraction.

I remind myself of that every single time her name crosses my mind. It’s just the memory of good sex. Nothing deeper.

I’m back at my apartment in Hartho, sitting on the balcony, trying to unwind before heading to bed. I’ve left Irina a detailed list—everything she needs to review, approve, or follow up on while I’m gone. Still, I’ll check in a few hours a day, or whenever she calls about an urgent matter.

Leaning into the sofa, I let my gaze drift over the quiet stretch of London. The city lights shimmer in the distance, the hum of traffic softened by the night air. I roll the amber liquid in my glass, take a slow sip, and let the familiar burn of whiskey settle low in my chest.

It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to do absolutely nothing—to just sit still. No calls. No meetings. No deadlines clawing at the back of my mind.

And yet, even as I try to sink into the calm, I know it won’t last. After this short vacation, I’ll be right back in it—buried in work, catching up, fixing problems, moving from one crisis to the next.

That’s how it always goes.

I’m stretched along the couch, eyes closed, letting the silence wrap around me when my phone starts vibrating beside me.

At first, I ignore it. I need this—this rare stillness. But the damn thing doesn’t stop, the buzzing relentless, and after a slow breath, I take another sip of whiskey before reaching out, grabbing it without urgency.

The screen lights up—notifications flooding in from our group chat.

Hartho

Noah: Hope everyone’s ready for tomorrow.

Noah: And by everyone, I mean Ethan, who promised to finish his meetings and actually disconnect for a few days, and Colt, who hopefully hasn’t disappeared again.

Colt: Fuck off, Hardy!