Who Are We Kidding?
The room was too quiet.
Too heavy with unspoken words, unanswered questions.
Ethan stood near the window, his back to me, his shoulders tense.
My head ached, a dull, pulsing reminder of everything that had happened.
Of the fall.
Of Jax.
Of the violence that had finally tipped Ethan over the edge.
And now?
Now we were just standing here, pretending we weren't falling apart.
But who were we kidding?
We had already broken.
I shifted on the couch, wincing at the dull throb in my ribs.
Ethan heard it.
He turned—just enough for me to see the storm brewing in his eyes.
His gaze flickered to my bruises, my injuries.
And just like that, his jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides.
Like he was angry all over again.
But I wasn't the one who needed saving.
Not anymore.
He was.
"Ethan," I murmured.
His eyes snapped to mine.
And for a second, I saw it.
The war he was fighting inside himself.
The guilt.
The rage.
The terrifying realization that he had finally lost control.
I took a slow breath.
"What did you do?"
His jaw tightened.
"You know what I did."
I swallowed hard.
"No," I whispered. "I don't."
Ethan exhaled sharply, running a shaking hand through his hair.
"He won't touch you again," he muttered.
A chill ran through me.
Because that?
That wasn't an answer.
That was a warning.
I pushed myself to sit up, ignoring the pain.
"Did you kill him?"
Ethan's breath hitched.
His muscles tensed.
And in that second, I knew.
Maybe he didn't know.
Maybe he didn't care.
Or maybe—maybe he just didn't want to tell me.
"Ethan," I whispered. "What did you do?"
His hands balled into fists.
"I did what I had to do."
I flinched.
Because that?
That was the exact same thing Jax had said to me.
And suddenly, I realized—
I didn't recognize the person standing in front of me anymore.
"You don't have to be this," I murmured.
Ethan let out a bitter laugh.
"And what exactly do you think I am?"
I swallowed.
I wanted to say the boy who pulled me out of the fire.
The boy who looked at me like I was worth saving.
But right now?
Right now, all I saw was a man willing to burn everything down.
For me.
For revenge.
For something that might have already been too late to fix.
I forced myself to my feet, my legs weak, unsteady.
Ethan stepped toward me, but I held up a hand.
And just like that, he stopped.
Like he had just realized what this looked like.
Like he had just realized what he had become.
A long silence stretched between us.
Then—
"Liv," he exhaled, his voice raw.
I shook my head.
"No more lies."
Another beat of silence.
Then, finally—
"I'm not sorry."
My heart skipped.
Because neither was I.
We weren't the good guys in this story.
Not anymore.
Maybe we never had been.
Maybe we were just two people who had been thrown into the same storm.
Two people who had tried to hold onto each other, only to drag each other under.
But what scared me the most?
I wasn't sure I wanted to be saved anymore.
Not if it meant losing him.
And wasn't that the worst part?
The fact that, even now—
Even with blood on his hands, even with every warning sign flashing in front of me—
I still wouldn't let him go.
Ethan exhaled sharply.
"What now?"
I forced a bitter laugh.
"That's a hell of a question."
His gaze locked onto mine.
And for the first time, I saw fear.
Not of Jax.
Not of losing control.
But of losing me.
And maybe that should have been enough.
Maybe that should have made me walk away.
But instead?
I reached for his hand.
Held it.
And whispered—
"I don't know."
Because the truth?
Neither of us did.
A knock at the door shattered the moment.
Ethan stilled.
I turned toward the sound, my pulse spiking.
Ethan stepped in front of me, his body tensing.
We both knew.
This wasn't over.
And when the knock came again—
Louder.
More urgent.
I knew.
The real war was just beginning.
Liv and Ethan both realize they've crossed a line they can't come back from.
Ethan isn't sorry—and Liv isn't sure she wants him to be.
A knock at the door signals a new threat—what happens next?
The consequences of Ethan's actions finally catch up.