Chapter 13

She didn't know what to do.

Her mind was racing, spiraling into panic, trying to grasp at some kind of solution—any solution.

But there was none.

She reached for her phone, fingers trembling, trying to call John.

Nothing.

No signal. No answer.

She tried again.

And again.

But the line was dead.

A sharp wave of dread crawled up her spine.

They had said they would take care of them.

Had they already done something?

Her stomach twisted violently, nausea clawing up her throat.

She was trapped.

Completely and utterly trapped.

Because even if she could reach them—what could she even say?

That she had gotten involved in something she shouldn't have? That their safety depended on whether she could find a document that she didn't even know existed?

Ethan had never spoken about a will.

Never mentioned where he kept anything important.

And his penthouse?

It was massive.

Where would she even start?

Her fingers curled into fists, her body shaking.

She had to be smart about this.

She couldn't let them know she was hesitating.

She couldn't let them think she was useless.

Because if they thought she was useless…

They would stop being patient.

And she didn't even want to think about what that meant.

So she had no choice.

She had to find it.

Or everything she loved would be taken from her.

She sat in Ethan's penthouse, staring at nothing.

Her hands trembled in her lap, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps, her mind spiraling so fast she could barely keep up with it.

She loved her brothers.

That had never been a question.

She had sacrificed everything for them. Fought for them. Lived for them.

But now, sitting here, drowning in her own helplessness, she realized something just as devastating.

She loved Ethan, too.

It was stupid.

It was reckless.

It was temporary.

She had always known that whatever was happening between them wasn't forever.

But that didn't change the pain.

Didn't change the way her chest ached, the way her stomach felt like it was being torn apart.

Didn't change the way choosing him meant losing her family.

And choosing her family meant betraying him.

She let out a shuddering breath, her hands gripping her hair, tugging hard, trying to ground herself through the overwhelming pain clawing at her from the inside.

She was crying silently, shaking, feeling like her entire world was caving in.

Because she knew.

She already knew who she had to choose.

She knew what she had to do.

But, God—

The pain of betraying him was too much.

It felt like someone was reaching inside her chest and ripping her apart from the inside out.

She wanted to scream.

Wanted to break something.

Wanted to undo all of this, to go back to the nights they spent together, wrapped in nothing but heat and each other—before she had to make this choice.

But it was too late.

Because the choice had already been made.

And now—

She had to live with it.

She was a mess.

Inside and out.

Her body felt weak, her limbs heavy with the weight of what she had to do.

She had sat in Ethan's penthouse for hours, spiraling, drowning in the decision that would destroy her.

But then—

She thought of her brothers.

She thought of their smiles, their laughter, the way they looked at her like she was their whole world.

And she knew—

She had to keep going.

For them.

She forced herself up, wiped at her tear-streaked face, and walked toward the door, trying to gather strength from the love she had for her family.

She just needed to breathe.

She just needed a second to collect herself.

But the moment she opened the door—

Her breath caught.

Ethan was there.

Sitting in his wheelchair, his green eyes locked onto her, his face unreadable, silent.

She froze.

"What's wrong?" she stammered, gripping the doorframe, trying to force calmness into her voice.

He didn't speak.

Didn't move.

Just watched her.

The tension in the air was thick, suffocating, pressing against her like a warning.

And then—

His voice, low, steady. Dangerous.

"You didn't even ask for my help."

Her stomach dropped.

Her pulse spiked.

She tried to keep her face neutral, but she knew—he knew.

Her hands clenched at her sides. "What are you talking about?"

A sharp, humorless chuckle left him, his eyes flickering with something unreadable.

He knew.

He knew everything.

But he wasn't saying it.

Because he wanted her to say it.

He wanted to hear it from her own mouth.

She swallowed, her throat aching, her body trembling, her mind screaming at her to divert the conversation.

"I—It's nothing. I've just been tired," she whispered, voice unsteady, forcing a weak smile.

His gaze didn't waver.

Didn't soften.

Didn't let her escape.

"Is that so?" His voice was calm. Too calm.

She nodded quickly, trying to push past him, to step away before she broke completely.

But then—

His voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Tell me, Everly."

Her heart skipped.

"Who is blackmailing you?"

The air rushed from her lungs.

She froze.

Her mind went blank.

And when she finally turned back to him, her lips parted in shock, horror, fear—

He was still watching her.

Still waiting.

Like a man who already knew the answer.

And was just waiting for her to break.

Her body locked up.

The air in the penthouse thickened, pressing against her ribs, against her throat, making it hard to breathe.

He knew.

Of course, he knew.

But instead of relief—instead of comfort—a surge of anger flooded her chest, burning hot and furious.

Her hands clenched into fists.

"You're unbelievable," she snapped, her voice trembling, but not from fear—from rage.

He didn't react.

Didn't even flinch.

Just sat there, calm, watching her, waiting.

Like he was expecting this.

Like he knew her well enough to see it coming.

"You think you can just—what? Walk in here and demand answers from me?" she continued, her voice rising, her breath coming out in short, angry gasps. "Like you have the right to know everything? Like you know what's best for me?"

His jaw ticked.

"And what if I do?" he murmured, voice even, measured, like he wasn't bothered by the storm raging inside her.

That made it worse.

Her anger boiled over, spilling out like a dam breaking.

"You don't know anything!" she shouted, stepping toward him, her eyes burning. "You don't know what I've had to do! You don't know what they have on me! What they could do to my brothers!"

His lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers gripping the wheels of his chair.

"So, you decided to handle it alone?" he asked, voice dangerously low.

"YES!" she shot back.

Because what else could she do?

He wasn't her savior.

This wasn't his problem.

And yet—he sat there, looking at her like she was stupid.

Like she was wrong for trying to protect the last thing she had left.

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

"I had no other choice," she whispered, voice cracking.

For the first time, his face changed.

Something flickered in his eyes—anger, frustration, something deeper, darker.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"That's where you're wrong."

She stilled.

Her breathing was uneven, her heart hammering against her ribs.

His gaze never wavered, never softened, never gave her an inch of relief.

And then—

In a voice too quiet, too calm, too controlled, he said—

"You had me."