Chapter Thirty-Seven: Unexpected Sleepovers

New York City storms weren't polite.

They didn't gently drizzle or mist. They attacked with a vengeance — sheets of rain, flashing lightning, thunder rattling windows.

And, naturally, it hit the exact moment Aria stepped out of her Uber after karaoke night.

She made it three steps before a gust of wind flipped her umbrella inside out.

"Are you kidding me?" she groaned.

Her phone buzzed.

Ethan: Don't go home. It's flooding by your building.

Aria: I'll manage.

Ethan: Get in here. I'm not arguing.

He sent his address.

Another flash of lightning made the decision for her.

Aria sighed, hailed another cab, and headed for Ethan's penthouse.

---

Twenty minutes later, she was dripping wet, standing in the pristine marble lobby of Ethan Cole's luxury building.

The doorman, a kind old guy named Henry, waved. "Storm's a nasty one, Miss Lane."

"You're telling me."

She hit the elevator button. It dinged open. Empty.

Perfect.

Except halfway up, with a jolt and a flicker of lights — the elevator stopped.

"No. Nope. Absolutely not."

Aria hit the buttons. Nothing.

Then the intercom crackled.

"Apologies, miss. Power surge hit the grid. Emergency override's working, but it might take a while."

Of course.

Because it was her life.

---

Aria debated screaming. Instead, she slid down the wall, phone in hand.

Aria: Stuck in your elevator. Fantastic.

Ethan responded instantly.

Ethan: You what? Stay there.

Aria: Obviously. Not like I'm BASE jumping from the 22nd floor.

Two minutes later, the doors pried open manually — and there was Ethan, hair rumpled, barefoot in sweatpants and a Henley.

"You okay?" he asked, breathless.

Aria stared. "You own normal clothes?"

He smirked, offering a hand. "Come on, Lane. You're about to see me at peak domestic."

---

His penthouse was unfairly gorgeous. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed off lightning streaking the sky, city lights sparkling despite the storm.

Ethan grabbed towels. "I'll find you something dry."

She peeled off her soaked jacket and shoes, accepting the soft towel gratefully.

A minute later, he returned with one of his t-shirts and sweatpants. "Here. They'll drown you, but it's dry."

She ducked into the bathroom, changed, and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Drenched hair, no makeup, oversized clothes. She should've felt awkward.

Instead… it was weirdly comfortable.

---

Back in the living room, Ethan was making grilled cheese.

Aria's stomach rumbled.

"You cook?"

"Basic survival skills," he replied. "Sit. Eat."

They sat on the couch, sharing sandwiches and watching old sitcom reruns.

And for the first time in weeks — no snark, no power struggles, no games.

Just… them.

---

Somewhere after midnight, during a Friends marathon, Aria blurted, "I never planned to end up here, you know."

Ethan glanced over. "Here in my penthouse, or here as in… life?"

"Both."

He set his sandwich down. "What'd you plan?"

"I was supposed to be a travel photographer. Backpacking through Europe. Posting sunrise shots from mountaintops."

"What happened?"

"My mom got sick. Bills piled up. I needed something stable."

He was quiet a moment. "I get that."

She studied him. "And you? Always planned to be Mr. Ruthless CEO?"

Ethan laughed, low and self-deprecating. "Not even close. I wanted to design cars. Build ridiculous prototypes. My dad told me it was a waste of time."

"And you listened?"

"I was nineteen. He owned my tuition, my apartment, my future. You don't argue with Victor Cole and win."

Aria hesitated. Then, impulsively, reached out and squeezed his hand. "You should've fought."

He looked down at their hands, something unreadable in his eyes. "Maybe I still can."

The air shifted.

The storm still raged outside, but the space between them felt charged in a different way.

Aria licked her lips, suddenly hyperaware of his proximity, his voice, the way his thumb brushed hers.

"Lane—"

And then they were kissing.

Messy, hungry, reckless.

Ethan's hands cupped her face, pulling her closer. She climbed into his lap, burying her fingers in his hair, both of them chasing the contact like it might fix all the jagged parts inside them.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Ethan rested his forehead against hers.

"I'm screwed," he murmured.

Aria grinned. "We both are."...