Ethan stood in the kitchen, phone in hand, scrolling through recipes with a determination that bordered on obsessive. He was going to cook Isabelle's favorite meal tonight—that chicken piccata she always ordered at the Italian place downtown, the one that made her close her eyes and smile after the first bite. He'd been thinking about it all day, planning it like a military operation, because he needed her to know. Needed her to see that he was trying, that he wanted to rebuild what they'd nearly lost.The past few weeks had been different between them, softer somehow, like they were both being careful with something fragile. He'd cut back his hours at work, made it home for dinner more often, listened when she talked instead of half-hearing her while checking emails. Small things, maybe, but they felt monumental. And tonight was going to be another step forward, another brick in the foundation they were rebuilding.He glanced at the recipe on his phone again and frowned. The measurem

Ethan stood there, the crumpled DNA results still clutched in his hand, and something in his demeanor shifted. The shouting stopped. The fury that had been radiating off him like heat waves suddenly cooled into something far more terrifying—a deadly, quiet calm that made the hairs on the back of Isabelle's neck stand up."Who's the father?" His voice was barely above a whisper, each word measured and precise, like he was afraid that if he spoke any louder, he might actually lose his mind completely.Isabelle's mouth opened, but her throat had sealed shut. She couldn't make the sound come out, couldn't force the name past her lips because once she said it, there would be no taking it back. The truth would be out there, real and tangible and impossible to ignore."Isabelle." Ethan's eyes bored into hers, unblinking. "Who. Is. The. Father.""...Derek." The name came out as barely more than a breath, so quiet she wasn't even sure he'd heard her at first.The silence that followed was abso

The bar was the kind of place that didn't ask questions, where the lighting was dim enough that nobody could see your face clearly and the music was just loud enough to drown out your thoughts if you drank enough. Ethan sat hunched over the scarred wooden bar top, three empty glasses lined up in front of him like soldiers, a fourth halfway to his lips when he heard footsteps approaching from behind.He didn't turn around. Didn't need to. He'd know that gait anywhere, had walked alongside it through college halls and corporate boardrooms and hiking trails in the mountains. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.Derek slid onto the barstool beside him, and for a long moment neither of them spoke. The bartender glanced over, reading the tension in the air with the practiced eye of someone who'd seen too many fights brewing in his establishment, but Derek shook his head slightly and the man moved away."Ethan—" Derek started, his voice tentative.Ethan set his glass down with more forc

Isabelle hadn't slept. She'd spent the entire night on the couch with Thomas in the bassinet beside her, watching his chest rise and fall, listening for any sound that might be Ethan's car in the driveway. But dawn had come with no word, no message, just silence and the terrible weight of knowing she'd destroyed everything.The knock on the door came at eight in the morning, sharp and insistent. For a brief, desperate moment, Isabelle thought it might be Ethan, that he'd come back to talk things through. She practically ran to the door, pulling it open with her heart in her throat.Derek stood on the doorstep, and the hope died instantly.His face was a mess. A dark purple bruise bloomed across his jaw, extending up toward his cheekbone. His lower lip was split and swollen, crusted with dried blood that he'd apparently tried to clean but hadn't quite managed. He looked like he'd slept in his clothes, if he'd slept at all, and his eyes held the same hollow devastation she'd seen in Eth

Three days. Seventy-two hours since Ethan had walked out of the estate and into this dingy motel room that had become both his prison and his sanctuary. The housekeeping staff had knocked twice on the first day before giving up, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the unchanging view of the parking lot through stained curtains.His phone sat on the nightstand, screen dark but somehow still demanding attention. He knew without looking what waited for him there—a deluge of missed calls and voicemails and text messages that he couldn't bring himself to read. The notification count kept climbing every time he glanced at it, a digital representation of all the people he was avoiding and all the decisions he wasn't making.Forty-seven calls from Isabelle. He'd watched the number tick up throughout the days, each new call another plea he couldn't answer. Twenty-three from Derek, which felt almost obscene given that Derek was the last person on earth Ethan wanted to hear from. Five from V