Ethan POV

The room was hot. The fire had been lit too long, and the air pressed heavy, thick with perfume and voices muffled from the hall.

I leaned against the mantel, glass in hand, watching the smoke curl in lazy lines.

Bella moved first. She always did. Her heels clicked across the wooden floor, sharp like her smile.

She didn’t ask if she could come closer. She never had to.

Her hand pressed flat against my chest, firm, steady, like she was reminding me where I belonged.

“Still so serious,” she whispered. Her breath grazed my cheek.

I closed my eyes for a second. The truth was, I didn’t want to think tonight. I didn’t want to measure, to plan, to watch the angles of every move.

With Bella, there was no calculation. No walls. Just habit. Just heat.

She leaned in, and I let her.

Her mouth found mine, insistent, tasting of wine. My hands slid to her waist without thought.

The rhythm came back too easily—like it had never left. She knew how to pull me in, how to silence the noise.

I kissed her deeper, harder, until even the sound of the party dimmed.

For that moment, the world was reduced to her. The press of her lips.

The tug of her fingers threading into my hair. The way she looked at me when she pulled back, eyes sharp and glinting with triumph.

“Mine,” she murmured, too low for anyone else to hear.

I almost laughed.

Bella always played to win, even when no one was keeping score. I kissed her again instead, shutting her up with the only language she’d ever cared to speak.

But then, something inside me shifted. A thread pulled tight.

I opened my eyes. And for just a second, I thought I felt another gaze on me—cold, still, cutting through glass.

Emma.

The thought struck like ice. My chest clenched, and I almost turned. Almost. But I didn’t.

I kept my hands on Bella’s face, my mouth locked to hers, because turning would mean weakness. It would mean giving Emma power.

Still, the image came unbidden: Emma’s eyes wide, her mouth parted in silent shock. I could almost see her standing there, frozen, watching.

The kiss burned hotter after that, not because of Bella, but because of what I imagined Emma must feel.

Anger.

Betrayal.

The wound cutting deep. A part of me—dark, cruel—wanted her to see. Wanted her to know that I wasn’t hers to control, that she couldn’t tether me with pity or quiet obedience.

That she wasn’t safe from the storm she’d stepped into.

But another part… another part of me hated the thought of her tears.

I pushed that thought down, crushed it beneath fire and control. I was not a man who second-guessed.

I was not a man who asked forgiveness. Bella kissed me harder, pulling me back into the moment, and I let her.

Somewhere beyond the door, I thought I heard a sound.

A sharp breath. A footstep pulling away. Adrian, maybe. Or Emma herself.

The thought clawed at me, but I didn’t move. I stayed where I was, letting Bella’s lips smudge across mine, her victory written in red.

When she finally pulled back, she smiled slow, certain, like a queen who had reclaimed her throne.

I gave her the same smile I always did—lazy, controlled, telling her she had won even when I never conceded.

But inside, I felt the shift.

I knew Emma had seen. Or if not, I knew she would learn.

And when she did, she would break in ways I hadn’t yet imagined. She would cry, maybe. She would rage, maybe. She would hate me. That, at least, I understood.

I turned toward the mantel, resting one hand on the carved wood, and let Bella chatter in my ear about nothing.

My mind was elsewhere, already picturing Emma outside, pale in the night, Adrian’s hand steadying her as her world fell apart.

I had made her walk into a fire and then shown her I belonged to the flames.

And yet, as Bella leaned into me again, I couldn’t shake the echo in my chest. Emma’s eyes. Emma’s silence. Emma’s pain.

I told myself it didn’t matter. I told myself it was necessary—that she needed to understand what it meant to stand beside me. That I was not gentle.

That I was not hers. That I could not be softened.

But when I closed my eyes again, the only face I saw was not Bella’s.

It was Emma’s.

And that was the truth I could never admit,not to Bella, not to Adrian, not even to myself.