Chapter 92

My eyelids fly open. Sunlight assaults my vision, making me wince. A dull throbbing pulses through my skull—like some asshole decided to use my head for drum practice all night.

It takes a full minute to recognize my surroundings—Sebastian's guest room. We've always done this. He keeps a room at my penthouse, and I have one in his brownstone.

Groaning, I drag myself to the bathroom. The shower's spray hits my back as I brace against the tiled wall, trying to piece together last night's fragments. Nothing but hazy memories of whiskey and regret.

Christ. How did I end up here? How the hell did I fall for Sophia without even realizing it?

The moment the truth hit me, I'd bolted to the underground club beneath my office building. I don't get drunk—made that promise after Liam was born. But last night? Last night demanded obliteration.

There's no cure for this. No fucking antidote. How do you process loving the woman you've spent nine years destroying?

I emerge from the steam feeling decades older. Dressed in yesterday's wrinkled shirt, I descend to find Sebastian nursing coffee at the marble breakfast bar.

"Where's Margaret?" I rasp, reaching for the carafe.

"Left for the farmers' market at dawn." Sebastian's lips twitch. "You know how she feels about supermarket produce."

His housekeeper treated grocery stores like biological warfare—insisted on sourcing everything from local vendors.

"You look like hell."

"Feel like I got trampled by a polo team."

When the realization struck, I'd nearly driven to Sophia's apartment at 3 AM. Only sheer willpower stopped me. Too soon. She'd never believe me now.

I've faced boardroom coups and death threats without flinching. But this? This terrifies me. Is this how she felt all those years? Loving someone who despised her?

"Thought you swore off drinking after Liam," Sebastian remarks, pushing a plate of toast toward me.

"Needed the numbness." My knuckles whiten around the mug. "You can't imagine realizing you've spent years torturing the woman you love."

I pretend not to see her flinch when I pick up Liam. Ignore the hatred in her eyes when our hands accidentally brush. I'll take any scrap of attention—even disgust—just to be near her.

What she dishes out is nothing compared to my sins. Yet every glare still feels like a knife twist. How did she endure nine years of this?

She wants me gone. Deserves that peace. But I can't fucking let go.

"How?" Sebastian's brow furrows. "Last week you were certain about Isabella."

"You're the one who insisted I had feelings for Sophia."

He'd badgered me for months, even when I swore I felt nothing. Bastard always sees what I refuse to acknowledge.

"I believed it," he admits. "But your denials made me doubt myself."

I scrub a hand down my face. "You were right. I just wish to Christ I'd realized before destroying everything."

The memories choke me—countless ways I broke her. Chipped away at her soul until nothing remained.

"Wouldn't trade places with you," Sebastian whistles. "But answer this—when did it happen?"

"Fuck if I know." My chair screeches as I stand. "Maybe during the marriage. Maybe recently. All I know is I'm drowning in it now."

My fingers knot in my hair. Fear and frustration coil in my gut. Worst possible fucking timing.

"It was always there," Sebastian muses. "Probably after Liam. You clung to Isabella's memory like a lifeline—first love doesn't mean true love. Nine years together? You felt something, Ethan. You wouldn't have touched her otherwise."

"Biology," I mutter, bile rising. "Sometimes I pretended she was Isabella."

The admission tastes like poison.

"Really?" Sebastian's gaze sharpens. "Or were you using Isabella as an excuse? Something to keep you from enjoying intimacy with Sophia? Because liking it would've felt like betraying your precious memories?"

The stool clatters as I sit, stunned.

Hadn't considered that. The attraction was undeniable—why else would my body respond so easily? Maybe Sebastian's right. Maybe Isabella was just a shield.

In my twisted logic, I'd already betrayed my "true love" once. Couldn't risk doing it repeatedly by wanting Sophia. Made sense then. Now I see the truth—Isabella was never my fucking destiny.

"Christ." My palms slam the countertop. "I'm so goddamn screwed."

"Do you love Isabella?"

The headshake comes instantly.

"Sure? No lingering feelings?"

I exhale slowly.

"Yes. When she reappeared, I thought it was fate. But something felt...wrong. Wouldn't even let her kiss me." My jaw clenches. "Should've been my first clue. That and wanting to murder Daniel whenever he touched Sophia."

The mere thought of them together still ignites something primal in my chest.

"Took losing her to wake you up," Sebastian observes. "Seeing her happy with another man forced suppressed feelings to surface. You clung to Isabella because your story felt unfinished."

His words ring true, but they're no comfort. The damage is done. Words can't be unspoken. Wounds don't vanish.

"What now?" he asks quietly.

I stare at my distorted reflection in the polished ebony table. "She's stunning, Sebastian. Brilliant. Fiercely loving. Any man would be lucky to have her."

My gut twists remembering how Daniel's eyes softened around her. That bastard actually changed for her. A woman who inspires that kind of transformation? She's goddamn miraculous. And I threw her away.

Sebastian grips my shoulder. "You'll figure it out."

I wish I shared his confidence. Because the crushing truth is this—after everything, I don't deserve her. And my greatest terror? Watching her find someone who does.