Chapter 7: The Morning After
415 Words
The drive to Avery’s private estate was silent, the city lights blurring past the windows of Ethan’s velvet-quiet Bentley. When they arrived, Ethan bypassed the startled staff, lifting Avery’s limp but warm form into his arms and carrying her up the grand staircase to her master suite.
He laid her down gently on the silk sheets, the moonlight catching the tears she hadn't shed when she was sober. As he turned to leave, a small, trembling hand shot out and gripped his wrist with surprising strength.
"Don't go," Avery whispered, her eyes half-open and glazed with wine and exhaustion. "Everyone leaves when they realize I'm not who they want me to be. Please... just stay."
Ethan’s heart, usually a block of corporate ice, thawed at the raw vulnerability in her voice. He tried to gently pry her fingers away, murmuring about her needing rest, but she pulled him closer, her face burying into his chest. After much persuasion—and realizing she wouldn't let go until he relented—Ethan kicked off his shoes and lay down beside her, fully clothed. He meant to stay for an hour; instead, the rhythmic sound of her breathing lulled him into a deep, protective sleep.
The harsh pounding on the bedroom door the next morning felt like a gavel hitting a block.
"Avery! Open this door! I know you're in there!"
The voice was unmistakably Lucas’s. Avery bolted upright, her head throbbing. Ethan was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with a cool, dangerous composure. Before Avery could stop him, Ethan walked to the door and swung it open.
Lucas stood there, looking disheveled and desperate, a bouquet of cheap "apology" flowers in his hand. But when his eyes landed on Ethan—a man whose watch cost more than Lucas’s entire company—the "Redemption" he was seeking turned into instant, ugly rage.
"You... you're already in bed with someone else?" Lucas shrieked, his face twisting in disgust. "I came here to beg for your forgiveness, to give us another chance, but look at you!"
He pointed a shaking finger at Avery, who was clutching the sheets to her chest. "Sarah was right. You’re just a slut who can’t live without attention. You couldn't even wait twenty-four hours after our divorce before dragging some rich guy into our bed? You were probably cheating on me the whole three years we were married!"
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