The words land clean. No garnish. Just the raw truth plated and served.
He doesn’t seem disturbed by my scarred features at all, even though this is the first time he’s seen my face since the attack.
I could lie. Could spin some story about coincidence or genuine connection or any other bullshit that might make this go down easier.
Instead I say nothing. I glance past him at the hallway outside to confirm no one else is standing there.
Can’t let her see my face.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Ethan’s jaw tightens. “Say something.”
“What do you want me to fucking say?” I ask him.
My former best friend grits his teeth. “The truth. For once. You hired a private investigator?”
The truth. Right. Like truth ever made anything better.
“Yes,” I tell him. My voice is tired and dead. “After Vegas... I had him map her life. Find the people who mattered to her.”
He nods. “So you joined my gym. Became my ‘friend.’ All so you could get close to Jess.”
“Yeah.”
“You sick fuck,” he growls. “This is all some billionaire game to you.”
He’s right. I am sick. Twisted. The kind of man who manipulates friendships and drags people into the woods where bears tear faces off.
He shoves me backward and steps inside, then closes the door behind him. “We’re going to settle this.”
I almost laugh. Settle this.
“You want to hit me?” I ask, offering him my face. “Go the fuck ahead. You can’t do anything worse than the bear did.”
“I want you to fight back,” he says softly.
“Why would I do that?” I tell him. “Maybe I want this.”
His hands ball into fists. “You’re going to fight back. Because otherwise I’m just beating up a pathetic coward. So fight, you piece of shit.”
He moves forward. Grabs my shirt. Shoves me against the wall.
The impact sends pain flaring through my shoulder. The healed skin there is thin. Delicate. Like tissue paper overbroken glass.
“Fight back,” he says again.
Fine.
I grab his wrist. Twist. Use his momentum against him the way we practiced a hundred times at the gym.
He stumbles. Catches himself. Grins. “There we go. Fucker.”
We move into the familiar dance. Grappling. Striking. Testing for weaknesses.
Except this time it’s not practice.
