The way he said my name.
Lucky.
Like he owned it.
I claw at my skin again, useless motions, shaking so hard my teeth clack together.
“I’m not there,” I sob. “I’m not—it’s not real—I’m not—”
But the panic is already swallowing me.
My vision blurs.
My chest is collapsing inward, like my ribs are folding around my heart to crush it.
I can’t breathe, can’t get out, can’t get up—
“Please,” I whisper into the floor, raw and broken. “Please… make it stop…”
And then the world goes thin and far away, like I’m sinking to the bottom of a lake, watching myself from beneath the surface.
The water keeps running.
The steam keeps choking the room.
And I fold into myself, helpless, as the last bit of control slips through my fingers.
Chapter 23
Ethan
Idon’tgohome.
I can’t.
I stand in my garage—my supposed sanctuary, the heart of my security business—and for the first time since I built the place, it feels useless. The concrete floor, the steel cabinets, the rows of tools all meticulously aligned… none of it helps.
She asked me to leave.
And I did.
But every instinct in my body is clawing to go back and break her bloody door down.
I drag a hand over my face, still hearing the sound of her locks sliding shut after me. One by one.
Like she was sealing herself inside a bunker.
Or sealing me out.
My jaw clenches so hard it aches. She doesn’t trust me.
Or maybe she can’t.
Trauma does that. It teaches you to doubt the ground under your feet, to expect the knife before the touch. It rewires instinct until every shadow looks like a threat, every kindness feels like bait. I’ve seen what fear does to a mind, and how it builds walls so thick even the good intentions can’t breakthrough.
And yet the part of me that wants to protect her—the part carved out by old failures I’ll never forgive myself for—tightens like a fist.
I sit at the workbench, open my laptop, and… stare at the blank screen.
