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“I touched Thalia in ways I’m not going to discuss with you when we were all at the mountain,” I say, my voice low and steady, stripped of anything unnecessary.

I pause to let the words linger between us, to let him understand what I’m saying without softening it, then add, “I did it even though I knew, or believed, she was your girlfriend.”

I can’t read anything on his face, and that lack of reaction unsettles me more than anger would have.

He continues to look at me carefully, measuring, without any intention of speaking.

I wait, giving him the time he needs, my patience under control. I’ve confessed everything I needed to. Now, I wait, even though the silence presses heavier with each passing second.

After a long moment, Theo starts chuckling—soft, almost teasing.

Okay. I did not expect that. Not even remotely.

He laughs? Why the fuck is he laughing?

“Ethan,” he says, amused. “We’ve all known there’s something between you and Thalia,” he starts. “We’ve all known for a long time.”

He looks at me, smiling, for a few seconds.

A long time?

The words don’t sit right.

Because what’s between us is new. Sure, we pushed, provoked, tested limits, threw charged lines back and forth, but nothing that crossed into this. Not until a few months ago, not until things changed in a way neither of us could ignore anymore.

“I don’t think you understand,” I tell him, my voice even, measured to the point of precision. “This isn’t about whether there is or isn’t something between me and Thalia,” I clarify, holding his gaze without wavering. “It’s about the fact that I thought she was your woman and still let some things happen.”

His expression becomes more serious now.

Good.

“Ethan, there was never anything between me and her,” he assures me. “She’s stunning, and things could have happened,” he continues, and I shoot him a warning glare, one that lands exactly where it’s meant to.

Which only makes him laugh.

“We live in the same house, we’ve been through different situations together,” he goes on, completely unbothered by my reaction. “But we set rules from the beginning and we respected them… somewhat.”

What?

My jaw tightens, the muscle ticking once before I still it.

“Somewhat?” That’s all I ask, my tone calm, almost too calm, the question carrying more weight than the single word should.

“Fuck, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation, or that I’m seeing you like this,” he says, slightly affected.

“Somewhat?” I repeat, just as steady, even if the heat in my blood is rising.

“When I asked her to pretend to be my girlfriend, I didn’t know about your history,” he begins, and I almost cut him off to say there’s no history, that he’s misreading everything, but he lifts a hand, stopping me before I can speak.

I let him.

Barely.

“I found out later from the guys and from Sierra about all the teasing, the chemistry neither of you seemed to want to admit,” he confesses. “And I felt bad for stepping in. But I didn’t see those things at all at first, and I thought they were imagining it.”

I keep listening, my gaze fixed on him, more attentive, every word filtering through a focus that leaves no room for distraction.

Rules somewhat respected.