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“I don’t care where you came from, how you grew up, or what social category you fit into, Thalia,” I say, my words precise, almost a reprimand, as I turn fully toward her. “I have enough money and enough power that whoever is on my arm becomes untouchable.”

It’s the truth. No need to pretend otherwise.

“I’m not good at relationships, and I never looked for one,” I admit, honest. “I don’t have the time, and they feel like a waste of it.”

Her expression changes. Now she’s looking at me as if I’ve confirmed every assumption she’s ever made about me. Every assumption she still makes.

“But you’re not going to find a husband if you run to the next guy who seems suitable every time a problem arises,” I say, holding her accountable without softening the blow.

Her eyes widen, stunned, unable to believe what she’s hearing.

“What did you just say?” she asks, shocked.

I peel off my boxers, keeping my back to her.

“You judged me because I have money, because I live my life exactly how I want and enjoy it, because I’ve always said I don’t want a relationship—even though I’ve always owned that and been honest about it.”

Water steams around me as I step inside.

“You never thought I was worthy or enough for you to even consider having anything real with me,” I continue, but she cuts me off with a burst of laughter—loud, ironic, uncontrollable.

“What the hell are you talking about?” she asks, still laughing.

“If you thought you could have a relationship with me,” I say calmly, meeting her gaze over my shoulder, “you wouldn’t have stayed on that date.”

“I thought I couldn’t have a relationship with you because you didn’t want one,” she practically yells.

I turn, startled, watching her fling both hands in the air in frustration.

“If I thought you weren’t enough, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”

The moment the words leave her lips, realization crashes over her face. Then fear flashes instantly. She breaks eye contact, turns her back, and bolts from the bathroom.

But this conversation isn’t over. Not now, and definitely not like this.

I shut off the shower, grab a towel, wrap it quickly around my waist, and follow her. I find her at the bedroom door, one hand clenched around the handle.

“Where are you running?” I ask, stepping closer. “I mean… I’m pretty sure the others would be thrilled to witness a scene like this,” I murmur, amusement in my voice. “Because I will come after you if you walk out of this room.”

“You didn’t come after me when I walked out last night,” she accuses, still refusing to look at me. “So you could talk in peace with Beatrix. Whoever the fuck she is.”

I’m already behind her, leaning in so my breath brushes her ear.

“If I haven’t had phone sex with you—you, who drives me insane with just one look—what makes you think I’d do it with someone else, Thalia?” I ask softly, savoring her jealousy.

She doesn’t answer. And I say nothing more. I wait.

“Talk, Ethan,” she snaps, impatience threading through every word.

I laugh quietly because I knew it. I knew she couldn’t endure these silent moments loaded with tension.

“You need to look the person you’re talking to in the eyes, Thalia,” I tease, throwing her own words back at her. “Didn’t you know?”

She finally turns toward me and rolls her eyes—hard. Then she draws in a slow breath and meets my gaze.

“Repeat what you said earlier in the bathroom,” I whisper, smiling. “Right before you ran.”

I try to hold it, but a smirk breaks free.