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He processes this. I can see it happening—the slight pause, the micro-shift in his expression as the information files into whatever category his brain assigns to new data.

“Oh,” he says. And then, after a beat, “Is it effective?”

“AIDEN.”

“I’m just asking—”

“New rule.” I hold up a finger, channeling every ounce of authority I have left, which isn’t much because my dignity is currently in pieces on my bedroom floor. “You don’t go in my nightstand. You don’t go in my dresser drawers. You don’t go in my bathroom cabinets. You organize the kitchen, the living room, the bakery—fine. But my bedroom is off-limits unless I say otherwise.”

He nods slowly. “Because of the pleasure device.”

“Because of boundaries, Aiden. Boundaries.”

“You’ve mentioned those before. I’m still not confident I understand them fully.”

“Yeah.” I press my hands over my face and breathe through my fingers. “I’m getting that.”

I grab the vibrator off the dresser and shove it in a drawer.

When I come back to the living room, Aiden is sitting on the couch with his hands on his knees, looking at me with an expression that might be apologetic if he fully understood what he was apologizing for.

“Ruby?”

“What?”

“I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy. I was organizing. I organize things that belong to you because—” He pauses, searches for the words. “Because making your space functional makes me feel like I have a purpose here. And I want to have a purpose here.”

The anger drains out of me so fast it leaves me dizzy.

“I know,” I say, quieter now. “I know that’s why you do it. Just—ask first. From now on.”

“Okay.”

“And Aiden?”

“Yes?”

“If Liv ever asks you if you’ve seen anything interesting in my apartment, the answer is no. Always no. No matter what.”

“Understood.”

The girls come over at seven. Liv brings wine and spring rolls. Gemma brings her notebook. Avery brings herself and a look that says she already knows tonight is going to go sideways.

Aiden is on the couch in the jeans and henley that have become his default outfit, and the girls have settled around him in their usual configuration—Gemma in the chair with her legs tucked under her, Liv on the floor with her back against the couch, Avery cross-legged by the window. I’m in the kitchen pouring wine, and I can hear Liv already.

“So, Aiden, anything new? Discover any more dogs? Learn any new words? Find anything interesting in Ruby’s apartment?”

I stick my head out of the kitchen. “Liv.”

“What? I’m making conversation.”

Aiden, bless his lack of social instincts, says, “I found several interesting things while organizing, but Ruby has asked me not to discuss them.”

Liv’s head whips toward me. Her eyes are enormous. “What things?”

“Nothing. He found nothing. Aiden, remember what I said.”

Liv is looking between us with the expression of a woman piecing together a puzzle she absolutely should not be solving. Avery is watching from the window with her arms crossed and the faintest smile. Gemma hasn’t looked up from her notebook.