Aleena
Sophia and I got back to the penthouse just as the late afternoon light was starting to soften across the garden with our shopping bags hanging from our arms, the black dress carefully folded inside the largest one like a secret I wasn’t ready to share with anyone else yet.
The second we stepped inside, the energy of the house hit us with staff moving between the open doors and the lawn, tables being positioned, strings of lights being tested for the next evening and the air already smelled like cut flowers and expectation.
“We’re helping,” Sophia declared, already kicking off her heels.
“Come on.
It’ll be good for you.
You’ve been carrying that face around all day.”
I didn’t argue.
We changed into soft shorts and old T-shirts, pulled our hair into messy knots, and went outside.
We spent the next couple of hours carrying chairs, unfolding tablecloths, straightening place settings, and laughing every time Sophia nearly dropped an item or made a dramatic face at the floral designer’s instructions.
Sweat gathered at the back of my neck and slid slowly down my spine.
My arms ached.
Dirt smudged the side of one knee and for a while the constant knot that had lived under my ribs for weeks loosened.
It felt almost normal, just two friends working side by side under an open sky, complaining and joking and existing without the weight of everything else.
At some point the familiar sensation returned: the quiet, heavy awareness of being watched, It settled over my skin like a touch I couldn’t quite locate.
I straightened and glanced up toward the upper windows of the house.
The glass only reflected the pale sky and the movement of clouds.
Still, the feeling stayed low and persistent, as if someone was standing just out of sight and refusing to look away.
But I kept working.
Later, when I looked up again, I saw them on the terrace.
Ethan was standing beside my mother, her hand resting lightly on his arm while she spoke to him.
He listened with that composed public expression that never gave anything away, the same controlled face he wore in boardrooms and at dinners.
Something sharp and ugly twisted low in my stomach, jealousy,very raw and sudden.
I looked away before either of them could notice I had seen them and forced my attention back to the seating chart in my hands, gripping the paper tighter than necessary.
‘That’s the only reality that matters.
Everything else is just noise that I’ve been stupid enough to listen to.’
I kept working until the light started to fade and the first of the evening lamps flickered on across the lawn.
Meredith came downstairs as Sophia and I were washing our hands in the kitchen.
She looked tired but satisfied, the kind of satisfaction that came from watching a plan finally take shape.
“Thank you for staying, Sophia,” she said.
“You really didn’t have to.”
Sophia smiled, drying her hands and replied.
“I wanted to.
It was actually fun.
Your garden is going to look incredible tomorrow.”
We said our goodnights and headed for the stairs.
Ethan was coming down as we were going up.
He paused on the landing, one hand resting on the rail.
For a second our eyes met.
Whatever I thought I saw there disappeared almost immediately behind polite distance.
“Thank you,” he said, looking at both of us but not lingering on me.
“For the help you rendered today, It made a difference.”
The words were correct and seemed to me to be rehearsed.
Exactly what a future stepfather was supposed to say.
I gave a short nod and kept walking and Sophia glanced at me once but didn’t ask.
Later, in my room, we changed into sleeping clothes and collapsed onto the bed.
Sophia stretched out with a long, dramatic sigh.
“My arms are going to hate me tomorrow,” she said.
I smiled faintly at the ceiling.
“It’s worth it I guess.”
She glanced at the screen and her whole face softened in a way I had started to recognize.
“It’s Liam,” she mouthed, already sitting up.
“It’ll just be a minute.”
She stepped out onto the small balcony and closed the glass door behind her.
I could still see her through it, smiling, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, laughing at whatever he said.
I stared at the ceiling and felt two things rise at the same time: a hot, familiar anger, and a heavier guilt that settled lower in my chest.
She had no idea she was falling for him while I still carried the truth of what he had done to me, and I had said nothing.
The secret felt uglier every time I watched her look happy because of him.
Every soft laugh on the other side of the glass made the weight of it press harder.
Outside, Sophia laughed again then I turned onto my side, pulled the pillow closer, and closed my eyes, but sleep stayed a long way off.
Ethan
Long after the garden had emptied and the lights had been dimmed, I stood at the same window with a glass of whiskey I hadn’t touched.
I could still see her the way she had looked earlier with sweat darkening the back of her T-shirt, her hair sticking to her neck, that unguarded laugh when Sophia said something ridiculous.
The image just refused to leave.
It sat behind my eyes and refused to fade, no matter how many times I tried to replace it with either numbers, contracts, or even the speech I was supposed to give tomorrow.
I should have been preparing for the engagement.
Instead I was hard again, jaw tight, replaying the exact moment she had straightened and looked up toward the house as if she had felt me watching.
The thought of her knowing made it worse.
The thought of her “wanting” me to watch made it unbearable.
I set the glass down without drinking and dragged a hand over my face.
Tomorrow I would stand in front of a crowd and smile beside Meredith.
Tomorrow I will play the part I had agreed to.
But tonight, alone in the dark of my room, I let myself admit the truth I kept locking away during the day.
I wanted her.
And the fact that I couldn’t have her was starting to feel less like discipline and more like a slow, deliberate form of torture.