Chapter 2: Late-Night Ultimatums

At two in the morning, the quiet hum of the air conditioner was interrupted by the sound of Brian’s keys jangling in the lock. The whole house was dark, except for the living room, where I’d left every lamp on—casting cozy pools of light that felt more Airbnb than home.

I was curled up on the couch with a trashy billionaire romance on my Kindle, the afghan wrapped tight around my shoulders. The book’s lurid cover was half-hidden, and the blue-white glow flickered over empty La Croix cans on the coffee table.

The CEO and the heroine were finally about to hook up. I’d waited eight chapters for this—the billionaire’s icy shell about to crack, all that tension finally ready to snap. In my head, the music swelled. The heroine’s sweater sparked with static, lighting up the CEO’s chiseled face. The writing was so bad it was almost brilliant. I could practically smell cheap perfume and burnt microwave popcorn. I was embarrassingly invested.

When the CEO tore off her velvet pants, cotton leggings, wool tights, and long johns—

I snorted. Only in romance novels did heroines wear three layers of pants.

Brian’s low, hoarse voice cut through my reverie. He always sounded like this after a long night—rough, exhausted, vaguely annoyed. Any trace of romance evaporated instantly.

“Why aren’t you asleep yet?”

He lingered in the doorway, jacket slung over his arm, shoes dangling from one finger. He looked like he couldn’t decide if he was coming in or leaving again.

I clicked my tongue, annoyed. Right at the good part. I let my eyes linger on the page a beat longer, marking my spot with a dog-ear. My patience for him was nearly gone.

“Yeah, you got a problem with that?” I replied lazily, not bothering to look up. He’d have to earn my attention tonight.

He paused, then walked over, slouched and heavy. The floor creaked under his steps. I instinctively tensed up, setting my Kindle down on the table a little harder than necessary.

“Sorry. I didn’t know she’d go looking for you.”

He sounded like he was reading from a script, eyes averted. I caught a whiff of cheap aftershave and—was that someone else’s perfume?

I rolled away from him, cocooning myself in the throw blanket. The message was clear: Not in the mood.

“Handle your own little birds. If it happens again, I won’t go easy on her.”

My voice was sharp, the threat hanging in the air. In my mind, I replayed that girl’s face crumpling.

“By the way, she ruined one of my dresses. You pay for it.”

I glanced at the wine-stained blouse—my favorite blue silk, now ruined for good. The money wasn’t the point. It was about principle.

“Two thousand bucks.”

He bristled at the number, but he knew I wasn’t kidding. I wanted him to feel the sting.

He went silent behind me, probably weighing whether to argue. The silence stretched, thick with resentment.

I sat up in one swift motion, locking eyes with him. My glare dared him to push back.

Brian was the first to look away, rubbing his jaw like he could wipe the guilt away.

“If you think that’s too much, I can raise the price.” My eyes glittered. I wanted him to see I wasn’t bluffing—those days were over.

“Fine. I’ll have my assistant transfer it to your account tomorrow.”

He sounded tired, defeated. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he flinched.

He turned to leave, then paused, hovering in the doorway.

“Anything else?”

His voice was clipped, defensive. He was spoiling for a fight, but I wasn’t giving it to him.

I looked up at him, and for a second I saw the boy I used to love—messy hair, hands jammed in his hoodie, waiting outside my dorm with fries and apologies. The years had carved new lines into his face. The porch light behind him threw his silhouette on the wall, just like it used to.

He spoke softly, "Maddie, don’t hurt her."

The plea set my teeth on edge. The nerve, after everything.

“You love her that much?” I sneered. “Is this a warning?”

The sneer was colder than I meant. A dangerous laugh threatened to escape.

He frowned, jaw clenching. The old anger simmered just beneath the surface.

“Maddie, she’s not like you. She’s very innocent and pure. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

His words stung. The implication was clear—I was the opposite of pure. My stomach twisted, bile rising.

I thought my heart was numb, but that word—‘pure’—hit like a punch to the gut. I sucked in a breath, fighting the urge to throw something. Old wounds throbbed beneath the surface.

Her throat clenched like someone hit mute on her soul. I forced down my emotions, staring at the swirling rug patterns, wishing I could disappear into them. “Okay,” I whispered, voice barely audible.