Ethan POV
I make it home by midnight, though I don't remember driving. Just suddenly I'm in my driveway, staring at my house with keys in hand.
Empty, like always.
I go inside and drop my bag. Pour whiskey, neat. Drain it and pour another.
Sit on my couch in the dark and try to process what just happened.
I targeted you deliberately.
Her words loop in my head, over and over. She planned it. All of it. The first time she stayed after class, the questions she asked, the way she looked at me. Calculated. Strategic. Revenge.
I down the second whiskey and pour a third.
My phone sits on the coffee table, mocking me. I should block her number, delete her emails, remove myself from any situation where I might see her. That's what a smart person would do.
Instead, I pick up my phone and scroll to our text thread, reading through months of messages, looking for clues, for signs I missed.
