I woke up to voices.
These voices were low, coming from the kitchen. One was Tristan’s, calm and dry like always. The other… I sat up fast, heart kicking against my ribs. Ethan. My little brother was in the penthouse.
I pulled on yesterday’s hoodie and didn’t bother fixing my hair. My glasses were smudged, but I left them that way as I walked down the hall. The nightmare from last night was still sitting heavy in my chest—Dad’s voice on the phone, the blog comments twisting together until I couldn’t breathe. But I shoved it aside.
What the hell was Ethan doing here?
I stopped at the edge of the kitchen. Tristan was at the stove, shirtless again, scraping something in a pan. Ethan sat at the marble island, scrolling his phone like he belonged there. He looked up first, that same smug f
