Chapter 3

She tapped on a video. The scene showed the Brooks family study.

Ethan was handling some documents. Leah, wearing a silk camisole nightgown, walked in carrying a glass of milk.

She set the milk on the desk but didn't leave. Instead, she climbed directly onto Ethan's lap.

"Ethan, you haven't told me a bedtime story in forever."

Ethan put down his pen and looked at her helplessly. "How old are you? You still want bedtime stories?"

Leah wrapped her arms around his neck and whined, "I don't care. I want one."

Then she suddenly leaned down and kissed Ethan on the lips.

"That's a down payment."

The Ethan in the video froze. Then his Adam's apple bobbed and his eyes darkened.

He didn't push her away. Instead, he lifted his hand to her back, his voice turning husky.

"You little vixen."

The video cut off abruptly, the image shaking violently.

Outside the video, Leah was doubled over laughing. She wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.

"I'm telling you, Ethan is so innocent. I was just teasing him and his face turned red as a tomato."

"But of course, he didn't disappoint me. He carried me back to my room and told me stories all night long."

"No offense, Claire, but is your sex life a little... lacking? Ethan's physical reaction was way too strong."

The video had just finished playing, freezing on Ethan's face, written all over with desire.

Ethan next to her reached out and flicked her forehead hard.

"What nonsense are you spouting? Claire and I have a perfectly fine sex life. Mind your own business."

Leah refused to back down, and the two of them started roughhousing again like I wasn't even there.

The phone was tossed carelessly onto the couch by its owner. I calmly picked it up and sent that video—along with several other disgustingly intimate clips from her photo album—to my own phone.

Then I deleted the sending history.

When they'd finally tired themselves out, Ethan finally remembered I existed.

He was still slightly out of breath as he looked down at me, his tone carrying a trace of commanding generosity.

"Alright, you saw it. Even in that situation, all I did was tell her stories. I love you. That should be enough."

"So stop throwing tantrums, okay? Let's just live our lives."

My chest felt stuffed with rage. So now he was the victim?

But I forced that rage down and smiled, nodding.

"Okay. I know I was wrong. I won't do it again."

I was wrong, alright—wrong to think I could just walk away cleanly after breaking up.

With scum like him and a homewrecker like her, if I didn't ruin them both, how could I live up to the three years I'd wasted on him?