Chapter 1

Ethan was arrested in a brawl for the seventh time—once again, throwing punches on behalf of my best friend, Sofia.

By the time I got to the precinct, his face was a patchwork of bruises. He had one arm slung around Sofia's shoulders, and he was already barking orders at me before I'd even set down my bag.

"Yan, go handle the bail paperwork. Sofia's shaken up—I need to stay with her."

Sofia was curled into his chest, sobbing into his shirt. "I'm sorry. Someone was following me again. I didn't know who else to call…"

"It's not your fault." Ethan tipped his head down, his voice gone soft, the way you'd calm a frightened child. "Next time something like this happens, I'll step in the same way."

Only then did he lift his eyes to me—matter-of-fact, as though what he was about to say went without saying.

"Yan won't mind. Right?"

I said nothing. I just stood there under the fluorescent lights of the station, watching my husband hold another woman against his chest.

The officer behind the counter slid a stack of forms toward me.

"Bail's set at four thousand. This is his seventh violent arrest—the DA's office is paying attention now. Under state law, we're likely looking at an upgrade to a felony. If convicted, he's staring down three to five years, plus a permanent restraining order."

I tightened my grip on the strap of my bag. "Will he be held until arraignment?"

"Bail hearing's tomorrow. Judge decides." The officer gave me a level look. "With a sheet like his, I wouldn't be counting on leniency."

I didn't sign. I laid a hand over the small curve of my belly, turned, and walked out.

An hour before, I'd still been telling myself that the baby growing inside me deserved a father. That I didn't want to raise my child in a broken home.

Looking back—what a spectacular kind of stupid that had been.

Some things—some people—belong in the trash.

...

I hadn't made it more than two steps past the doors before Ethan caught up.

His fingers closed around my wrist. "Yan, why didn't you sign?"

I looked at him, calm as glass. "Ethan, you're thirty-two years old. Not twelve."

"Six violent arrests. As a grown man, you can start learning to handle your own consequences."

Something twitched at the corner of his mouth.

Sofia came stumbling out behind him, eyes red and streaming, and caught my hand in both of hers.

"I'm so sorry, Yan, this is all my fault. Someone was following me again tonight and I panicked and I called Ethan—I didn't know what else to do…"

Still crying, she slapped herself hard across the face.

"It's all because of me. I'd rather get harassed a hundred times than come between you two—"

"Stop that."

Ethan caught her wrist before she could hit herself again, folding her into his chest with the fluid ease of someone who'd done it a hundred times before—because he had.

"I already told you. It's not your fault. I'm a man. I'm not going to just stand there and watch something happen to you."

Then, without missing a beat: "Yan, don't do this. Go sign the papers. And apologize to Sofia while you're at it."

I said nothing. I just looked at him—this man I'd loved for ten years.

Ten years ago, we'd met because he saved me.

A drunk had been trailing me down the street, and Ethan came out of nowhere—grabbed my hand, pulled me in against his side, pretended to be someone I knew, and walked me somewhere safe.

In that moment, I gave him my whole heart. I loved how steady he was, how unshakable.

But in all the years since, he had never once thrown a punch for me.

Even when my project manager cornered me in the office and put his hand where it didn't belong, all Ethan did was frown and offer counsel.

"Let it go, Yan. If you make a scene, it'll follow your name around. It's a small industry."

And yet, for Sofia, he broke his own rules over and over.

The first time had been for her ex-boyfriend, who'd broken into her apartment in the middle of the night with the clear intent to hurt her.

Ethan got the call at one a.m., drove straight there, and beat the man until his ribs cracked.

At the station afterward, he'd said, with total conviction:

"Yan, I know I was reckless. But she's your best friend. I couldn't just stand there."

Then he pulled me into his arms, his voice going soft.

"Your poor husband might be looking at prison time. You wouldn't really let that happen, would you?"

I had clenched my fist so hard the wedding band cut into my palm.

But that pain reminded me of what we were. Husband and wife. I couldn't let him go to prison.

Sofia had wept until her face was swollen that night, clinging to my hand.

"Yan, you two saved my life. I owe you both. Forever."

But then it happened again. And again.

Ethan broke his rules for her. Over and over.

And every time, afterward, he'd swear to me: That was the last one, Yan. I promise. No more.

This time, something in me was simply done.

I pushed his hand away.

"Ethan. Four thousand dollars is not pocket change."

"I'm four months along. I'm saving every cent I can for the baby—daycare, checkups, everything. I don't have that kind of cash lying around."

What I didn't say: I was also quietly setting money aside for a lawyer.

From here on out, all of this was his to sort through. Not mine.