Page 69 of Broken Rivalry

After our intense moment, Ethan’s touch becomes gentle, almost reverent. He carefully pulls up my leggings, his fingers brushing my skin with a tenderness that sends shivers down my spine. Without a word, he lifts me into his arms, carrying me as if I weigh nothing. The sensation is both exhilarating and comforting.

He sets me down on the bed in what I assume is the main bedroom. “Wait for me,” he murmurs, his voice husky, and then he’s gone, disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. I take the opportunity to look around. The room is sleek and modern, with a distinctly masculine edge. Charcoals and grays dominate the palette, with occasional bursts of color from a piece of artwork or a decorative pillow. The large windows offer a breathtaking view of the surrounding woods, making the room feel both expansive and intimate.

The sound of running water pulls me from my thoughts. When Ethan returns, there’s a softness in his eyes that I haven’t seen before. He guides me to the bathroom, where a Jacuzzi-sized bathtub awaits, filled with steaming water that carries the relaxing scent of lavender.

With the utmost care, he begins to undress me, his movements slow and deliberate. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, and I can’t help but blush. He lifts me effortlessly, lowering me into the warm embrace of the water. The heat envelops me, melting away any residual tension. Ethan quickly sheds his own clothes and joins me, the water shifting around us. He pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me in a protective embrace.

I lean back against him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. The world outside fades, leaving the two of us in this intimate bubble. Taking a deep breath, I turn to face him, searching his eyes. “Ethan,” I begin, my voice shaky, “there’s something important I have to tell you.”

He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch featherlight. “What is it?”

Gathering my courage, I confess, “I love you, Ethan. I love you.”

His eyes, always so expressive, widen in surprise. After a moment that feels like an eternity, a smile breaks across his face. “Poppy,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, “I’ve been waiting to hear those words. I love you too, more than you could ever know.”

I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. “I’ve felt this way for a while,” I admit, “but I was scared. Things are complicated.”

He nods, understanding in his eyes. “I know, but we’ll face whatever comes together.”

He stands, water cascading off him, and extends his hand to help me out of the tub. We wrap ourselves in plush towels, the soft fabric absorbing the remaining moisture on our skin.

Ethan leads me back to the bedroom, the dim lighting casting a warm glow over everything. He pulls back the covers, inviting me in. I slide between the sheets, the cool fabric a sharp contrast to the warmth of the bath. He joins me, pulling me close. Our bodies entwined, finding a comfortable rhythm together.

Ethan traces patterns on my skin, his touch gentle and soothing. “This weekend,” he begins, his voice tender, “I want to show you how much you mean to me.”

I turn to face him, my heart swelling with emotion. “You already have.”

He smiles, pulling me closer. “There’s much more I want to share with you.”

I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I’m looking forward to it.”

We drift off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, the promise of a new day and new memories to be made. But as much as I want to lose myself in this blissful bubble, the secrets I’m keeping cast a shadow over this moment. I know I can’t keep running from the truth, but for now, I want to savor this moment, this slice of happiness with Ethan.

Chapter 23

Poppy

The warmth of the bed envelops me, but a sudden jolt of anxiety pulls me from my dreams. Ethan’s side of the bed is empty, but the lingering heat tells me he hasn’t been gone long. I fumble on the nightstand to find my phone and blink at the harsh light, 6:02 a.m.

Pushing the covers aside, I slip out of bed, feeling the room’s cool embrace. I glance back, half tempted to dive back into the warmth, but concern for Ethan nudges me forward. He’s not one for early mornings, especially not here. I pull on Ethan’s discarded Henley from the floor, its length just right, reaching midthigh. My footsteps are soft against the plush carpet as I make my way out.

The house is nearly silent, but a distant murmur of voices draws me in. Curiosity guides me to the office door.

“…I told you, Dad, I’ll get her father’s box soon.” Ethan’s voice, laced with tension, reaches my ears.

“The box… Why, Ethan?” I whisper to myself.

There’s a pause, during which I can only imagine his father’s response.

“And what? Look, I’m at the cabin like you wanted. But Poppy doesn’t know anything about it, and I want it to stay that way.”

My heart races, my hands trembling, as I try to make sense of the fragments of their conversation. That box. The one filled with documents that could potentially still take Fitzgerald Hawthorne down. The box my father had whispered about during one of my visits to him in prison. The same box he’d cleverly hidden in a train station locker. Just hearing Ethan talk about it makes my stomach churn.

Over time, I’ve pieced together the events leading up to my father’s incarceration. He’d been suspected of an embezzlement scheme—a white-collar crime, and in a desperate move, he went to the authorities with information about his boss, Fitzgerald Hawthorne. But Hawthorne was always one step ahead, cunning and prepared. He managed to shift all the blame onto my father, making him the scapegoat.

I retrieved that box and kept it, even when my mother begged me to get rid of it. I couldn’t. I was fueled by a burning desire for revenge, wanting to drag the Hawthorne name through the mud, even if it meant going down with it.

But life happened. My immediate concerns shifted to survival, and my burning anger toward the Hawthornes simmered down, though it never truly went away. It was replaced by a deep-seated resentment toward my father, who I saw as nothing more than a weakling. I held on to the box, even if I wasn’t entirely sure why. But now, with Ethan’s words reverberating in my mind, the suppressed anger and sense of injustice return with a vengeance. I’m filled with emotions: anger at my father for dragging me back into this mess, disdain for Fitzgerald Hawthorne, a sense of betrayal from Ethan, and a deep self-loathing for letting myself fall for the enemy.

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