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This year, I had to get a gift for Colt. No, it wasn’t hard at all. I know what he likes, just like I know what any of them like.

Honestly, I was relieved it wasn’t Ethan. But my luck seemed to run out last night when I drew his name.

“Speaking of Ethan,” Sierra begins, and from her tone I can feel the storm coming. “How did you sleep, Thalia?”

That’s it. I’m going to kill my best friend.

I set my coffee mug down, glaring at her, and she looks triumphant in Nick’s arms. He chuckles softly behind her, while everyone else tries—and fails—to hide their smiles behind coffee cups or phones.

“What an interesting conversation we have first thing in the morning,” we hear Ethan’s voice as he comes down the stairs.

The effect is instantaneous—my breath catches, my knees weaken, a hollow opens in my stomach, and my entire body tenses as if anticipating impact.

I keep my gaze fixed on Sierra, who jumps out of Nick’s arms and runs to the Christmas tree.

“The presents,” she shouts cheerfully, tossing one in the air.

We spent the day quietly, relaxed, and happy in the Hardy house, talking about everything imaginable, eating, playing a ton of games—but not the one from last night. Some of us even took a walk around the neighborhood.

The day passed in a blur, and it’s already 10 p.m. Since we went to bed so late last night, we decided to sleep early to be rested for tomorrow.

I’m already in bed, having gone upstairs more than thirty minutes ago. Still, there’s no sign of Ethan, and when I came up, he was in the office downstairs.

I lie in bed, scrolling through TikTok, when I suddenly hear the door open.

“Yes, that’s what I want too,” I hear him say on the phone, his voice soft, intimate.

I stay with my back to him, pretending to scroll absentmindedly, but my heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat, my body trembling in a way I can’t stop. Just his voice alone ignites this reaction inside me.

Ugh. God, when will this end? Please.

“You just have to be patient a little longer,” he says, amusement threading his tone.

I don’t see him, but I sense him undressing as he keeps talking.

“Do you want to do it now?” he asks, laughing lightly, teasingly.

What the actual fuck?

Who is he talking to?

I hold my breath, straining to catch the voice on the phone, to figure out if it’s someone I know, if it’s a woman. But what the hell am I thinking? Of course it’s a woman. He’s not speaking like that to a man.

“We’ll do it, just wait a few more days,” he continues, clearly flirting.

I know him too well by now—this is Ethan turned on. It’s a sexual conversation. I can feel it, deep in my chest, in my gut, in my bones.

I close my eyes, trying to calm my emotions, to quiet the rage and the ache. I count softly in my head, willing the tremor in my body to subside, but it doesn’t.

He continues to listen to the voice on the phone, but I hear him open the bathroom door, step inside, and close it behind him. Is he… having phone sex? He locked himself in there because I’m in his room.

He doesn’t even care that I’m here, that I can hear everything. If I needed more proof that I meant nothing to him, I have it now.

This is too much. It hurts too much. My chest feels heavy, my heart ripped apart. Tears spill down my face despite my desperate attempts to wipe them away.

I don’t want him to see me like this, to know how deeply his actions wound me.

I contemplate leaving his room, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. I’ll stay here, pretending everything is fine. I can do this.