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“And that’s why you decided it’s better to go on a date with another man?” he snaps, venom dripping from every word.

He’s not holding back either.

“Because it’s apparently okay to look for someone—someone who suits you, in your opinion—while I thought it was just the two of us in whatever the hell that thing was?”

His stare is scorching. If looks could burn, I’d already be dust on the floor.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him like this—truly furious, truly raw with something beyond pleasure or desire, beyond that hungry passion he always hides behind.

“I didn’t go on any date,” I scream, my voice cracking with frustration.

God, I should have cleared this up ages ago. Whatever was happening with the press and my parents, none of it excuses how long I postponed the explanation I owed him.

Only fear.

Fear of being rejected.

Fear of giving someone my love only for them to show me I mean nothing, that they don’t want me, can’t offer me anything.

Chuckling darkly, he leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest.

The movement makes every muscle in his abdomen tighten, the lines sharpening. And my mouth waters as if my body doesn’t understand that now is not the time.

Even in moments like this. God, what is wrong with me?

“Thalia, you were photographed by the press while having dinner with him,” he says, disgust curling around every syllable.

The words land like a slap. They make me feel small, dirty, even though I know that’s not what happened.

“If we’re going to waste our time having this conversation, you could at least not lie,” he adds, voice hard, commanding.

His stare pins me in place, and the room feels too small, too hot, too heavy with everything we never said when we should have.

“I never lie,” I reply, my voice serious, unshakable. “I went to that dinner with him and his sister…” I begin, but he cuts me off before I can breathe.

“The sister who just happened to be in the bathroom when the photos were taken? Or maybe the press erased her from the shots before publishing?” he asks, dripping irony, disgust still curling into every line of his stupidly handsome face.

I take two steps toward him and grab his jaw, forcing him to look at me.

Huge mistake.

Because that impossible shade of green hits me like a punch to the gut—wild, hypnotic. No matter how furious, how disappointed, how hurt I am, he still manages to weaken every bone in my body with a single look.

“Let me fucking talk,” I grind out, teeth clenched.

His lips twitch—amusement this time—but he doesn’t pull back from my touch.

“He emailed me on my work address, so you can literally check for yourself that I’m not lying,” I say, pausing to force myself to keep looking into those infuriating eyes.

He stays silent, but one eyebrow lifts in subtle invitation—as if saying, “I’m listening, keep going.”

“He wrote that his sister loved my selections for her event and that she wanted to meet that day,” I continue, fighting to keep my voice even, sane.

“When I got there, he was alone at the table.”

Ethan smirks—dry, unconvinced.

“I asked. I swear I asked about her,” I say, my voice faltering for the first time. “And he admitted he lied. He just wanted a chance at a date with me.”