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I raise a brow, silently asking what’s going on.

“I know you slept with her, Ethan,” she says. Her tone isn’t sharp, it’s worse. Resigned.

I blink. “What?”

The word leaves me under my breath, almost inaudible. I wasn’t expecting this, not even remotely.

I’m not even sure I’d recognize the woman if she stood in front of me. I’ve never paid attention to her.

“Thalia, I don’t even know what she looks like,” I tell her, completely honest.

“A few months ago, at a party with all the guys and a bunch of men I didn’t recognize,” she begins, her gaze drifting toward the dressing room, like she’s watching it unfold all over again. “You were in the private VIP area… and she was sitting in your lap. Half undressed.”

It takes a moment—a few disconnected images clicking into place—before I remember.

The bachelor party.

The woman who practically threw herself at me. The mark on my neck, the scratches down my back.

“Fucking hell, Thalia,” I breathe out, shame crawling under my skin at the memory. “Nothing happened between us,” I say immediately.

How many moments like that did she witness over the past months? Fuck.

And I cut her out of my life the second something bothered me—without waiting, without asking.

“Ethan…” she says, skepticism in her tone.

“She threw herself into my lap, saying she’d do anything for one night with me,” I explain, keeping my voice serious.

She watches me closely, her entire body still, but every word lands—I can see it.

“I let her stay there for maybe two minutes,” I continue, “more amused than anything else by how far some people are willing to go for attention, money, status.”

Her brow lifts, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“We didn’t kiss, I didn’t touch her,” I add, looking into her eyes, needing her to see the truth in mine.

“The next day, I noticed the mark on my neck… and the scratches on my back.”

I catch the change in her expression—the spark of accusation ready to rise—so I lift my hand and press a finger gently against her lips, stopping her before she speaks.

“Nothing happened between us. I swear.”

Silence settles in the room—thick, uncertain, stretching so long it hurts.

Then she leans her head back and exhales, relief softening her entire body.

“Thank God,” she breathes, a small smile breaking through as she looks at me.

I slide both hands to her waist and lift her effortlessly, settling her in my lap.

Neither of us bothers acknowledging the fact that we’re both completely naked.

“Ethan…” she starts, a smile tugging at her lips in protest.

“This whole time, you thought I slept with her?” I ask, more serious than I intend.

“Yes,” she answers without hesitation. “ I heard her talking about that night the entire week after. I never stayed long enough to hear details.”