Chapter 3

Ethan strode over and put himself between us, shielding her.

"June. What the hell are you saying?"

I lifted my eyes to him.

"Did I stutter? I said she can live there. Forever."

"You two never got over each other, right? You've been carrying a torch this whole time. You said the apartment was your call too—so go ahead. Call it."

Celine's tears finally spilled over.

"June, please, don't misunderstand, I—"

Ethan cut her off. He turned back to me, brow furrowed.

"June, what is your problem right now? Celine is being genuinely grateful and you're pulling this? Really?"

"I already explained this afternoon. It's temporary. What are you doing?"

I smiled. "So I'm picking a fight?"

His voice dropped low.

"You drove out here alone to drink, didn't you? Because you're pissed."

"I already told her yes. You're humiliating her to her face. How am I supposed to explain that?"

"Just apologize to Celine and we can put this behind us."

I stood up. Grabbed my coat, my phone.

"Ethan. I'm not apologizing."

I turned and walked toward the door.

Behind me, Celine's voice: "Ethan, maybe I should just—"

Ethan sounded irritated now.

"No. This is just how she gets. When she's worked up, she doesn't think. Don't worry about it. Stay in the apartment. My call."

I pushed the door open and walked out.

He didn't come after me. Of course he didn't.

The next morning I woke up to find he hadn't come home at all.

Between last night and now, I'd cried out whatever there was to cry out. I was done thinking about it.

I was sitting at my desk staring at nothing when the phone rang.

The contractor. One of the cabinet door hinges was off—one of them wouldn't shut properly, he needed to come tighten the screws. Could I meet him at the apartment around noon?

I said sure.

After I hung up, I scrolled to Ethan's number. Hesitated a beat. Hit call.

Celine was in there, after all. Better to let him deal with it.

Four calls. No answer.

Fine.

I went to the apartment myself.

I stood in front of the door and stopped cold.

The lock was gone. The keyhole I knew was gone. In its place was a brand-new smart lock panel.

I pulled out my phone and called Ethan again.

Nothing.

The contractor was standing behind me with his toolbox, rubbing his hands awkwardly.

"So, uh… can we get in? I've got another job this afternoon."

"They changed the lock," I said. "I don't have the code."

He blinked.

"But… aren't you the owner?"

Yes. I was the owner. My name was on the deed.

And I couldn't get into my own home.

I knocked. Nothing.

I knocked again, harder. Still nothing.

"Break it," I said.

The contractor looked at me. Opened his mouth, closed it again. Then dug a crowbar and hammer out of his toolbox.

The crowbar bit into the doorframe with a screech of metal.

Before the hammer came down—

The elevator dinged.

Ethan came flying out. He saw the crowbar in the contractor's hand and his face went dark.

"Don't touch it! I just had that lock put in!"