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Chapter 41— Ethan: The Dinner Table Lie
(Ethan's POV)
The moment Arya opened the door, I knew I was in trouble.
Her smile — warm, genuine, framed by the glow of the porch light — hit me in the chest like it always did. She wore an oversized cream sweater and soft jeans, her curls tucked behind one ear, paint still staining her fingertips.
"You're late," she teased, stepping aside.
"I brought wine," I replied, lifting the bottle.
"That's your saving grace."
I stepped into her home — a warm, art-filled space that smelled faintly of rosemary and something roasting. It was soft, lived-in, hers. Every painting on the wall, every mug on the shelf, was a piece of her.
My heart ached a little just standing there.
"I didn't expect a formal dinner," I said, glancing around.
"It's not," she laughed. "It's just stew and rice. Simple. I invited one more guest, I hope you don't mind."
Before I could ask who, a voice called from the hallway.
"Arya, where did you put my—"
She stepped into view.
And I froze.
Amara.
Her eyes landed on me, wide, startled — then immediately dropped. Her face went still, the way someone masks a wound that's been touched.
She wore a burgundy blouse and fitted jeans. Her hair was tied up in a loose knot, and she looked… perfect. Ordinary. And completely out of place in this nightmare of a coincidence.
My brain scrambled for an explanation.
Why is she here?
Then I remembered.
Amara. Damon's sister.
Of course.
"I see you two already know each other," Arya said, beaming.
Amara's head snapped up. "W-What?"
"I mean, you've met at the office, right?" Arya continued, not noticing the tension rising like smoke in the room. "She mentioned her new boss was intense but professional."
I coughed. "Ah. Yes. Amara. Right. She's my assistant."
"Small world, huh?" Arya chuckled, walking into the kitchen.
I glanced at Amara.
She wouldn't look at me.
And I didn't dare speak.
Not here.
Not with Arya so close.
Dinner was a blur.
The table was set simply, a vase of daisies at the center, mismatched plates that only added to the charm. Arya sat at the head, I took the side opposite Amara. Every spoonful I lifted felt like a distraction. Every time I met her eyes across the table — which wasn't often — it felt like a blade pressed to my ribs.
Amara barely said a word.
She answered Arya's questions with clipped politeness. Nodded. Smiled once, tightly.
I couldn't stop glancing at her.
The memory of her body beneath mine, the sound of her voice that night, the blood on my sheets — it all came crashing back harder than it had in the office.
She wasn't just a girl I slept with.
She was Damon's baby sister.
And she was sitting across from me pretending like we didn't know the way we tasted, the way we broke apart that night.
I tried to stay focused on Arya.
Tried to remind myself that I was here because I still cared about her — maybe more than I should. That her laughter still stirred something steady inside me.
But it was impossible to ignore Amara.
She was too silent. Too stiff. Too good at pretending.
And I hated it.
I hated that she had to hide.
That we both did.
"So," Arya said, setting down her fork and sipping her wine, "how's it been working together? Has she been a pain in the ass yet?"
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
Amara nearly choked.
Arya laughed. "She's stubborn. Ask Damon."
Amara quickly cut in, voice tight. "I'm sure Mr. Lantel has more important things to say than complain about his assistant."
Mr. Lantel.
That stung more than it should've.
"I think Amara is capable," I said carefully. "She's efficient and organized."
Arya raised an eyebrow. "Just efficient and organized?"
I glanced at Amara, whose knuckles had gone white around her water glass.
"She's… a quick learner," I added.
"High praise from Ethan Lantel," Arya teased.
Amara stood suddenly, grabbing her plate. "Excuse me."
She walked to the kitchen.
I exhaled slowly, then glanced at Arya. "She's adjusting to the work."
"She's always been a little guarded," Arya said softly. "She doesn't let people in easily."
Tell me about it.
Dinner wrapped up awkwardly after that.
Amara offered to wash the dishes — Arya protested, but she insisted. I stayed behind, helping Arya box up leftovers while the water ran in the kitchen behind us.
"She likes you," Arya said suddenly.
I turned. "What?"
"Amara. She barely spoke tonight, but I could see it. She gets quiet when she's nervous."
"She doesn't like me," I said too quickly.
Arya tilted her head. "Why are you so sure?"
Because if she liked me, she wouldn't have left without a word that night.
Because if she liked me, I wouldn't feel like a criminal for touching her.
Because if she liked me, this wouldn't be eating me alive.
"I just know," I said instead.
The night ended shortly after.
Arya hugged me at the door. "Thanks for coming."
"Thanks for inviting me," I said, eyes drifting to the kitchen.
She smiled. "Don't work her too hard, okay?"
I gave a nod and walked away before I said something I couldn't take back.
When I reached the car, I leaned back against the seat and let my head fall against the window.
That wasn't just dinner.
That was a damn minefield.
And if I wasn't careful, I'd blow everything up.