Chapter 6

The moment I pushed open the door after returning home from signing the contract, my footsteps froze.

A pair of polished men's dress shoes sat conspicuously in the entryway. The slippers I usually wore were nowhere to be seen.

I scoffed, tore open a pair of disposable slippers, and slipped them on.

As soon as I stepped into the living room, Ethan Winslow’s deliberately hushed voice drifted from the kitchen: "Ms. Lancaster, that’s not how you do it. Let me show you—"

In the kitchen doorway, I saw Ethan standing behind Vivian Lancaster, his arms wrapped around her, his hands covering hers. He was wearing my loungewear, standing in my slippers, looking every bit like the man of the house.

The most painful part? Vivian didn’t push him away.

I remembered how she used to frown and step back if I got too close. Turns out, it wasn’t discomfort with men in general—just with me.

A sharp crack echoed as I accidentally knocked over a vase on the table.

Vivian whipped around, flustered, and pulled away from Ethan. "You—you’re back already?"

Ethan feigned panic. "Ryan, don’t get the wrong idea. I was just teaching Ms. Lancaster how to wash vegetables." But his eyes gleamed with unmistakable provocation.

I strode past them toward the bedroom. "Don’t let me interrupt."

"Wait!" Vivian suddenly called out. "It’s Ethan’s birthday today. I thought we could all—"

I stopped mid-step. How ironic. She couldn’t even remember my birthday, yet she went out of her way to celebrate his.

Inside the bedroom, most of my belongings were already packed. Just as I reached for the rest, the door swung open.

Ethan walked in holding a cake, his gaze sweeping over the half-empty room before curling into a smirk. "So you’re really leaving, huh?"

I ignored him, focusing on my phone.

"Stop acting so high and mighty!" he suddenly snapped, hurling the cake onto the floor. Then, with exaggerated theatrics, he dropped to his knees amidst the wreckage and let out a dramatic cry.

When Vivian rushed in, she found Ethan sitting in the mess, eyes brimming with fake tears—while I stood nearby, the shattered cake at my feet.

"Ryan!" she shouted, shoving me aside. A shard of porcelain sliced into my foot, staining the slipper crimson.

Ethan held up his wrist, which bore nothing but a faint white mark. "I’m sorry, Ms. Lancaster. It’s my fault for upsetting Ryan again..."

Vivian cradled his hand protectively before turning on me. "Apologize! Or we’re through!"

That phrase was like a key, unlocking a flood of memories. Every past argument had ended the same way—with her threatening to leave, and me begging for forgiveness.

But not this time.

"Fine," I said calmly. "We’re done."

Vivian froze. Ethan’s smirk vanished.

The room fell so silent, you could hear the sound of blood hitting the floor.