The night was colder thtman usual. The kind of cold that slipped beneath your skin and stayed there. The rain had stopped, but the sky still looked bruised, heavy with clouds that hadn't made up their mind yet.
I stood by the window, the city lights a blur through the glass. Ethan hadn't come home. Again.
The clock on the wall ticked like a heartbeat I couldn't escape. It had been two days since our last fight. Two long days of silence. I told myself I didn't care, but my body told another story. Every sound outside made me turn. Every car that slowed near the house made my heart jump.
Noah had called earlier to ask if I was okay. I lied. Told him I was fine, just tired. But the truth was... I felt like I was coming apart.
I thought loving Ethan would hurt less with time. It didn't. It only got sharper, deeper, like loving him meant peeling off layers of myself until I didn't know who I was anymore.
A soft knock broke my thoughts.
I turned. "Come in."
The door opened slowly, and Noah stepped in. His shirt was soaked, hair damp from the drizzle. He looked hesitant, almost guilty.
"Emily," he said quietly. "You shouldn't be alone tonight."
I forced a smile that didn't fit. "I'm fine, really."
He walked closer, eyes scanning my face. "You look like you haven't slept."
"I haven't."
He sighed. "Ethan's at the docks."
That made me look up. "What?"
Noah nodded. "He's been meeting someone there. Late nights. I thought you should know."
My heart clenched. The docks. Lydia's old place.
I wanted to ask more, but Noah's face told me he didn't want to say it. He looked torn — between loyalty and something deeper, something that had always lived quietly in his eyes whenever he looked at me.
"I can take you there," he said.
I hesitated. "No. If he wanted me there, he'd have told me."
"That's not how love works, Emily," Noah murmured. "Sometimes, people hide the truth thinking they're protecting you."
His words stung, because they sounded like something Ethan would say.
After a long silence, I nodded. "Let's go."
---
The docks smelled of rain and rust. The water moved slow and dark, whispering against the wooden posts.
We parked behind a line of containers and waited.
Then I saw him. Ethan.
He stood under a broken lamp, talking to someone wrapped in a black coat. At first, I thought it was Lydia, but as the light caught her face, I froze.
It wasn't her.
It was a woman I didn't recognize. She looked older, her expression cold and calm. Ethan's head was slightly bowed, as if he was listening, or being warned.
Noah tensed beside me. "Do you know her?"
I shook my head.
Then, Ethan handed her something. A small envelope. She took it without a word and walked away into the shadows.
"What was that?" I whispered.
Noah's jaw tightened. "Looks like he's paying her."
I wanted to believe there was a reason — a good one — but my chest ached. "No. Ethan wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't what?" Noah said softly. "Lie to you? Hide things?"
He wasn't wrong.
Ethan looked around, then started toward his car. I ducked down before he could see us.
"Let's go," Noah whispered. "Before he finds us here."
But I couldn't move. My knees were shaking, and my mind spun with a hundred questions I couldn't ask.
When we finally drove back, the silence in the car was louder than words.
Noah dropped me off and waited until I got inside. "Emily," he said before leaving, "be careful with him. Whatever's going on, it's bigger than you think."
---
The next morning, Ethan was at the dining table, sipping coffee as if nothing had happened. His eyes lifted when I entered.
"You didn't come home," I said quietly.
He set the cup down. "Work."
"At midnight?"
He met my gaze, calm and unreadable. "Something came up."
I crossed my arms. "At the docks?"
That made him still. For a moment, he said nothing, and the quiet stretched until it hurt.
"Who told you that?"
I swallowed. "Does it matter?"
"Yes." His voice was sharp now. "Who told you?"
"Noah."
Ethan stood slowly. His jaw was tight, his tone low. "You shouldn't have gone there."
"So you admit you were there?"
"I admit nothing," he said. "But if you value your safety, stay out of things you don't understand."
I laughed softly, though it sounded broken. "That's your answer? After everything?"
He looked at me for a long time, then said, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you the truth."
"Try me."
His eyes softened, almost sad. "Not tonight."
And just like that, he walked past me.
I stood there, heart pounding, feeling small and stupid and furious.
---
Later that night, I couldn't sleep. The rain had started again, soft against the windows. I sat by the fireplace, trying to quiet my thoughts.
That's when my phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
If you want to know the truth about Ethan Blake, come alone. Tomorrow, midnight. Dock 7.
My stomach dropped.
I stared at the message for a long time, my mind running wild.
Who could it be? The woman from last night? Lydia? Someone else entirely?
I thought about ignoring it. About pretending I never saw it. But I knew I couldn't. I needed answers.
---
The next night, I went.
The air was cold and damp. The docks were nearly empty, the faint sound of waves echoing in the dark. I pulled my coat tighter and walked toward Dock 7.
A single light flickered near the end of the pier.
Someone was there — standing with their back to me.
I stopped a few steps away. "You texted me."
The figure turned.
And my breath caught.
It wasn't a stranger. It wasn't Lydia.
It was Ethan.
He looked pale, his eyes hollow. "Emily, you shouldn't be here."
I took a step closer. "You sent the message?"
He shook his head. "No. But whoever did… wanted you to find this."
He handed me a folded paper, old and damp from the rain.
"What is it?"
"Proof," he said quietly. "Of who's been behind everything."
Before I could ask what he meant, a sharp sound echoed — a gunshot.
Ethan's body jerked, and he stumbled back, collapsing against the railing.
"Ethan!" I screamed, running to him.
Blood spread across his shirt, dark and fast. His hand gripped mine, weak but steady.
"Run," he whispered. "It's not… what you think."
I turned toward the shadows, heart racing — and froze when I saw who stepped out.
Lydia.
Her red lips curled into a smile, a gun glinting in her hand.
"Hello, Emily," she said. "Miss me?"