Ethan's POV
I was sitting in a meeting with Sam's father and my uncle when my phone buzzed. The name I'd been dreading to see flashed on the screen: "Andrew Morgan." I put
my phone down and gripped the glass of wine in front of me so hard that it
shattered in my hand. I didn't even feel the pain. The anger burning inside me was
too much—nothing could soothe it. Sam screamed and ran toward me. God, I wished I could shut her up forever. In that
moment, I pictured grabbing a shard of glass and slashing her throat, watching her
choke on her own blood. "Ethan!" My uncle's stern voice yanked me out of that fantasy.
I turned slowly, staring at my bleeding hand. "Sorry," I muttered. "My mind was
somewhere else. Sorry if I ruined dinner."
"Oh, don't be silly, boy. Get yourself treated," Sam's father said, waving it off. "Sam, be a darling and accompany him."
"Will do, Dad," she said quickly, grabbing tissues for my hand. "I'm sorry again," I said, but no one seemed to care. "Don't worry, your uncle and I can finish discussing things here. Be good and take
care of yourself," Sam's father said. "Sure thing, sir," I replied, the pain in my hand a distant throb compared to the
storm of emotions clouding my mind.
I won't let him win again. Not this time. He's not taking Henry away from me—one
of us has to die for that to happen, and it won't be me. I won't lose. Not again. Sam helped me to the emergency room, but I felt nothing for her. While the nurse
cleaned my hand, I picked up my phone and sent a message to my informant: Keep
an eye on them and report any new developments ASAP. I mean everything. The
reply came quickly.
I'm not his babysitter and I can't be with him 24/7.
I do not care how you do it. Don't test my patience. You know what I'm capable of.
I'll try, she replied. Better do more than try, I shot back.
I put my phone away and looked at Sam, who was waiting for me to say something. I
didn't feel any gratitude toward her. My mind was busy thinking of ways to get rid of
her. My uncle just needs to get the company, then both she and her father are gone. Just a matter of time. Once they sign the deal, it's over for them. I smiled at her, and
she smiled back. Andrew's POV
"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" the guys asked. "Nope," I replied, trying to sound casual. "I don't feel like going out tonight." They shrugged. "Suit yourself," Mason said as they left. Truth was, I wanted some alone time with Henry. I checked the clock—he should be
back soon. Speak of the devil and he appears. No—scratch that. Not the devil, my
prince. The door opened. "Welcome," I said, a bit too enthusiastically. I quickly tried to tone
it down. He looked surprised to see me alone. "Where are the others?"
"They went out," I said coolly. "Oh, okay. How was your day?"
"Fine," I answered, a little too quickly. He gave me a look but didn't press. "So what's up?"
"Nothing," I said, cursing myself internally for sounding so awkward. Calm down, you
fool. Don't ruin it. "I'm going to freshen up. I'm tired and sweaty."
"Okay," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. I ran my hands through my hair and
paced the room a bit before I made up my mind. I found myself standing close to the
bathroom door, heart pounding. I knocked, then opened it. Henry's POV
I was showering, foam clouding my eyes, when I heard the door open. My heart
skipped. I hadn't locked it. "Who's there?" I called, blinking through the suds, trying to see. A gentle hand pressed to my lips and a familiar voice whispered, "Shh, calm down.
It's me."
"Andrew?" I asked. "Yeah, it's me."
"What are you doing here?" I asked, incredulous. He hesitated. "I don't know. I was going crazy out there. I just followed my instinct
and came in."
"You are unbelievable," I managed to say, just before he seized my lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Every ounce of air left my lungs. My heart fluttered like it had wings. He finally pulled away, and I instinctively reached for his lips again. He stopped me
with a hand on my chest. "Breathe, you dummy," he chuckled softly.
I realized I'd been holding my breath. The water washed the soap out of my hair, and
I could finally see him. He was staring at me, hands sliding down, and then I realized
his hand was wrapped around my cock, gently stroking. The water made everything
even more slippery. My chest rose with every breath. "You've gotten bigger," he whispered, voice husky, "more than I remember."
I froze. "More than you remember? Remember what?" He just smiled, shaking his head, and kissed me again—slow, deep, possessive. That's when it hit me: he kept saying remember. I pulled away, confused, and stared
at him. "You keep saying remember. Remember what?" I asked, holding his gaze.
He looked away, jaw tight. "Still playing hard to get, huh."
"I'm not," I replied, shaking my head. "Am I supposed to remember you?" I searched
his face for any clue. He met my gaze, eyes shadowed. "Are you sure you don't remember? Not even a
little?"
I shook my head. "Why would I lie?" He let go of me and left the bathroom abruptly, grabbing a towel. Stunned, I
followed him out, wrapping myself up, heart pounding.
I found him pacing in our common area. "What do you mean by what you were
saying in there?" I pressed. "You really don't remember me?" he asked, pain clear in his voice. "Yeah," I said honestly. He stared back. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Why would I lie?" The flashbacks from my dreams came back. Could it be that
those weren't just dreams, but something else?
He suddenly looked even more stricken. "Are you that mad at me for what I did, that
you'd punish me by not acknowledging me?"
"I don't understand," I said, my voice small. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, voice trembling. "I've spent every day punishing myself
for the way I behaved that morning. I haven't been able to forgive myself since then.
I've spent every day planning how to apologize to you."
"Wait," I said, cutting him off. "I don't understand you—what do you mean?" He stared at me, voice breaking. "You really don't remember."
"Yes!" I exclaimed. "I lost my memories years ago. During an accident." His eyes went wide. "Was it during the bear attack back then?" The words rang in my ears—bear attack. How could he know I was attacked by a
bear?
I stepped back, suddenly cold. "Who are you?" I asked quietly, moving away, heart
pounding.