Zoe froze in the hallway, Ethan's voice trailing after her like something sharp and condemned.
"Who's Mason?"
She didn't turn.
She just smiled.
That small, dangerous smile spread across her lips, the kind that felt like breathing in smoke and tasting freedom all at once.
"Don't worry about it," she said softly, clutching the sheet tighter around her chest as she turned and walked away.
Upstairs, Ethan sat in their bed, his chest heaving, hair sticking up in chaotic waves. His eyes flashed down the hallway, desperate, like he was trying to find answers hidden in the shadows.
"Zoe."
She didn't respond. She just slipped into her closet, her fingers shaking as she pulled on her black jeans and that soft cream sweater. Her skin still burned with the memory of him, his hands, his mouth, the heavy, aching truth of what they'd just done. And God, she hated that her body still ached even when her mind had already slammed the door.
"Zoe, talk to me," he said, voice cracked and rough. He stood, dragging on his boxers like the moment needed modesty now. "Who is he?"
She zipped her jeans without looking at him. "No one."
"That's bullshit." His voice cut through the room as he moved toward her, barefoot, water dripping from his hair, casting restless shadows across his brow. "You smiled when I asked about him."
She turned.
Slowly.
Her expression cool and sharp like steel just pulled from fire.
"That's because you're predictable, Ethan," she said. "I knew exactly how you'd respond."
His chest rose and fell hard, muscles tight, tension coiling up his neck like it was trying to choke the words he wasn't saying. "Is he your boyfriend?"
She raised a brow as she slipped in a gold hoop earring, something unreadable flickered across her lips, like a secret she kept locked away "Does it matter?"
"Zoe."
"Does it?" she snapped, her voice suddenly alive and cutting. "You didn't give a damn when I was your wife. "Don't you dare start acting territorial just because I finally walked away."
"You were never nothing to me," he said, his voice low and rough as he stepped closer, guilt dripping from every single word.
"Then what was I?" she whispered, her eyes glistening with a pain that threatened to spill over. "Some placeholder? A pretty little thing waiting for you to finally come home after impressing your investors?"
His jaw clenched.
"Exactly," she breathed.
He reached for her.
She stepped back.
"I've got a meeting," she said, snatching her purse from the chair.
"Cancel it."
She let out a dry laugh. "You don't get to make demands anymore."
"Zoe"
She spun around, her stare glowing with heat. "You don't get to ask about Mason. Or anything else. Not anymore."
And just like that, she walked out.
Left him standing there in boxers and regret.
Downstairs, her fingers fumbled with her boots.
Mason's message still lit up her screen, casting a faint glow in the dim room.
Hey, just checking in. Drinks tomorrow? Can't wait to see you.
She read it again.
Then again.
Her pulse didn't ask for permission to race.
She didn't know what Mason was to her yet.
But she knew exactly what Ethan wasn't anymore.
She stepped out into the morning, the cold air pinching her cheeks like tiny teeth. Rain fell in soft, persistent taps against the trees and pavement, each drop stinging her skin with quiet reminders of reality.
Halfway down the driveway
"Zoe!"
She stopped.
Then turned.
Ethan stood on the porch, barefoot, rain streaming down his body in thin, glittering drips.His eyes were bloodshot and broken, like he hadn't slept in days.
"Don't go," he choked out, his voice shaking, barely stitched together. "Please."
Her chest tightened so hard it hurt, her fingers trembling around the keys in her hand.
But her voice stayed even. Soft. Final.
"Too late," she said.
He blinked. "Is this war?"
She tilted her head, took in the man who used to be her world, who now looked like he was finally realizing he'd burned it all down.
"No," she whispered. "This is surrender."
Then she opened her car door.
And drove away.
Later That Afternoon
The office buzzed like any other day. Phones ringing. Fingers tapping. Marketing plans flying across whiteboards.
But Zoe.., Zoe felt different. Like something had rewired inside her overnight.
"Morning, boss," Tina sang out as she walked by, her energy buzzing like fresh coffee.
"Morning," Zoe answered, forcing a small smile onto her lips, hoping it looked real enough to pass.
Her phone buzzed. She didn't check.
She knew.
It was Ethan.
She threw herself into meetings, slid through decks, pitched ideas like armor. But every time her mind quieted… Ethan's voice came rushing back.
I still love you.
It played like a broken record she couldn't eject.
At lunch, her fork pushed around wilted lettuce.
Her phone lit up again.
This time, it wasn't him.
Mason King.
Change of plans. Meet me tonight instead of tomorrow. 7 pm. Rooftop bar. Don't say no.
She just stood there, staring at it, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to break free from her chest.
Mason never asked twice. He didn't beg. He just… expected.
She didn't want to go.
She wanted to go.
Her fingers typed back:
Fine.
7 PM – The Rooftop Bar
The city stretched out below her, glowing like shattered glass. As she stepped onto the rooftop, the wind caught her coat, pulling at it gently, like it was trying to keep her from leaving.
And there he was.
Mason.
He stood there leaning against the railing, his dark suit flawless, that familiar quiet storm gathering behind his eyes.
When she walked up, he turned toward her, his gaze sweeping over her face like he was searching for truths hidden just beneath her skin.
"Zoe."
"Mason."
He lifted his hand and let his fingers softly find her chin, tilting it up with a touch so careful it almost felt like an apology. "You look tired."
"You look rich," she shot back, dry as dust.
He smirked. "Both true."
She laughed, a soft one. But then, his gaze changed.
"Who is he?" Mason asked, voice low and calm, the kind that made her heart double-beat.
"Who?"
"Don't play dumb." His thumb brushed her bottom lip. "Your ex-husband."
She froze. "Why do you care?"
"Because I hate competition."
She scoffed. "There's no competition," she said, voice steady but quiet.
He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Exactly."
And then, without another word, he kissed her, slow and certain, like he already knew the answer.
It wasn't reckless. It wasn't wild.
Every part of it was deliberate.
His mouth moved against hers with purpose, like he'd memorized her every reaction and was finally allowed to use it. She gasped into the kiss, breath caught somewhere between surprise and surrender.
His hand tightened around her waist, possessive, hungry, like he'd been aching for this moment in silence.
A soft moan slipped from her lips before she could stop it.
Her fingers fisted his suit lapels.
When he finally pulled away, the entire world seemed to tilt, like gravity had shifted under her feet.
"Come home with me tonight," he murmured, his voice rich and smooth, his gaze locked on hers with an intensity that made her chest ache.
Her heart slammed.
"I…"
"Say yes," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. "Otherwise, I'll spend all night replaying every second, wishing I'd held on tighter."
Her pulse stumbled.
But then, her phone buzzed.
She checked it.
Her stomach dropped.
Ethan.
I'm outside. Don't go with him. Please, Zoe. Don't do this.
She looked up.
And there he was.
Outside the rooftop's glass walls.
Soaked again.
Shaking again.
Eyes locked on her like she was air, light, and salvation.
Mason turned slightly, followed her gaze. His jaw tensed when he saw him.
"Interesting," he said, voice cold.
Zoe's chest tightened.
Two men.
Two versions of herself.
One woman still bleeding from the past.
But tonight…
She had to choose.