“Which is exactly why we need to show that you’ve moved on to better things,” Sebastian said. “The world needs to see that you’re out living your best life while Maya and Jordan are posting insufferable couples yoga photos from Bali for their ridiculous wellness startup.”
Ethan winced. “Did you have to mention both of them?”
“Yes,” Sebastian said firmly. “Because everyone knows co-founder couples who run ‘transformative wellness experiences’ have a shelf life shorter than unpasteurized kombucha. You’re clearly better off.”
“That’s oddly specific,” Ethan said, but there was the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
Sebastian checked his watch. “Fifty-six minutes. I’ll have a car waiting.”
Two hours later, they were wandering through the new interactive light installation, surrounded by the city’s art crowd and precisely the right number of celebrities to make the event buzzworthy without being obvious.
Sebastian watched as Ethan actually laughed at something the gallery director said. The tension in his shoulders had eased, and he was gesturing animatedly, that familiar spark of enthusiasm returning.
“This is actually amazing,” he admitted later. “There’s a room back there where the lights respond to your heartbeat. And I just met someone who is working on some new encryption tech that might be interesting.”
Sebastian grinned. “See? Told you. Ready for the next stop? Luca’s opening his rooftop bar for a private thing.”
“I guess I really did need to get out,” Ethan said, but he was smiling now—a real smile, not the tight grimace he’d been wearing for days.
Sebastian clapped him on the shoulder. “See? Now, let me take one proper photo for your Instagram. Something that screams ‘thriving’ not ‘therapy-bound.’”
Ethan rolled his eyes but posed against the light installation. “You know, most people’s friends just tell them to get drunk and rebound.”
“Most people’s exes don’t run off to Bali with their co-founder,” Sebastian replied, adjusting the angle. “This situation requires a more sophisticated response than drunk texting.”
Ethan groaned. “I hate when you’re right.”
“I know.” Sebastian steered him toward the exit. “Now, let’s go be seen at the place everyone wants to be, while my father’s minions continue to believe I’m nothing but a frivolous party boy.”
“The perfect cover,” Ethan said with newfound determination.
“Exactly.” Sebastian flagged down their waiting car. “Beautiful distractions—they never see the knife until it’s too late.”
* * *
Luca’s new place was exactly what Sebastian had promised—exclusive without trying, the kind of venue that didn’t need to advertise because the right people already knew. The rooftop bar floated above the city like a secret, all glass walls and subtle lighting that made everyone look airbrushed. The ceiling installation—thousands of suspended crystal prisms that caught and refracted the light—created the illusion of standing beneath an otherworldly sky.
“I’m going to find Luca,” Sebastian said, scanning the crowd of beautiful people nursing even more beautiful cocktails. “Get a drink. Try not to look too emotionally damaged.”
Ethan rolled his eyes but made his way to the bar. He was ordering when he felt it—that prickle along his spine that meant someone was watching him. Not the casual glances he’d gotten used to as Sebastian’s friend or as a moderately successful tech founder, but the kind of focused attention that made the air feel different.
He turned, drink in hand, and that’s when he saw her.
Jules Durand-Rossi stood near the edge of the terrace, drink in hand, lips curved in a knowing smirk. Dressed in a gold silk, she looked like a woman who had never once regretted setting something on fire—socially or otherwise.
He recognized her before she moved. But it wasn’t until she began walking toward him, unhurried and certain, that he remembered exactly where they’d met.
Capri. Two summers ago. Sebastian’s birthday. A chessboard by the pool, a bottle of limoncello, a challenge that had started friendly and turned quietly vicious in ten moves.
And back then… Maya had been beside him. Laughing. Pressing a hand to his chest every time Jules made a comment that hovered anywhere near flirty. He remembered how clearly Jules had clocked everything and then graciously stepped away.
Now she was stepping forward.
And he wasn’t entirely sure how to react.
“Ethan Klein,” she said as she reached him, her voice warm. “You’ve recovered nicely.”
He managed a smirk. “You’re assuming I recovered.”