Page 92 of Faking with Three

Ethan sighs heavily, standing and running a hand through his hair. “Let’s go,” he says.

Marcus nods, his expression unreadable as he follows Ethan out. I linger for a moment, staring at the doors where Jax disappeared.

He chose Adam. He did what any good father would do.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The courthouse doors swing open, and a wall of noise hits us. Reporters shove microphones in our faces, cameras flash, and questions are hurled at us like stones. I barely hear them.

“Olivia! Marcus! Ethan! Any comment on the judge’s decision?”

“Is this the end of Love Lab?”

“Does Jax leaving mean the polyamorous arrangement is over?”

When we finally make it to the car, Marcus opens the door for me, but I hesitate, glancing back toward the courthouse steps. Jax is still there, standing near Charlie and Adam? They brought the kid here? His shoulders are hunched slightly, his posture heavy. Charlie says something to him, but I can’t hear it.

“Liv,” Marcus says gently, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Let’s go.”

I slide into the car, Ethan already in the driver’s seat, staring out the windshield like he’s somewhere else entirely.

I turn to them. “Where do we go from here?”

CHAPTER 28

ETHAN

The studio feels emptierthan usual. It’s late, and the quiet hum of the equipment is the only sound filling the room. I sit at the desk, the glow of the monitor casting harsh shadows on the walls. My coffee sits untouched beside me, cold by now, but I don’t care. I’ve been staring at the screen for what feels like hours, scrolling through stats, comments, and everything in between.

Our latest episode is performing well, better than I expected. Even though we have postponed airing the segment we shot for our #QuadLife, our channel engagement and views are climbing steadily, the likes outweigh the dislikes, and the engagement is through the roof. On paper, it’s a success.

But it doesn’t feel like one.

The episode was necessary—we had to address Jax’s departure from the channel, his court case, the entire situation. Our audience deserved transparency, and it was the only way to control the narrative. But as I scroll through the comments, a sinking feeling settles in my chest.

“He made the right choice. That kid needs a stable home.”

“Charlie Green is the worst. How could she weaponize a child like that?”

“Charmaine abandoned her own son and now acts like a saint. Disgusting.”

“Charlie deserves everything coming to her. I hope she suffers.”

I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face. The comments keep coming, one after another, most of them echoing the same sentiment: hate for Charlie, disdain for Charmaine. This wasn’t what we wanted. We weren’t trying to make them the villains of the story. We just wanted to explain.

But did we?

I click over to the stats, the numbers blurring in front of me. The episode’s performance should feel like validation, proof that people are invested in what we’re doing. Instead, it feels like a punch to the gut. I can’t help but wonder if we went too far…

Doing this won’t bring my best friend back.

My phone buzzes on the desk, pulling me out of my thoughts. It’s Marcus, his name lighting up the screen. I let it ring. I can’t talk to him right now. Not about this. Not until I figure out what the hell to do next.

I glance back at the screen, the comment section still alive with opinions, arguments, and hate.

The door to the studio slams open with a force that makes me jump. I swivel in my chair, my heart pounding, to see Charlie Green standing in the doorway. Her face is flushed, her chest heaving like she ran here—or stormed here. Probably the latter.

“What the hell is this?” she snaps, striding into the room, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. She holds up her phone, the screen glaringly bright, but I don’t need to see it to know what she’s upset about.

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