Page 65 of His Orders

“Can I ask you something?” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “And I need you to be honest.”

She glances over at me, her eyes soft. “Anything.”

“Ethan. Why does this hurt him so much? I know I lied. I know that’s on me. But it feels like… like this wound goes deeper. Like I touched something I didn’t even know was there.”

Blair doesn’t answer at first. Her fingers trace the edge of the blanket, as if weighing how much she should say, and I can see the moment she decides to stop protecting both of us.

“Because he’s been here before,” she says quietly. “Years ago. There was someone. A woman he loved more than anything. They were supposed to get engaged. I think he even had the ring. She cheated on him a month before he was going to ask her.”

The words settle slowly, like ash.

I sit very still.

Blair sighs, rubbing her hands together like she’s trying to warm away old ghosts. “She lied to him for months, Ivy. She made him believe they had a future, made him believe he was the only one. And when it came out… he shut down. He left town for a year. Just packed up and disappeared. Nobody knew where he was until he came back and started working again like nothing happened. But he’s never been the same. He keeps people at a distance now. Even Drew. Especially women.”

I press my hand to my chest. It physically hurts to breathe.

“And then I did this,” I whisper. “I did the one thing he’s never been able to forgive.”

There’s no reply to this, so Blair just reaches for my hand and squeezes it, silent in the way only someone who truly loves you can be.

After she leaves, I sit in the dark for a long time, the only light coming from the small Christmas tree in the corner that I decorated half-heartedly the day I moved in. It flickers in soft colors, the reds and greens and golds pulsing gently like the heartbeat of a life I can no longer reach.

The hours stretch, long and empty. I try not to watch the clock. I try not to pick up my phone and check for messages that aren’t there. I try not to imagine Ethan alone in his apartment, staring at the same four walls.

But I do all of it.

Every single time.

By the time night settles fully over the city, I am done waiting.

I put on my coat, grab my keys, and walk out into the cold. The wind bites hard across my cheeks, carrying the scents of chimney smoke and roasted nuts from the vendor on the corner, and the lights above the street sway gently as if the whole city is holding its breath. I walk quickly, heart pounding, my footsteps loud against the wet pavement. My breath fogs in front of me, but I barely notice.

His building is quiet when I arrive. There are wreaths on the doors, silver ribbons on the railings, and lights in the windows above. Everything festive and beautiful. Everything alive with a season that should be about hope and forgiveness and warmth.

I climb the stairs slowly, each one a prayer I can’t quite form.

By the time I reach his door, my hands are trembling.

I knock. Once. Then again, but there’s nothing.

In no mood to stop trying, I knock louder, the sound echoing down the hall.

Please.

The door opens.

He stands there, framed in warm light, wearing a black long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans, and the look on his face is unreadable. He doesn’t look angry or sad. It’s all a blank canvas.

My voice comes out broken. “I had to see you.”

He says nothing.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, stepping forward. “Ethan, I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I was scared. I didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on you. I didn’t think I could handle your leaving if you found out too soon. I didn’t know what I was doing. I still don’t.”

“You lied to me,” he says softly, the words like frost. “That’s what you did.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

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