Page 37 of Held-
Ethan’s voice cuts through the moment, sharp enough to freeze me in place. My entire body tightens as I turn slowly, my cup of hot chocolate suddenly heavy in my grasp. Brittany, his secretary, hovers at his side, her lips tilted in a practiced expression she must think passes for sympathy, though it lands closer to smugness.
His gaze flicks between Brayden and me, narrowing slightly when it lands on the Heaven’s Rejects patch. “I see you’ve…moved on.” The way he says it makes it sound like I’ve taken up with a serial killer. Though now that I think about it—nope. Not going there.
“Is there something you need?” I ask, deliberately ignoring his comment.
Brittany leans into him, her hand possessively clutching his arm. “We just wanted to say hello. Be friendly.”
“Friendly,” I repeat, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “That's certainly a new approach for you two.”
Ethan’s polished smile falters for just a second. “No need to be nasty, Cece. It’s Christmas, after all.”
I feel Brayden shift beside me, his body angling slightly forward as if preparing to step between us. His presence feels solid at my back, steadying in a way I hadn’t expected.
“Yeah, itisChristmas, which is why I’m trying to enjoy the festival. If you’ll excuse us, I have better places to be.”
Ethan’s jaw tightens, and I can practically hear his veneers grinding. “I see that time apart hasn’t fixed your attitude problem.”
“Attitude problem?” I fire back. “My attitude wasn’t the issue in our marriage, Ethan. Your inability to stay faithful was the issue. See exhibit A—” I gesture toward Brittany. “Or is she closer to Z by now? Have we moved on to numbers yet?”
Brittany gasps, her immaculately manicured hand flying to her mouth. The sound is so theatrical, I half expect a director to jump out from behind the Christmas tree and yellcut.
Ethan’s face darkens, his carefully cultivated public image cracking right in front of me. “You know what? I felt bad for you. Thought maybe we could be civil. But clearly, you’re still the same bitter, ungrateful?—”
“Finish that sentence,” Brayden cuts in, “I dare you.”
The temperature seems to drop ten degrees as Brayden’s massive frame shifts between Ethan and me. I can only see his back, but the sudden rigidity in his shoulders speaks volumes.
Ethan falters, the bravado draining from his face as he takes in Brayden’s full height and build. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“See, that's where you're wrong,” Brayden says, his tone conversational but with an undercurrent that raises the hair on my arms. “It became my concern the moment you opened your mouth.”
People around us have gone quiet, the festive chatter dying as they tune in to the drama unfolding. From the corner of myeye, I can see Mrs. Henderson frantically waving to someone—probably my father.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Ethan hisses, trying to claw back some authority but ending up angrier lapdog than actual threat.
“Do I look concerned?” Brayden’s voice drops to a deeper, harder register, and I see Ethan swallow.
“You should. My father?—”
“Isn't here,” Brayden finishes for him. “It's just you. And from where I'm standing, you're nothing but a spoiled little boy in daddy's expensive coat.”
I step up beside Brayden, feeling strangely empowered by his presence. “It's not worth it,” I tell him, though part of me would love nothing more than to see Ethan taken down a peg.
Brayden's eyes never leave Ethan's face, but I feel his body shift slightly closer to mine. “Your call, princess.”
The nickname makes Ethan's face flush an ugly shade of red. “Princess? Is that what you're calling her? That's rich. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. She's high maintenance, frigid, and?—”
Brayden moves so fast I barely register it happening. One second he's beside me, the next he has Ethan by the collar of his expensive coat, lifting him slightly so he's on his tiptoes. Brittany shrieks and jumps back, her hot chocolate splashing onto the pavement.
Brayden growls, his face inches from Ethan's. “I told you to stop talking.”
The crowd around us has gone completely silent, the Christmas music suddenly feeling jarring against the tension crackling in the air. I can see my father pushing his way through the crowd, his face a storm of concern and fury.
“Let him go,” I say quietly, placing my hand on Brayden's arm. His muscles are rigid under my touch, coiled with restrained violence.
For a moment, I think Brayden won’t listen. His grip tightens on Ethan’s collar, and I catch the flicker of real fear crossing my ex-husband’s face. Then, with visible effort, Brayden releases him, shoving him back so hard Ethan stumbles into Brittany.
“You're fucking crazy,” Ethan gasps, straightening his coat with shaking hands. “Both of you.”