Chapter 94

The setting sun cast long shadows as Sophia Lowell stepped out of the supermarket, grocery bags in hand. Each carefully selected ingredient matched Ethan Roscente's remembered preferences.

She hadn't cooked properly in ages. Since the divorce, meals had been haphazard affairs. But today, the apron came out of retirement.

When Ethan's car pulled up, the western sky burned crimson. He leaned against the door, smoking two cigarettes before heading inside.

The elevator numbers climbed. His pulse quickened. Fingers drummed the railing unconsciously. Even his breathing grew uneven without his notice.

The empty foyer greeted him. No shoes by the door.

"She didn't come." Loosening his tie, he stalked toward the living room.

Then—the clatter of a spatula.

Ethan whirled. Through frosted glass, he saw her.

Sophia turned with a dish, colliding with his gaze. Her grip tightened, nearly toppling the plate.

"You're back?" Her voice strained for calm.

His eyes traveled from her face to the table, then back. "Why are you here?" Deliberate provocation.

The plate met the table with a thud. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"This is how you beg favors?" His lids lowered. "More like a debt collector."

He circled the table, scrutinizing each dish. "Your skills have slipped."

Sophia snatched up a plate toward the trash. Ethan caught her wrist. "Who said you could throw out my food?"

"It's mine!"

"My pans. My stove. Now my trash too?" He reclaimed the dish. "A teacher wasting food? Shameful."

She inhaled sharply. "What will it take to leave Vivian alone?"

"Not now." He sat, expression glacial. "Push me, and your friend suffers more."

Sophia's fists clenched. The bastard was toying with her.