Chapter 3

A flash of memory: I was ten, huddled in a dark closet, terrified of the shadows, of the hushed, urgent voices of the adults after my father' s death. Olivia found me. She didn' t drag me out. She crawled in with me, her arms a shield. "It' s okay to be scared, Ethan. This little dark space? It' s your safe fort. Nothing can get you here." The irony wasn' t lost on me. Now I was seeking another chamber, a colder, more permanent one, for a different kind of safety.

"I' ll... I' ll change the project direction," I said quickly, desperate to appease her, to erase that look of disgust from her face. "Something less... morbid."

Marcus scoffed from beside her. "Good idea, Ethan. Stick to skyscrapers. All this talk of death and freezing yourself, it' s a bit much. Olivia has enough on her plate planning a wedding." He put his arm around her, pulling her closer, a clear gesture of ownership.

I nodded, my gaze fixed on the floor. I bent down and quickly gathered the brochures, my hands trembling slightly. I walked to the kitchen, made a show of stuffing them into the trash can. Anything to end this.

Later that night, after they' d gone to bed, I crept back to the kitchen. I retrieved the brochures, smoothing out the creases, my resolve hardening. They didn' t understand. They couldn' t.

I was heading to my room when I saw him. Marcus. Emerging from Olivia' s bedroom, his shirt unbuttoned, his hair disheveled. He paused when he saw me, a smirk playing on his lips. There was no mistaking the intimacy that had just occurred. The air crackled with it.

My chest tightened. Olivia and Marcus. It was real. Irrevocable. I tried to tell myself it was fine. She was an adult. She deserved happiness. He was her fiancé. It was normal. But the rationalizations felt hollow, brittle.

Marcus sauntered towards me, his eyes glinting with malice. "Can't sleep, Ethan? Thinking about Olivia?" He leaned closer, his voice a low taunt. "She' s incredible, you know. Passionate. Something you' ll never experience." He paused, then added, "You' re a strange kid, Ethan. Always lurking. Always so intense. It' s not healthy, that obsession you have with her. Kind of creepy, actually."

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "Leave me alone, Marcus."

He chuckled, a nasty, grating sound. "Or what? You going to cry to Olivia? Tell her I' m being mean? You know, your parents... that whole scandal. The suicide, the breakdown. It makes you wonder, doesn' t it? If maybe you' re genetically predisposed to making bad, dramatic choices. Maybe you're just... abnormal."

That was it. My parents. The one raw, unhealable wound. He' d prodded it with a dirty stick. A red mist descended. I didn' t think. I lunged, my fist connecting with his jaw. A satisfying, solid thud.

"What the hell is going on here?" Olivia' s voice, sharp and furious, cut through the air. She stood at the entrance to the hallway, her eyes wide, her face a mask of anger. Directed entirely at me.