Chapter 5 Reckoning 1

It was 2'o clock in the afternoon Ethan was at a florist shop trying to get flowers for Victoria to make up for last night as Bo explained to him that he was being a jerk.

This morning Bo yelling at Ethan for treating Victoria badly....

Bo's shoes hit the marble floor like a warning as he stalked into Ethan's study, his shoulders squared with a fury Ethan had only seen once before, the day Bo almost knocked out a paparazzi who called his daughter a slur.

Ethan looked up from behind his desk, half-annoyed, half-amused, a glass of scotch lazily twirling in his fingers. "If this is about Victoria, I don't want to hear it-"

"Too bad," Bo growled, slamming the door shut so hard the walls trembled. "Because you're going to."

Ethan scoffed and stood, already irritated. "I don't need a lecture from my best friend about how to handle my mother or my staff." hoping Bo would leave him be.

"You didn't 'handle' anything," Bo said, voice like a low growl. "You stood there and let that venom-dripping woman shred Victoria in front of a room full of billionaires like she was entertainment. She insulted her dress, her work, her existence, and you! You- had the audacity to laugh." He was very agitated.

Ethan slammed the glass down. "She needs thicker skin! My mother was being harsh, not hostile. Victoria overreacted-she can't expect to be coddled in this world." He did not understand what the fuss was all about.

Bo was across the room in two strides, leaning over the desk, eyes burning into Ethan's. "That wasn't harsh. That was calculated humiliation. And you backed it. You called her a gold digger in front of me like she isn't in that mess of a book piecing together your broken legacy with grace." Bo yelled ready to throw hands now.

Ethan's jaw tensed. "You don't get it. I can't afford another scandal. She walks in like she owns the room, all charm and fire, and I'm the one they'll pin it on if something looks too cozy. I've seen it before.. same smile, same game." He calmly responded, he did not want to throw hands with his best friend.

Bo shoved the desk with both hands, rattling the whiskey glass and knocking over a stack of papers. "No. Don't you dare lump her in with your past mistakes. She's not some girl looking for a payout. She's working, Ethan. Working hard while being picked apart by your circus of a family and now you, acting like she's a threat for existing with intelligence and style." He angrily responds.

Ethan's face twisted, defensive, stepping around the desk to close the space. "Back off, Bo-"

"No," Bo snapped, chest brushing his as the tension reached a dangerous boiling point. "You think you're being clever, distancing yourself to protect your name? No, what you did last night was cowardice. A man protects the people who work for him, who show up and give a damn. You had the chance, and you chose to bury her instead." He says getting closer to throwing a punch.

Their faces were inches apart now, muscles tense, breathing heavy-Ethan's fists clenched at his sides, Bo's jaw locked, both on the edge. One wrong word and it could've turned into more than just yelling.

But Bo stepped back first. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Buy her flowers. The kind that say, 'I'm sorry for being a spineless, privileged asshole while you got publicly humiliated.' And maybe, if you still want a story worth reading, become someone she doesn't have to survive to write about."

"All i am saying is treat her with the respect she deserves... she is not just a writer, she is more than that and you should stop bringing class into everything" Bo says as he pushes Ethan about to fight him.

"She is just another gold digger and the meaner i am to her, the less likely the chance of her falling in love with me" Ethan cockily responds as he hits Bo back.

"Do you even think? Not every girl that comes to your life wants to smash you or sees you as even attractive, you are being cruel to a girl that was employed to work for you just because of some stupid delusion you have in your head that she is going to fall in love with you, heck she might even despise you" Bo quickly addresses his misconduct already getting tired of him not going to therapy but making everyone around him suffer.

"I-" Ethan was about to defend his stance while Bo turned and walked out, leaving Ethan standing in the echo of his own failure.

'IN A FLOWER SHOP EARLY AFTERNOON'

The bell above the door jingled as Ethan Moore stepped into the boutique flower shop tucked between a yoga studio and a juice bar in the quiet part of the city, he knows of this place because he always came here with Bo to buy flowers for his daughter after her school recitals. The space smelled like springtime, fresh-cut blooms and dew. Ethan's hands were shoved into his coat pockets, shoulders hunched like a man preparing for war, or worse, humiliation, as he feared Victoria dissing him again.

A petite florist in her thirties with silver hoop earrings and dirt-streaked hands looked up from a vase she was arranging.

"Can I help you?" she asked with a bright, rehearsed smile.

"Yeah. I need flowers. A bouquet. A big one. Not like, funeral big, but like-'I deeply fucked up' big." He clumsily says while clearing his throat and walking to the counter.

The florist arched an eyebrow. "Girlfriend?"

He hesitated. "Coworker. Kind of. Not really. Writer. She's writing my biography."

"And you want to bribe her into not hating you?" She responds laughing.

"Basically, yeah."

She nodded like this was not her first redemption bouquet. "What's her favorite flower?"

"I checked her Instagram," Ethan said, pulling out his phone. "She posts flower photos all the time. Peonies. Pink ones. Like, obsessively." In his mind, he thanked Bo for giving him a tip that women talk or show what they like all the time, you just have to pay attention.

The florist laughed. "Ah, a peony girl. Romantic. Soft with a backbone. Good taste."

He leaned in slightly, suddenly serious. "It has to be perfect. Wrapped in gold paper, something elegant but not too much. No plastic. Maybe add some eucalyptus or those wispy things-what are they called-baby's breath?"

"I've got you," she said, already reaching for a basket. "And the note?"

Ethan hesitated again, then exhaled deeply. "Yeah. It should be cheesy. Like, teeth-grindingly cheesy. Something like.." He paused, then muttered, "Sorry for being the world's biggest asshole. Here's a distraction made of petals and regret."

The florist laughed. "Wow. That's a new one."

"I want her to laugh. Just a little. And maybe not slam the door in my face."

"Coming right up, Romeo."

Ethan gets the bouquet together, pays and goes to his car pondering on what exactly his dumb ass was going to say to get her to forgive him, he thought of calling Bo but he needed to this on his own.

Ethan sat in the driver's seat, bouquet beside him like an emotional support animal, inhaling the scent of apology as he stared up at Victoria's apartment building.

He rested his forehead against the steering wheel and muttered to himself:

"Okay. You can do this. You've stood on international stages, debated Pulitzer winners, survived the wrath of plenty obsessed women and multiple public scandals... this is just one woman. One terrifyingly brilliant woman who probably thinks you have the emotional maturity of a paper towel."

He sat up, gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline. "You are not going to stutter. You are not going to joke your way out of this. You are going to look her in the eyes and say you were wrong. You're going to mean it. And if she throws these flowers back in your face, you'll take the hit. Because she deserves to throw something."

He glanced at the note sticking out of the bouquet. Gold-foiled. Handwritten.

"Sorry for being the world's biggest asshole. Here's a distraction made of petals and regret. – E"

He sighed. "Too much? Not enough? God, you really are a mess."

Grabbing the bouquet, he got out of the car and headed toward the building. Heart pounding. Hands sweating. Every step was heavy with dread and hope and a desperate desire to fix what he broke.

Because this wasn't just about a book anymore. It was about respect. Redemption. And someone who made the world feel more real than anyone else.

The knock came around 3'o clock, soft but persistent, like someone unsure if they deserved to be there. Victoria considered ignoring it as she was still in her hoodie, glasses sliding down her nose, a knot in her stomach from everything that had gone down. But curiosity tugged harder. When she opened the door, Ethan stood there, almost apologetically tall, dressed down for once in a grey sweatshirt and jeans. In his hands was a massive bouquet of peonies, soft pinks and creamy whites wrapped in elegant gold paper, tied with a velvet red ribbon. Her breath caught before she could stop it.

"Hi," he said, voice tentative. "I come in peace. And with florals." He hoped she wouldn't slam the door on her face.

Victoria stared. "You bribing me with flowers now?" She spat out irritated ready to slam the door on his fake sorry ass face, this was probably to fuel his already burj khalifa level high fucked up ego, she silently thought irritatedly.

Ethan winced. "Not bribing. More like... desperate peace offering. Apology starter kit. Please just take them before I drop them. My arms are actually shaking." He knew he fucked up and there was no going back.

She opened the door wider but didn't smile. "Come in. And don't annoy me this time." she said that just to satisfy her own ego.

He gave a short, nervous laugh and stepped inside. The apartment smelled like coconut lotion and vanilla candles, and the quiet hum of a paused episode of Game of Thrones played from her laptop on the coffee table. She placed the flowers down gently, like they were too pretty to touch.

Her laptop was still open on the table, paused mid-episode of Game of Thrones.

"You should watch season four," Ethan murmured. "Red Wedding. Brutal."

"Fitting for someone who's been professionally betrayed," she shot back without missing a beat. He chuckled softly, but his eyes stayed serious.

She sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop forgotten now. The flowers lay beside her as Ethan's eyes scanned the room, landing on the wall behind her couch. Photos tacked up, Polaroids and prints: street food in Thailand, a camel ride in Morocco, a blurry disco-lit club in Berlin, a beach sunset in Lagos. She followed his gaze and shrugged. "Places I've been. Little memories I cling to when Lagos traffic makes me question my life choices."

"You travel a lot?" he asked, stepping closer to the collage. There was a softness in his voice now, sincere curiosity replacing his usual arrogance.

"Whenever I can, mostly in my early 20s with my best friend and usually boyfriends at that time," she said. "It's my version of therapy. People watching. Getting lost. Finding weird street snacks. It reminds me how small I am, but in a good way." She felt herself slowly warming to this dickhead.

He nodded, still taking it all in. "You've been to Miami?". More comfortable now as it felt as if she had forgiven him a bit and it put his mind at ease.

Her eyes lit up for a brief moment. "Oh, yeah. Got way too drunk at a rooftop bar and thought I was a backup dancer for Drake. I ended up on someone's Snapchat story dancing with a traffic cone." She refrained from telling him the story of how she greened out so bad once and got beat up.

Ethan laughed. "I love Miami. God, I once did a tequila-fueled karaoke night and convinced a room full of strangers I was an Irish pop star. I miss that kind of chaos. Everything's so stiff here." He truthfully answered as he sometimes got tired of being serious.

She smiled before catching herself. "Don't distract me with nostalgia. You're here to apologize. You should get on with it." She rudely replied keeping him on his toes unsure of whether she wanted to forgive him or not.

He sobered quickly and sat on the far edge of the couch, careful not to invade her space. "You're right. Okay. Look, I know you probably think I'm some spoiled rich kid with a savior complex and zero emotional range" He responded trying to find an edge.

She raised a finger. "Add 'rude.'" She was enjoying this a bit too much.

"-and rude," he agreed, nodding. "But I'm trying. I know I failed you. I failed as a boss, a subject, and a human being. My mom disrespected you, and I let it happen. Worse, I joined in. Not because I believed her, but because I was too damn scared to challenge her. I was scared of the press, scared of the optics, scared of another woman in my life being turned into tabloid fuel. So I tried to distance myself. But in doing that, I disrespected you." He replied honestly.

Victoria's jaw clenched, but she didn't look away.

"You're not just writing a biography," Ethan continued, voice low and raw. "You're building something that matters to you. And I walked in like it was just another PR stunt. But this isn't just a paycheck to you, is it?"

She exhaled slowly and shook her head. "No. It's not."

He leaned forward. "Tell me why. Please."

Victoria bit the inside of her cheek, then finally spoke, her voice quiet but full of emotion. "Because I've written for everyone else my entire life. Blog ghostwriting, ad copy, corporate bios. Nothing with my name on it. This job was supposed to be different. The first time I'd get to be seen. I was excited. Nervous, but excited. Then I met you and you were cold and smug.

She looked away, blinking hard.

"You deserve better than that," he continued. "Better than me, probably. But I'm trying. I'm trying to be better. Because when I think about who I want to be remembered as, it's not the guy who shrinks in front of his mother while the most talented woman he's ever worked with gets crucified."

She turned to him slowly. "You're good with words when you aren't being a coward." She gave a genuine smile.

He gave a hollow smile. "Ironic, right? That I needed you to remind me how to use them properly." He surprised himself with that one.

"You've traveled a lot, so much," he said, quietly. In an attempt to change the topic.

He looked at the Portugal photo on her table. She looked high in it, but happy. Free.

"You should write about that," he said. "The kind of stories that aren't headlines. Just... life. Your life." He suggested.

She smiled faintly. "That's why I write. Always have. Since I was ten. It's the only thing that's ever felt like mine. My way of making sense of things. This job.." she paused, looking at the bouquet beside her. "It was supposed to be my first real byline. My name. My work. My voice. Not ghostwriting some rich man's drama. I was excited, Ethan. Until I realized the subject of my story was a narcissistic, emotionally stunted dick with mommy issues." She angrily replied again.

He laughed, hands up in surrender. "I earned that."

"Damn right." She said and smugged.

Victoria finally accepted Ethan's apology, her fingers brushing the petals of the flowers he brought her favorites, she was surprised how he knew that

"Fine," she said with a smirk, "apology accepted. But only because these are pretty. Don't get cocky."

Ethan, never one to miss an opportunity, grinned. "Too late."

Victoria rolled her eyes, turning to move the bouquet to her table when her elbow knocked into her laptop. The screen blinked awake, and up popped the last thing either of them expected the infamous tab of Ethan's leaked nudes from that scandalous photoshoot-gone-wrong. For a second, the room went dead silent. Then Ethan burst into laughter, clutching his chest.

"Wow. Just when I thought you forgave me, you pull that up for fun?" He sneakily responds surprised she was interested in his nudity too.

Victoria's face turned pink as she slammed the laptop shut. "It was for research!" she squeaked. "I write for you, remember? I had to see what the internet was saying!" which was honestly the truth but why would he believe that.

Ethan wiggled his brows, clearly enjoying her mortification. "So you're saying my best angles inspire your best paragraphs?" He said as he warmed up to her and opened the laptop to tease her more.

"Research. I assume the angle labeled 'mysterious, yet vulnerable' really spoke to you artistically?"He teased.

"I hate you." She was hiding behind the flowers now, face buried somewhere between mortification and floral escape.

"But love my nudes" he grinned, she was not so bad.

She groaned into the bouquet. "I was reading the comments, okay?! People are so... descriptive."

"Mm-hmm. Let me guess, 'Ethan Moore's back muscles could solve world hunger'?" He replied laughing the most he has in a while.

"Stop talking." Victoria viscously responded, okay he was dragging it now.

"'His hips are the reason I believe in art'?" He teased laughing even more.

She laughed despite herself, shoving him gently. "You're the worst."

"And yet, somehow, still your muse." He winked. Was this part of the plan? He thought to himself he felt himself loosing the plot.

She groaned and hid her face behind the flowers. "You know what? Apology not accepted. Get out." He only laughed harder, and despite her embarrassment she couldn't stop laughing either

They shared a long pause that wasn't awkward, just weighted, charged with all the things they weren't saying but maybe could.

Then, gently, he asked, "Would you come with me? Not as damage control. Not as an employee. As... you. I want you in every city I go to, every meeting. I want to walk through Barcelona with you. Sip coffee with you in Kyoto. Write and drink and fight in the middle of Rome if that's what it takes. Just come. Come with me. Help me make the kind of story you want to tell." He flimsy suggests.

Victoria didn't answer right away. But she looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, she didn't see an ego in a suit. She saw the cracks. The honesty. The man beneath the scandals.

"I'll think about it," she said finally.

But before either of them could say more, the door flew open.

Andy and Gray stormed in like a hurricane. Gray's eyes narrowed the second he saw Ethan. "What the hell is this?"

"Gray, it's fine-" Victoria solemnly responds expecting it to die there.

Andy pushed forward. "Is he seriously here? You're hanging out with him now? Hit him, Gray."

"What?!" Ethan stood. "Jesus, I brought flowers!" He replied defensively.

But Gray wasn't listening. He launched a punch before Victoria could speak. His fist cracked against Ethan's nose with a sickening crunch, sending Ethan reeling back against the wall, blood gushing down his face.

Ethan, dazed and furious, retaliated. His own punch landed squarely on Gray's jaw with a sharp, echoing snap. Gray stumbled back, groaning as he collapsed onto the couch, holding his face in agony.

"STOP!" Victoria screamed. "STOP IT, BOTH OF YOU!"

But Ethan had already turned toward the door, one hand cupping his bleeding nose, the other shaking as he reached for the handle.

"I came here to make things right," he spat, voice raw. "Guess I should've brought armor instead."

And with that, he was gone- limping down the driveway, blood trailing on his way to his car, flowers still sitting quietly on her table.