“I don’t agree!”
“You’re home, right? I’m coming over. We’re talking in person!”
If she came honestly, there might still be hope.
But she returned with Jason again, and her face was storm-dark with rage.
“Did you call Seattle PD on Jason?!”
I glanced at him—still taunting me from behind her—and replied evenly:
“He caused Linda’s death. Involuntary manslaughter deserves consequences.”
Claire shook with anger.
“Ethan!”
“You cursed my mom again and again! You publicly announced she died!”
“I let it go twice. But the third time? I won’t!”
“Delete the post and apologize—or I’ll call the police on YOU!”
I laughed. Harsh and broken.
The killer stood right there.
Yet I was the criminal in her eyes.
From the beginning, Jason’s existence was always justified as “repaying a favor.”
I should’ve realized earlier: this isn’t gratitude—it’s love. Twisted, blind love.
I warned her—one last time:
“Claire… Linda came home. She told me Jason’s a fraud.”
“He gambles. Every dollar he ever had went to that. He never saved her.”
Claire turned toward Jason—uncertain.
Jason instantly fell to his knees again:
“Ethan… I admit I love Claire. I did stupid things because of it.”
“But I’m not a bad person!”
I drove the knife:
“If Linda’s alive, that means I filed a false report.”
“But look at him—why’s he terrified every second I speak?”
Jason’s smirk cracked.
Fear flickered.
Claire noticed.
But he recovered fast, voice trembling perfectly:
“I’m broke, okay? I never studied abroad—I borrowed the money.”
“Debt collectors chased me. I was desperate… that’s why I hid it…”
Claire covered her mouth—moved, not suspicious.
“Jason… you should’ve told me. How much do you owe? I’ll pay!”
Then she turned on me—eyes filled with revulsion:
“Satisfied now? You forced Jason to confess just to shame him?”
“You want to break up? Fine.”
“Think carefully. Kneel and apologize to him tomorrow—or we’re done.”
—
Late tonight, while I packed to leave…
My phone buzzed—a picture.
Claire. Naked. In a hotel bed.
No need to guess who was behind the camera.
Pain ripped through me.
Seven years together—yet we never crossed that final line.
Because she once told me:
“My first time belongs to the one I love most.”
So I never pushed.
But she gave herself to Jason.
Before my heartbreak could settle, a new message came:
“Help me, Ethan—Jason’s trying to force himself on me…”
My brain went white.
Blood roaring, I bolted out the door—racing to the Downtown Seattle Riverside Hotel.
I kicked the door open—
And found Jason grinning.
Flanked by several muscle-bound men.
A trap.
And I walked straight into it.
