Chapter 6: Chaos Knocks Again

I never saw him again—until my wedding day.

I thought I’d buried that chapter, but life always circles back when you least expect it.

After marrying Ethan, life was peaceful. He was busy with work, so our honeymoon was pushed to next month.

We settled into a rhythm—quiet dinners, lazy Sundays, the comfort of routines. The peace was almost startling. I needed it.

I worried about Marcus. He was obsessive, always wanting what he couldn’t have or had already lost. He once called me in the middle of the night just to ask what I was doing—like he couldn’t stand not being at the center of my world.

I knew him too well. The moment he saw me happy, he’d want to ruin it, just to prove he still could.

In his world, nothing was ever lost—only discarded.

Losing was for other people. Marcus always found a way to rewrite the rules.

I didn’t know if, in his mind, I counted as something he’d lost or something he couldn’t have.

Either way, I was on his mind again, and that was dangerous. My skin prickled at the thought.

That day on the side hallway, when he said he’d gone back to look for me, I didn’t know what he meant.

Part of me wanted to believe he’d missed me, that there was something real left between us. But I knew better. I wasn’t going to fall for that again.

I just hoped he’d stay far away.

I wanted peace, and Marcus was chaos incarnate.

But things stayed peaceful—until a week after the wedding.

I should have known it wouldn’t last. Marcus never let things lie for long.

Ethan had told me ahead of time he’d be out drinking that night.

He texted before heading out, promising not to stay late. I trusted him—he was always considerate, never reckless.

When he came home, he was drunk. The one who brought him back was Marcus.

The sight of them together at the door was surreal—Ethan, flushed and unsteady, and Marcus, cool as ever, supporting him with a steady hand. The air felt thick, my stomach twisted.

Marcus supported Ethan, standing at the door, polite and composed as always. He smiled—still handsome, but his eyes were dark and unreadable. “Ethan had too much to drink. I brought him home.”

His voice was pleasant, but there was an edge to it, a challenge just under the surface. I felt a knot in my stomach tighten.

I stayed silent, but the hairs on my arms stood up.

Every instinct screamed this wasn’t a coincidence. Marcus never did anything by accident.

If it weren’t intentional, Ethan would never have gotten this drunk.

Ethan was careful, always in control. Tonight felt off, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that Marcus had set the whole thing up.

Ethan, clueless, was barely conscious. Even then, he thanked Marcus. “Thank you, Mr. Whitlow. Sorry for the trouble. Would you like to come in for a bit?”

His words slurred, but polite. He was trying so hard to be a good host, even as he fought to keep his eyes open.

It was just a polite offer. Marcus paused, and under my hostile glare, nodded. “Sure.”

He stepped inside, his gaze flickering over our home, taking everything in. I felt exposed, like he was searching for cracks in our happiness.

I did my best to ignore him. I took Ethan from his arms. Then I turned away once he was in.

I focused on Ethan, guiding him to the couch. My hands shook, but I kept my voice calm, refusing to let Marcus see me rattled.

I didn’t close the door.

Part of me wanted to slam it in his face, but I left it open—no way was I letting him see me flustered.

When I came out of the kitchen with hangover soup, Marcus and Ethan were sitting side by side on the sofa.

The sight was jarring—my past and present in one frame, the air thick with unspoken tension. I felt like I was watching someone else’s life for a second.

Ethan was quiet when drunk, passed out on the couch. Marcus sat there, taking in our home.

He looked perfectly at ease, as if he belonged. It made my skin crawl.

I ignored him.

I set the soup on the coffee table, focusing on Ethan, willing Marcus to disappear.

I went over to Ethan and gently woke him. “Ethan, wake up. Drink some soup before you sleep or you’ll feel awful.”

My voice was soft, coaxing. I smoothed his hair back, trying to shield him from the storm brewing in the room.

He woke up a little, drank the soup with my help, and fell back asleep.

His breathing slowed, his hand slipping from mine. I tucked the blanket around him, my heart aching for the peace we’d built together.

I covered him with a blanket, then turned to Marcus and, keeping my distance, apologized, "Mr. Whitlow, sorry about my husband—he’s drunk. We won’t keep you."

My words were formal, a wall I hoped he wouldn’t try to climb. I wanted him out—now.

He kept looking at me, then at Ethan, then back at me. His expression was impossible to read. After a while, he said, “I’ve been drinking too.”

His tone was almost petulant, like a child left out of a game. Seriously?

I didn’t get it. “What?”

The question came out sharper than I meant, my patience wearing thin. My jaw clenched.

His eyes were dark. "I’ve been drinking too. Do I get any hangover soup?"

The absurdity of it almost made me laugh. I bit back a reply, refusing to play along.

I didn’t know how to react to such an absurd situation. I kept up the polite act, pointing to the door as I gently tried to send him off. “Mr. Whitlow, I only made one bowl.”

My voice was sweet, but my eyes were ice. I wanted him gone. Now.

He smiled, not offended, his face a mix of nostalgia and confusion. I caught a flicker of something—regret? “Two people just quietly being together is so warm. Autumn, how did I ever get bored of that?”

His words were soft, almost wistful. For a second, I saw a glimmer of the man I’d once loved. But I wasn’t falling for it.

“All these years, drifting from one woman to another, but it’s all so pointless. Autumn, I’m tired of this life.”

He sounded lost, but I knew better. Marcus was always searching, always restless. I wasn’t going to be his next distraction.

I took a step back, literally shivering at his words. My skin prickled with unease.

From what I knew of Marcus, he’d tried drifting among women, and he’d tried dating someone seriously. Now, seeing the everyday life between Ethan and me, he seemed interested again.

It was like he wanted to collect every experience, never content with what he had.

He didn’t care about my obvious rejection. He just stood up. He was tall, and when he leaned in, he exuded a confidence that said he’d always get what he wanted.

He loomed over me, filling the room with his presence. I stood my ground.

He smiled smoothly. “Autumn, when we broke up, you said you didn’t want anything, just me. Well, I’m right here now. If you want me, you can have me anytime.”

His arrogance was unreal. My fists clenched, and for a second, I actually wanted to slap him.

It took everything I had not to curse him out. I stared him down—maybe for the first time, not hiding the disgust in my eyes. “You’re not just crazy—you make me sick.”

My words were low, deadly calm. Inside, I thought: You don’t get to hurt me anymore.

He didn’t care, just said, “Wait for me,” then smiled and left.

The door clicked shut behind him. I exhaled, feeling the weight of his words settle over me.

Marcus really was crazy.

I sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the wall, trying to steady my breathing. A part of me wanted to scream; mostly, I just felt tired.

He transferred Ethan. To Zurich.

The news came out of nowhere—a sudden reassignment, no warning. I knew immediately who was behind it.

Our honeymoon never happened. Ethan looked apologetic. “Autumn, I’m sorry. The big boss suddenly sent me to Switzerland for work. I’ll be gone about two weeks.”

He held my hand, thumb tracing circles over my skin. I could see the regret in his eyes, the frustration at being pulled away just when we’d started our life together.

I smiled and told him it was fine.

I squeezed his hand, assuring him I’d be okay. I didn’t want him to worry, even as my own anxiety gnawed at me. I lied a little, but it was worth it.