Zara's POV
I'm going to throw up.
Not here. Not in the marble lobby of Manhattan's most expensive therapy office, where everything smells like lavender and costs more per hour than I make in a week. But my stomach is doing flips, my hands won't stop shaking, and Ethan keeps staring at me like he can see straight through my fake smile.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter, pacing near the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Why do they need us in their therapy session? We're not the ones getting married."
"Technically, you're planning their wedding and I'm protecting their assets," Ethan says from where he's sitting—perfectly calm, perfectly controlled, like we didn't run through Manhattan last night trying to save my entire career. "They want us to understand their relationship better."
"I understand relationships fine, thanks."
"Do you?"
I spin around. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." But his eyes say everything. They say he noticed how I fell apart last night. How I let him hold me while I cried. How I told him things I've never told anyone.
How I almost kissed him before my phone rang.
The elevator dings. Dante and Sienna step out, holding hands but looking exhausted. Like they've been fighting all night. Sienna's eyes are puffy. Dante looks guilty.
"Thanks for coming," Sienna says quietly. "I know this is weird, but Dr. Reeves thinks it'll help. She wants to understand the pressure we're under—the wedding planning, the legal stuff, all of it."
"Whatever you need," I say, forcing brightness into my voice. Professional Zara. Happy Zara. Not Falling-Apart Zara from last night.
Ethan stands. Our eyes meet for half a second. Something electric passes between us—the memory of his arms around me, his voice fierce and protective: You deserve someone in your corner.
Then the therapy office door opens, and we're ushered inside.
Dr. Reeves is younger than I expected—maybe forty, with kind eyes and a no-nonsense attitude. She gestures for us to sit in a circle: Dante and Sienna on the couch, Ethan and me in chairs across from them.
"Thank you both for joining us," Dr. Reeves says. "I've asked you here because wedding planning and legal preparation are significant stressors in any relationship. I want to understand how that's affecting Dante and Sienna."
Ethan pulls out a notebook. Actual paper and pen. Like he's taking notes for court.
I want to laugh. Or cry. I'm not sure which.
"Let's start with a simple question," Dr. Reeves continues, looking at Dante and Sienna. "What's your biggest fear about marriage?"
Dante speaks first. "Being betrayed by the person I trust most."
Sienna nods immediately. "Same. Exactly the same."
My breath stops.
The room tilts.
Because those are my words. My fear. The thing I haven't said out loud since Marcus destroyed me three years ago. Since I found him with Vanessa on what should have been our wedding day. Since I learned that the two people I trusted most had been systematically destroying me for months.
My hands start shaking in my lap.
"Can you explain what you mean by betrayal?" Dr. Reeves asks gently.
"Infidelity," Sienna says. "Lies. Finding out the person you love has been hiding things from you."
"The fear that you're not enough," Dante adds quietly. "That they'll find someone better and leave you broken."
I dig my fingernails into my palms. Breathe. Just breathe.
But I can't. Because they're describing exactly what happened to me. Every word is a knife.
"Zara?" Dr. Reeves's voice cuts through my panic. "You seem affected by this. Can you share why?"
Everyone looks at me.
I can't speak. My throat is closed. My chest is tight.
"She doesn't have to—" Ethan starts.
"No." My voice comes out strangled. "No, it's... that's my fear too."
Sienna leans forward. "Because of your ex? The one who—"
"Yes." The word is barely a whisper. "Marcus and Vanessa. They... they didn't just betray me. They planned it. For months. While I trusted them. While I loved them. While I—" My voice breaks. "I'm sorry. I can't do this."
I stand up too fast. The room spins.
"Zara, wait—" Sienna calls.
But I'm already at the door. Out in the hallway. Gasping for air that won't come.
The panic attack hits hard and fast. Black spots dance across my vision. My heart is trying to break through my ribs.
You're weak. You're broken. You'll never be whole again.
Then hands grip my shoulders—steady, warm, grounding.
"Breathe," Ethan's voice cuts through the chaos. "Zara, look at me. Breathe."
I force my eyes up. He's crouching in front of me, his face closer than it's ever been, his gray eyes locked on mine.
"In for four," he says calmly. "Hold for four. Out for four. With me."
He breathes. I try to follow.
In. Hold. Out.
In. Hold. Out.
Slowly—so slowly—the panic recedes. The hallway comes back into focus. Ethan is still holding my shoulders, still watching me like I'm something precious that might shatter.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry—"
"Don't." His voice is fierce. "Don't apologize for having feelings."
"I ruined their session—"
"You didn't ruin anything." He helps me stand but doesn't let go. "You were triggered. That's normal. That's human."
"I'm supposed to be professional—"
"You're allowed to be broken sometimes." His hands slide down to hold mine. "God knows I am."
The confession hangs between us. Raw. Real.
"Coffee?" he asks quietly. "Like I promised?"
I nod because I don't trust my voice.
We end up at a tiny café three blocks away. Not the fancy kind Dante and Sienna would choose—this place has mismatched chairs and coffee that costs three dollars instead of ten.
Ethan orders for us both without asking what I want. Somehow he gets it right: vanilla latte, extra foam.
"How did you know?" I ask when he sits down.
"You ordered it at the venue walk-through. Two weeks ago." He says it like it's nothing. Like he hasn't been paying attention to every detail about me.
My heart does something dangerous.
"Thank you," I say. "For back there. For—"
"Don't." He takes a sip of his black coffee. "We've established I'm bad at accepting gratitude."
A small smile tugs at my lips. "You're bad at a lot of things."
"Name one."
"Being human."
"Fair." His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "You're bad at protecting yourself."
"Also fair."
We sit in silence for a moment. It should be awkward. It's not.
"Can I ask you something?" Ethan says finally.
"Depends on the question."
"What did Marcus take from you? Besides the obvious."
I stare into my coffee. "My trust. My ability to believe people when they say they care about me. My—" I swallow hard. "My belief that I deserved to be loved."
His hand reaches across the table. Covers mine.
"You do," he says quietly. "Deserve to be loved. In case nobody's told you that recently."
Tears burn behind my eyes. "You don't even believe in love."
"I believe in you."
The words hit like a freight train.
Before I can respond, his phone rings. He glances at the screen and his whole face changes—goes pale, then hard.
"I need to take this." He stands abruptly. Walks outside.
Through the window, I watch him pace. His free hand runs through his hair. His jaw clenches. Whatever the caller is saying, it's bad.
When he comes back inside five minutes later, he looks like he's seen a ghost.
"What's wrong?" I ask immediately.
He sits down slowly. "That was my father."
Everything stops.
"Your father? The one who—"
"Yes." His voice is flat. Dead. "He's in New York. He wants to meet. Tonight."
"Ethan—"
"And that's not the worst part." He looks at me, and I've never seen him this shaken. "He said he has information. About Marcus. About what really happened three years ago." His eyes bore into mine. "Zara, he says Marcus didn't just betray you. He says Marcus was paid to destroy you. By someone who wanted you gone."
The world tilts.
"What?"
"Someone hired Marcus to ruin you. Someone with money and connections." Ethan's hand shakes as he sets down his phone. "My father knows who. And he'll only tell me if I agree to see him."
My blood turns to ice.
"Who would—why would—"
"I don't know. But I'm going to find out." He stands. "Come with me."
"To meet your father? Ethan, you haven't spoken to him in—"
"Eighteen years. I know." His jaw is set. Determined. Terrified. "But if someone targeted you specifically, if this whole thing was planned from the beginning, you deserve to know who and why."
My mind is spinning. Marcus was paid? Someone wanted me destroyed?
"This could be a trap," I whisper. "Your father could be lying—"
"Probably." Ethan's eyes meet mine. "But what if he's not?"
The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with possibility and dread.
What if everything I thought I knew about my betrayal was a lie?
What if someone out there hates me enough to orchestrate my complete destruction?
What if the nightmare isn't over—it's just beginning?
Ethan extends his hand. "Trust me?"
I look at his hand. Then at his face. At this man who was supposed to be my enemy but has become something else entirely.
"Yes," I whisper, taking his hand. "I trust you."
We have no idea we're walking straight into a trap that will change everything.