chapter 5
That night, when I got home from the hospital, the house was eerily quiet.
I turned on the lights downstairs.
No Ethan.
So I went upstairs to the master bedroom and pushed the door open.
The room was dark.
I had barely stepped inside when a hand shot out of nowhere, seized my wrist, and yanked me onto the bed.
Then my Ethan was kissing me again.
Harder this time.
Hungrier.
Like he wanted to crush me into his ribs and keep me there forever.
My hand braced behind me and landed on a pile of torn paper.
He was holding me so tightly I could barely breathe.
When he finally stopped, he buried his face in my neck and said in a low, miserable voice, “Don’t divorce me. Don’t leave me.”
He laced our fingers together.
Then suddenly paused.
His body went rigid.
He lifted my hand, stared at my bare finger, and looked almost stricken.
“Where’s the ring?”
I met his eyes. “What do you think?”
He lowered his head and kissed each of my fingertips one by one.
“That other me made you mad, didn’t he? I really am trash. Go ahead and hit me. I’ll drag him here too. We’ll both apologize if we have to. Wife… tell me what to do. I’ll do anything. Just don’t leave me.”
He sounded pitiful.
Obedient.
Like a loyal dog begging not to be abandoned.
And honestly, no one could have blamed me for softening a little.
The problem was that he was not a good dog.
He was a mad dog.
The second he noticed me softening, he pushed his advantage ruthlessly.
The next morning, as I rubbed my sore waist in silence, one very dangerous thought crossed my mind.
Was this what the system meant by “stabilize both of them”?
Over the next few days, I kept running between the hospital and home.
Both Ethans stayed temporarily peaceful.
I slowly let my guard down.
I just prayed the system would finish repairing things soon.
Naturally, that was exactly when everything blew up.
One night, after finally relaxing for the first time, I saw a message.
The villain Ethan had left the hospital and was on his way here.
By the time I saw it, three hours had already passed.
I shot upright in bed.
My Ethan, who had been lazily playing with my fingers, glanced over.
“What’s wrong?”
I was already getting dressed. “He’s coming back.”
He lifted a brow. “Am I not allowed to be seen?”
“You’re not,” I snapped. “If you two meet, it’ll be the end of the world.”
In the end, I shoved my Ethan into the very guest room I had been sleeping in before and told him not to come out under any circumstances.
Earlier, afraid of exposing anything, I had already given Mrs. Lane a few days off.
Then I hurried downstairs.
The other Ethan—the villain version—was sitting alone on the living room sofa when I reached the bottom.
I forced my breathing to steady and walked over.
“I just saw the message that you were discharged,” I said calmly. “Are you hungry? I can make you some noodles.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, smiled.
It was soft.
Sweet, even.
“Sure,” he said. “Thanks, Avery.”
The noodles were done quickly.
I sat beside him while he ate.
It was just an ordinary bowl of noodles, but he seemed to love it. He even drank all the broth.
When he finished, I stood up, intending to head back upstairs.
He caught my hand before I could leave.
His lashes lowered.
Under the warm lights, his face looked pale and strangely fragile.
“Avery,” he said carefully, “can we sleep in the master bedroom tonight?”
I stared at him.
This, from the man who had kicked me out of it in the first place?
“No,” I said. “I’m perfectly comfortable in the guest room.”
The light in his eyes dimmed.
“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t bother lying.
“Until I’m not, we’re not sleeping together.”
He nodded obediently.
“That’s okay,” he said quietly. “The fact that you’re even letting me stay in the house already makes me happy. I’ll make it up to you.”
At last, I thought.
One crisis handled.
I opened the guest room door—
And immediately got shoved back against it.
My Ethan.
His eyes were dark and impossible to read.
He bent down and kissed me, slow this time, from my brow to the bridge of my nose to the corner of my mouth, until my knees actually weakened.
One of his arms wrapped around my waist and held me steady.
At my ear, he let out a soft breath and murmured with a smile, “Does this count as hiding a beauty in a golden house?”
At that exact moment, a voice sounded from behind the door.
“Avery? Are you asleep? I warmed milk for you.”
I nearly died on the spot.
I pushed weakly at the Ethan in front of me and whispered, “Stop. Ethan, stop kissing me.”
He made a vague sound of agreement.
And kept kissing me.
Even worse, amusement lit his eyes like he thought this was the funniest thing in the world.
“Baby,” he whispered, “which Ethan are you calling?”
Outside, the other Ethan knocked again.
“Avery? Are you asleep already?”
Every muscle in my body locked up.
There was only one door between us.
On one side, the husband from this world.
On the other, the villain ripped from the original plot.
And I was trapped in the middle being kissed senseless.
The Ethan holding me clicked his tongue softly against my lips and murmured, “Relax a little.”
He finally gave me enough room to breathe.
I called out toward the door, trying to sound sleepy.
“I’m not drinking it. I’m already asleep. You should sleep too.”
At last, the hallway went quiet.
But the Ethan in front of me kept going.
Meanwhile, my phone screen lit up again and again with new messages from the Ethan outside.
I know you’re not asleep. You just don’t want to see me, right?
I said too many terrible things before.
I thought you liked Noah and were using me as a substitute. I blamed you unfairly.
I hurt your face without meaning to. I’m sorry.
I shouldn’t have thrown the cup.
I shouldn’t have let you get hurt.
Can you give me one more chance?
Please don’t hate me.
Unfortunately, at that moment, I was far too busy surviving one Ethan to deal with the apologies of the other.
I didn’t even remember how I fell asleep that night.
All I knew was that sometime after midnight, I woke up thirsty.
The house felt too quiet.
I went downstairs to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of warm water.
Then I turned around.
And saw the villain Ethan standing in the doorway.
My mind was still foggy with sleep, and because the other Ethan had forced me to call him by that old nickname half the night, the wrong name slipped out before I was fully awake.
“A-Noah,” I said automatically. “Did I wake you? Do you want water too?”
He went utterly still.
Then smiled.
Slowly.
Innocently.
“Avery,” he said, “were you calling me?”
Every alarm in my body went off at once.
But I kept my face calm.
“Yes,” I lied. “That’s just… a nickname I gave you.”
He started walking toward me.
I backed up until my spine hit the kitchen counter.
He put one arm around my waist, smiling all the while.
“Then could you say it again?”
The glass slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor.
He leaned closer.
“What are you nervous about?”
“I’m not nervous.”
I absolutely was.
I kept telling myself that as long as the two Ethans had not actually seen each other, I could still deny everything. I just had to hold out until the system fixed it—
Footsteps sounded behind him.
Both of us turned at the same time.
And there, leaning in the kitchen doorway, was my Ethan.
His shirt collar was deliberately open, exposing his collarbone.
And several suspicious red marks.
He looked from the villain Ethan’s hand on my waist to his face, then smiled gently and said, “Tough luck. Didn’t the car break your arm after all?”
I instantly looked toward the villain Ethan, terrified he would explode.
Instead, he just looked at me.
His face showed no shock.
As if, deep down, he had already known this truth was waiting for him.
He smiled.
But it looked like it cost him everything.
“So,” he said softly, “this is the one you love.”
We had finally reached the moment I had dreaded most.
And somehow, the world did not explode.
It only got quieter.
More painful.
More impossible.
They were easy to tell apart, even standing in the same room.
One was a house cat—well loved, well raised, secure in the love that had been poured into him.
The other was a stray cat full of claws, hurt by his own mistakes, tortured by guilt, only daring to stand at a distance and beg softly for forgiveness.
That night, the villa stayed fully lit.
The three of us sat on the living room sofa in a standoff so absurd I almost wanted to laugh.
My Ethan had cleaned up the broken glass in the kitchen and was now holding up one finger for me to inspect.
“Avery,” he said mournfully, “I cut myself just now. It hurts.”
I looked at the tiny scratch.
If he’d waited one more second, it probably would have healed on its own.
Across from him, the villain Ethan pulled back part of his bandage and showed me the blood staining through.
“Avery,” he said softly, eyes wet, “my wound opened again.”
I looked once.
Yes, because he had clearly ripped it open himself.
My Ethan said, “My back hurts too.”
The villain Ethan added, “I’m tired.”
That was it.
I stood up.
Smiled brightly.
And snapped.
“Perfect. One of you needs a Band-Aid and the other needs his bandages redone? Great. Then help each other. Problem solved. Your time is time, but mine isn’t? Do either of you know what time it is?”
They both went silent.
“It’s two-thirty in the morning,” I said. “Which proves what? It proves we should all be asleep. Therefore, I have logically concluded that this is clearly a dream. Nobody needs to take it seriously. Go wash up and go to bed.”
Then I pointed upstairs.
“I’m sleeping. Neither of you is allowed to bother me.”
And before either of them could answer, I turned, grabbed the nearest empty room, locked the door, dove under the blanket, and went to sleep by force.
Or tried to.
Because that night, I dreamed.