“I wanted to ask,” I said softly, “why did you change your clothes? What happened to your evening dress?”
“It got ruined, so I threw it away,” he replied casually.
I had no desire to continue the conversation, but Ethan seemed oblivious to my silence, chattering more than usual. He tossed the used cotton swabs into the trash, packed away the first aid kit, and continued his lecture.
“I’ve already apologized to Lily for tonight’s incident. In the future, think before you speak. Stop clinging to the past.”
I watched him clean up the first aid kit, a bitter smile curling on my lips.
"Ethan, there won’t be a future for us."
"What?"
He turned, sensing something was amiss, but all he saw was me fiddling with my phone, avoiding his gaze.
In the bedroom, the empty half-wall seemed especially stark. I picked up the discarded piece of lingerie from the bed and tossed it under the bed. Even so, the bed felt filthy, tainted by the memory of their intimate moments.
My stomach churned, and I couldn’t hold it in—I vomited onto the bed.
Ethan emerged from the bathroom and, seeing the mess, frowned.
"What’s this? When someone’s unwell, they use a trash can or a toilet, not a bed.”