Ethan noticed and looked away. He wasn’t ready to face what her tears stirred in him—guilt, longing, shame.
A chime echoed.
The front door opened.
“Ethan?” a woman’s voice called.
Lauren’s spine stiffened. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
“Claire,” Ethan muttered, cursing under his breath. “It’s late.”
Claire’s heels clicked across the marble before she froze at the sight of Lauren and the kids.
“What is this?” she asked, her tone sharp.
“It’s none of your business,” Ethan said.
“Oh, it’s very much my business,” Claire snapped. “You drag a woman and three children into your home, and I’m supposed to just smile?”
Lauren stood, squaring her shoulders. “Don’t talk about my kids like that.”
“Your kids?” Claire scoffed. “What kind of woman brings her—”
“Enough.” Ethan’s voice thundered through the penthouse. “Go home, Claire.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Claire’s eyes glistened with hurt and fury. “You’ll regret this,” she hissed before storming out.
When the door slammed, Lauren whispered, “You didn’t have to defend me.”
“I wasn’t defending you,” he said, staring at the floor. “I was defending what’s right.”