Chapter Text
When Ethan finally arrives, his heart racing with haste and the weight of his guilt, he spots her. Juliet is standing on the sidewalk, but she's not alone. She's talking to a boy. That boy from before.
The boy from the photos.
Mike.
She's laughing shyly as she fiddles with her hair, her eyes sparkling in a way he hasn't seen for days. Ethan's chest constricts instantly as he feels a wave of jealousy boiling inside him, something primitive and irrational.
Juliet has never been so distant from him, and now, standing in front of the boy, she seems almost ... happy. Her laughter, so rare these days, now sounds like a knife in his heart.
Ethan grips the steering wheel, cold against the warm skin of his hands, as he watches the two of them.
The boy says something that makes Juliet blush slightly, and Ethan's stomach turns. He feels his control slipping away. If she were finding, in someone else, something he had lost, something he should never have allowed to slip away.
He clenches his teeth, and without much thought, he honks the horn. The abrupt sound cuts through the air and interrupts their conversation, causing Juliet to look in his direction. Her smile disappears as soon as she realizes who is there.
Juliet hesitates for a moment, but then says goodbye to the boy with a quick wave and starts walking to the car. Ethan watches her approach, and the feeling of loss grows even stronger . He should be happy to see her smiling, but all he can feel is the weight of his failure. As a father, as a man, as everything.
When Juliet gets into the car, the silence between them is heavy. Ethan can't help it, and the expression on his face shows how uncomfortable he is. The boy is still standing there, taking one last look at her, which infuriates him. Ethan feels his jealousy throbbing, but he controls himself. He wants to say something, anything, but the words won't come.
Everything seems so wrong, so far away.
And to make matters worse, just looking at the boy angers him.
Juliet fastens her seatbelt and looks out the window, avoiding eye contact with her father. Her hand trembles slightly as she tucks her hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture that Ethan recognizes but doesn't comment on.
He doesn't know what to say. So he drives in silence, the weight of shame and jealousy making the air inside the car stifling . Juliet, for her part, keeps her eyes glued to the window, the tears she had managed to hold back earlier now threatening to escape.
She mentally curses herself, hating herself for manipulating the situation in such a childish way, using Mike as a tool to hurt her father. She knew that Ethan would see her talking to the boy and that jealousy would burn in his chest, as it always did, but what did she want?
Ethan's jealousy was purely paternal and part of his overprotective personality. It would never be what she really wanted—the jealousy of a man who can't stand to see anyone near his woman.
After all, she was trying to get over her feelings, wasn't she ?
She's pathetic.
Why can't she just leave it all behind?
As soon as Ethan parks the car, Juliet unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out quickly, without exchanging a word with him. Juliet doesn't even look back , her steps are quick, almost desperate.
Ethan remains seated and places his hands firmly on the steering wheel, squeezing it as his breathing becomes heavier. He feels the weight of the moment bearing down on him like an avalanche. His hands tremble slightly and his eyes, already heavy with fatigue and guilt, begin to fill with tears.
He closes his eyes tightly, trying to shake off the despair that overcomes him, but the pain he feels after seeing Juliet walk away so coldly is unbearable.
He lets out a deep sigh as if to release the weight of everything that has happened, but the knot in his throat only grows. For a moment he considers going after her , trying to talk to her , but he knows that's not the best thing to do right now.
When Ethan enters the house, the silence immediately envelops him, heavy and oppressive. The house, once full of life, now seems to be a reflection of the loneliness he feels . Juliet has already retired to her room and Christine is at work, so without thinking too much, he heads for the office, closing it behind him with a slow movement.
The place is his escape, but also his refuge from guilt. The silence continues to haunt him, but at least here he can hide. Trapped in this familiar space, Ethan feels the weight of it all - the distance between him and Juliet, Christine's growing indifference, and most of all, the man he has become.
Ethan walks over to the cabinet in the corner of the office, his hands shaking as he reaches for a bottle of whiskey. He hesitates for a moment, the memory of the last time he indulged in alcohol still fresh in his mind.
No, he won't drink enough to lose control again. He needs a few shots to calm his nerves and silence the storm in his head, if only for a few minutes. Not too many, because he's learned his lesson the hard way.
Ethan pours the whiskey into a glass and brings it to his lips, the liquid burning his throat as it goes down. He takes a deep breath and for a brief moment feels a false sense of peace. Each sip seems to put a barrier between him and reality, not enough to make him forget, but enough to dull the pain.
But he can't let alcohol take over again, not after what happened, so three shots are enough for him to put the bottle back in the cabinet and close it. He walks over to the leather couch and lies down with a heavy sigh, exhaustion taking over his body.
He feels exhausted, not only mentally, but physically as well. Every muscle in his body aches as if he has been carrying a weight he can't bear anymore. His eyes feel heavy, his body cries for rest, and he doesn't fight it.
He wakes up a while later and blinks several times, trying to adjust to the reality around him , and stands. Ethan runs his hand over his face, trying to shake off the fog of sleep and confusion.
The image of Juliet returns to his mind, making his chest tighten. How many times had he smiled at that boy, the same way, without him knowing?
Damn it. He wishes he could control this, insistent feeling, but he can't. Of course, he is jealous of Juliet, after all, she is still his little girl.
Every father feels that way, doesn't he?
Ethan sighs as he enters the kitchen and is surprised by the aroma of tea greeting him. Everything is organized, different from the way he left it. Christine is leaning against the counter with a tea bag in her hands , dipping it into the cup of hot water.
Ethan hesitates for a moment , almost giving up on what he is about to do: drink a glass of water.
"I... I apologize for the mess. I woke up late this morning and didn't have time to clean up the kitchen." He says, while she just stares at him, her face expressionless.
"I'm not a traditional wife, Ethan, but I don't mind putting some dishes in the wash." She replies with a little hurt in her words.
Ethan nods slowly as if every movement takes a conscious effort. He walks to the refrigerator, opens the door, and looks at the lighted shelves that reveal a collection of common items. He picks up a glass and fills it with cold water, enjoying the refreshing sensation as he tries to shake the tight feeling in his chest.
The silence between them stretches like a tense thread and the charged atmosphere is almost oppressive. Ethan's mind wanders, but he knows he can't afford to waste any more time. He must address what can no longer be ignored .
"Christine, we need to talk," he says, his voice coming out softer than he intended, but full of a weight that can't be deflected .
"I don't want to," she answers directly, without hesitation, her eyes fixed on the liquid, now tinted light brown by the tea bag.
"I imagine you don't want to talk about how stupid I was to you, and I understand." Ethan sighs, the words coming out as heavy as stones. He feels trapped in a labyrinth of regret and frustration. "I just want to talk about our daughter. You're her mother and you have a right to know what's going on."
Christine looks up and finally meets Ethan's eyes. There is a mixture of pain and determination on her face , and he realizes that she is trying to stand her ground, but there is also vulnerability . Ethan knows from her silence that she is willing to listen to him.
"Juliet has been changing her behavior for a while now like she's rebelling," he begins. "A few days ago she asked me for permission to go to a party at the house of a boy from the school team. At first, I didn't give permission, but..." He sighs. "She managed to change my mind. When I went to pick her up, I found her dancing sexily. She was drunk, Christine."
Christine stares at him, speechless for a moment. Her frown and the look she gives him show that she didn't expect to hear that.
"I... I can't imagine Juliet acting like that." She shakes her head in denial. "What made her do it? There must be a reason," Christine asks, concern taking over her tone.
"Bad influences," Ethan replies, his mind struggling to hide the real reason for the girl's emotional imbalance. "But honestly, I don't know." He lies, feeling like a traitor. "I don't know what goes on in the minds of these rebellious teenagers."
"I don't think we can just classify our daughter as a rebellious teenager," Christine says, shaking her head. "I understand she's in her teens. It's perfectly normal to have personality changes during that time, but she never let herself be influenced . It's strange that she did it without caring how you would react. It always seemed important to her to please you.
Ethan snorts, the weight of her words resonating in his head.
"I agree. But she's been blinded by all this youth stuff. Social networks, parties, groups of friends ... That's why I decided to take her to a psychologist."
"Well, if she's going through a rebellious phase, it's strange that she's accepted it," Christine says, taking a sip of the tea she's prepared .
"She had no choice, Christine. I made her."
"Um," she replies, looking thoughtful. "Is there something in that story you're not telling me, Ethan?"
He swallows dryly, the pressure building in his chest.
"No. Why would I do that?"
She shrugs, a simple gesture , but one that carries a deep doubt.
"I don't know. Maybe to protect her ."
“No, there isn't. I'd like to understand that better too ,” he lies blatantly once again, and guilt consumes him . “But I need you to get closer to her . Juliet isn't at her best with me; she's a bit angry because I made her go to the psychologist.”
“I'll talk to her.”
○
Two weeks ago, Juliet decided to do everything in her power to overcome the pathological passion she feels for her father by distancing herself from him. While Christine now spends more time with her daughter, laughing over coffee or whispering over dinner, Ethan can only feel an emptiness. Juliet is having the relationship he always wanted her to have with Christine, but now it feels bitter . It feels bad .
It's strange.
He should be relieved to finally see mother and daughter so close , but instead, he feels a growing uneasiness, as if he's being excluded from something that should be his.
Juliet's change is both sudden and expected. On the one hand, he's proud of her, but on the other, he feels as if the fact that she's deliberately building a wall between them is a punishment.
And maybe it is.
He feels the pain of being away from her like a deep cut. No matter how hard he tries to convince himself that this is the best thing, the right thing, he can't erase the feeling of loss, as if a part of him is dying every day, like an emptiness that silently expands inside him.
He remembers the days when everything seemed simpler when Juliet's presence was a source of comfort rather than discomfort. But now he sees only the consequences of his actions reflected in his daughter's distant gaze.
For fourteen days now, Juliet has barely spoken to him. The silence between them is a suffocating constant, an absence of dialogue that hangs in the air whenever they are in the same room. Ethan feels the distance growing like an insurmountable barrier, a chasm he doesn't know how to cross.
As if that weren't enough, Christine has decided overnight to be the perfect mother. Suddenly, she has become the present mother, always ready, always involved, and often taking on the only role that allows Ethan to be close to Juliet: picking her up from school.
Ethan clutches his cell phone tightly when he hears Christine's voice saying that she's home and will pick up Juliet from school. Anger and discomfort bubble up inside him, which is ironic because a while ago it would have been a source of happiness to see Christine devote more time to her daughter.
Now it only makes things worse.
Ethan's day falls apart like a house of cards. Ever since Christine called to say she was going to pick up Juliet, a constant anguish has gripped his chest, heavy and suffocating. He tries to concentrate on his work, but his actions are mechanical and lifeless. What once made sense no longer does. There is a disconnect between him and the world around him.
After school, Ethan doesn't go home right away, but heads to a discreet bar downtown, one he knows hell. He's been there more times than he'd like to admit in the past few days, seeking temporary refuge at the bottom of a glass. He sits down at the bar without saying a word, and the bartender, recognizing him, simply pours him a shot of whiskey. The first sip goes hot down his throat, and for a brief moment, he feels a false relief, as if he can drown out the guilt, failure, and emptiness growing inside him.
He doesn't talk , he doesn't look at anyone. He just drinks in silence, immersed in his thoughts. When he finally decides to leave the bar, the clock is already striking at half past five. He should have gone home earlier, but part of him was putting it off, as if he could avoid, at least a little longer, the confrontation with the emptiness that's waiting for him.
He gets home around six, later than usual. Ethan closes the door behind him, and the familiarity of the surroundings only makes him feel more out of place. When Ethan enters the living room, he barely notices Christine on the sofa, until the silence of the house is interrupted by her quiet voice.
“You came in late today. Where were you?”
He stops midway, his shoulders tense. Ethan hesitates. He doesn't want to lie, but the truth, as always, seems too heavy to say. He turns around slowly, finding Christine sitting on the sofa, legs crossed and a book open on her lap. Her eyes, however, are not on the page, but on him, attentive.
Ethan rubs the back of his neck, trying to relieve the tension.
“I was with a friend.” He finally says. “We were talking.”
Christine doesn't reply immediately. Her gaze remains fixed on his, assessing him. Ethan feels the weight of the silence, feels the implied judgment, even though she hasn't said anything.
Since their fight weeks ago, their relationship has become even more fragile, even though Ethan has apologized and Christine has supposedly forgiven him. Ethan feels that, although the words have been said , the gulf between them has grown. There is an invisible space that separates them, a silent barrier that seems to grow wider every day.
Christine looks away, back to her book, but he knows she's not reading. She just doesn't want to prolong the conversation, not now. Ethan realizes that this lack of confrontation , this silence , is perhaps worse than any argument.
“How's Juliet?” Ethan's voice sounds calmer than he really is. He watches Christine, waiting for an answer , but already knowing that anything she says won't be enough to ease the unease in his chest.
She replies casually.
“She's fine. She's in her room with Mike, finishing the history assingment they're doing together.”
The words barely have time to settle in Ethan's mind before he feels their impact. His heart races, heat rising from his neck to his face. He can barely process what he's just heard. Mike?
In her room?
For a history assingment? Has she forgotten that she's the daughter of a fucking history teacher?
“How long has he been here?” The question comes out faster and harsher than he would have liked.
“Since I picked them up from school,” Christine answers calmly as if it were something perfectly natural. But for Ethan, these words are a trigger. The anger he's been repressing for the last few days, the resentment, the guilt, the jealousy - it all explodes inside him at once.
Without saying another word, he turns abruptly, his heavy footsteps echoing through the house as he marches toward Juliet's room. He doesn't even answer Christine, who watches him leave with a surprised expression.
With every step, the blood throbs in his temples.
Ethan opens the door with an abrupt movement , his breath caught in his chest as the image freezes for a second. Mike is on top of Juliet, his hands gripping her wrists as she writhes, laughing. The sound of laughter seems distorted, almost unbearable for him. Shock and jealousy take over every cell in his body, turning into a furious heat that consumes him completely.
“What the fuck is going on here?!” Ethan explodes, his voice carrying through the room like a bolt of lightning . Fear takes hold of Mike, who backs away awkwardly, falling to the floor beside the bed, his eyes wide and his face pale. He seems unable to move, terrified by the furious presence of Juliet's father, whose green eyes shine with a menacing, almost animalistic intensity.
“I... we... we were just...” Mike stammers, his voice failing in panic. He tries to get up, but his legs seem weak. Ethan, however, doesn't hear, or if he does, he doesn't care. His attention is completely fixed on Juliet, who is now sitting up in bed, her face red with surprise and confusion.
“I asked you a question, Juliet!” He shouts again, with uncontrollable fury. The silence that follows is overwhelming. He points to the door with an abrupt gesture, the muscles in his arm rigid. “And you get out of here! Now!” Mike obeys, leaving as quickly as he can and forgetting even his backpack. The door closes behind him, and the room fills with tension.
Juliet, stunned, tries to process what has just happened. She looks at her father, her eyes large and confused. She's never seen him like this.
“We... were doing research paper for school, Dad.” Her voice is a whisper, almost inaudible, but Ethan hears her clearly, and her response only serves to inflame his anger even more. He laughs, but it's a cynical, bitter, cutting laugh.
“A research paper for school?” He repeats with disdain. “And he was doing this fucking research on you, is that it?” His voice comes out hoarse, almost a growl, as jealousy eats away at his words.
“Dad, I started tickling him and he fought back , that's all . We were just playing.” She tries, but Ethan won't listen. His mind is blinded by the image he saw, by the fear he feels, by the idea that his daughter is growing up and he is losing control of her.
“Your mother is crazy to leave you two locked in this room!” Ethan vociferates, shaking his head like a man possessed by rage. His surroundings seem to shrink under the weight of his words, and he closes his eyes, trying to regain control. After a few seconds, a tense calm sets in, but his voice still carries latent fury.
“I could see the way that brat was looking at you.” Ethan's tone is almost frightening, which makes Juliet's heart race. “I know exactly what he wants.”
An oppressive silence settles between them , so uncomfortable that it seems to last an eternity.
“What if I want it too?” Juliet finally replies, the provocation escaping her lips before she has time to think. The audacity of her speech echoes, and Ethan clearly wasn't prepared for this reaction.
He raises his eyebrows, the expression of surprise quickly replaced by an intensity that makes her shudder.
He takes her by the arm, and the touch, although firm, makes her feel a mixture of fear and something akin to excitement. Ethan's gaze, intense and penetrating , seems to devour her as if he were trying to understand the depth of that provocation.
Juliet hasn't felt him so close for a long time.
The sensation of being so close to her father is overwhelming; an uncontrollable heat spreads through her body. However, Ethan releases her a few seconds later.
“That nerd?” He sneers, his disdain clear in his voice. “Are you telling me you have feelings for that nerd?” His incredulity makes Juliet want to scream, but she restrains herself.
“I thought you liked nerds, Professor,” she replies, her tongue cutting him like a knife. Ethan rolls his eyes furiously, her cynicism only fueling his anger further.
She knows very well what he means. Still, she decides to make it clearer :
“Only from those who don't climb on top of my daughter.” He says, his penetrating gaze burning into her in a mixture of possessiveness and concern. Ethan sees Juliet look away, her defiant expression fading into vulnerability.
The desire to take her in his arms is almost uncontrollable. How he misses admiring those heavenly eyes and that angelic face with all his attention and devotion.
“Mike's cool, Dad.” The insecurity in Juliet's voice almost makes her hesitate, but she continues. “He's a nice boy and...” Ethan's expression turns into a mask of disgust when he hears her admiration. Without a second thought, he leaves the room, slamming the door hard. The sound echoes through the house, a bang that represents his frustration.
“Why did you leave my daughter locked in her room with that brat?” Ethan explodes, his voice echoing in the silence as he glares at Christine, who remains on the sofa. Indignation boils up inside him, and every word is charged with a desperation he can't contain.
“She's my daughter too, Ethan,” Christine replies, her voice calm and firm as if she were dealing with a tantrum child. She raises an eyebrow as if trying to understand her husband's logic. “And she's already fifteen, for God's sake!”
“Exactly! She's fifteen, and that means she's still a girl!” Ethan's frustration boils over, and he feels as if he's shouting against an impenetrable wall.
“And Mike is a boy her age,” Christine says, her voice laden with a provocative firmness. A dismissive laugh escapes her lips, an attempt to defuse the tension with the simplicity of her logic.
"I don't understand you, Ethan. Our daughter has never brought friends here. She's been going through hard times, and it's a positive thing that she's doing this now. It's a good sign." Christine speaks with a tone of confidence that disarms him, if only momentarily.
She can't even imagine the gravity of the situation.
And then she continues, her voice taking on a more caustic tone. "Poor thing, Mike left here like he'd seen a ghost. Even our neighbors must have heard the scandal you made, Ethan. I don't know what's happening to you, but you can't keep acting like this!"
The last sentence reverberates inside him, and Ethan feels the weight of the truth in Christine's words.
What is happening to him?
He feels the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, the frustration and despair mixed in an emotional maelstrom that he can't understand. Christine's gaze, now serious, makes him feel increasingly isolated. Amid his pain, he realizes that her concern is legitimate, and this hurts him even more as if he were sinking into quicksand.
She doesn't understand him and never will.
He doesn't even understand himself.
Ethan sighs deeply, a sound that carries the weight of his frustration. Without looking back, he walks slowly to the office, his feet heavy as if they were stuck in concrete. When he reaches the office doors, he hesitates for a brief moment, as if he has to gather the courage to face his pain. Finally, he opens them and enters, locking them behind him.
The familiarity of the place comforts him a little, but that feeling is quickly overshadowed by the emotional storm raging inside. He leans against the wooden doors, feeling the cold against his back, and then, on the verge of releasing the weight he is carrying, he allows himself to cry.
The tears run down his face, hot and uncontrollable. A mixture of sadness, frustration, and fear; he feels like a lost child who does not know how to deal with the complexity of life. He bites his lip, and each silent sob is an attempt to free himself from the despair that surrounds him, an internal battle against the ghosts that won't stop haunting him for a single second. The crying, held back for so long, now flows freely.
Ethan turns away from the doors and falls onto the leather couch, his head between his hands, the weight of his troubles crushing him. He feels trapped in a maze with no way out, not knowing how to reconnect with Juliet, not understanding what is happening to his daughter, and most importantly, not knowing how to find his way back to peace.
Ethan opens the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey, his hands shaking with frustration and despair. He pours the amber liquid into the glass, watching it swirl slowly before taking it to his mouth and drowning himself in the only thing that makes him forget for a moment the mess his life has become.
How could he have let things get to this point? Juliet, who used to run into his arms, now seems to be someone else. The girl who used to look at him with admiration and love is now distant, hopelessly distant. And as painful as it is to admit, Ethan knows it's his fault.
He is experiencing the worst moment of his life.
For the past fourteen days, Ethan has barely slept. His nights are an endless nightmare of disturbing thoughts, of distant memories of the relationship he and Juliet once had. Meals no longer taste good; he forces himself to eat, but the food seems bland as if his existence is losing its flavor. His life has lost its meaning, everything seems empty, and his body reflects this anguish. Her eyes, once bright, are now sunken, surrounded by dark circles that show the weight of sleepless nights. Even her colleagues and students have noticed because there are whispered comments in the hallways and discreet looks of concern.
But he doesn't care. They don't matter.
What matters is Juliet. His little girl, his little confidante, his accomplice in everything. The one who swore to love him more than anyone else. And what hurts him the most is that she doesn't seem to have noticed his condition. His pain, his weight loss, the dark circles under his eyes - nothing gets to her. If she noticed anything, she certainly didn't care enough to say anything. And that indifference destroys him more than anything else.
She doesn't care.
But that's what he deserves, right?
He put himself through this hell.
His mistakes, his choices, and his failures have dragged him into this abyss, and now he's reaping the consequences. And the worst part is that being a fucked-up alcoholic again is only the least of his problems.
After getting drunk to the point of almost losing consciousness, Ethan opens the cigar box with trembling hands and lights one, inhaling the smoke. It's almost ironic how, not so long ago, he was fighting with all his might not to become an addict again. He tried to be better, he tried to be strong. Now, this is a distant and almost pathetic memory. The strong smell of tobacco envelops him, and he realizes, with cruel clarity, that he is in a much worse situation than he was years ago when the twins died.
He could never have imagined that it was possible to sink even lower.
His eyes start to burn, but it's not the smoke. He feels the familiar warmth of tears forming, and he can't help it. The tears stream down his face in a silent, furious stream, as if his soul were imploding inside. The pain now rips through him. And, for the first time in a long time, he thinks that maybe dying is the solution. Maybe the end is the only possible relief.
And then time slips away.
He doesn't know how much time has passed, minutes or hours. The empty bottle beside him, the smell of cigars permeating the heavy air. He's lying on the sofa, his eyes closed, trying to erase every destructive thought that invades him. All he wants is silence and emptiness, but that silence is interrupted.
Soft knocks on the door, so discreet that, for a moment, he thinks he's imagining it. Who could it be? Christine is definitely not. She has gotten used to leaving him alone in his moments of seclusion.
He opens his eyes slowly, his body tense.
It can't be.
Is it?
The voice from behind the door is weak, almost hesitant.
“Daddy? Can I come in?”
Yes.
Ethan swallows dryly. He doesn't answer, his voice caught in his throat, but he feels the tears flood his eyes once again. After a long time, she called him Daddy. Ethan's chest burns a heat that doesn't come from alcohol or tobacco.
Juliet, his little girl, has called him daddy again, in the same sweet tone of voice that he so longed to hear again.
Ethan couldn't answer. It seems that his voice has faded along with the last spark of strength left in his body. He hears the knock on the door again, now a little more insistent, and Juliet's voice comes through the heavy air of the office, with a tone that mixes concern and sweetness.
“Daddy, let me in.”
He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, his chest tightening in agony. No. He can't. If he opens that door and looks at her, he'll fall apart. He can't let her see him like this, so far from the man he should be. Seeing her now, with those blue eyes that have always been his source of pride and happiness, will make him crumble.
Her presence there, on the other side of the door, is almost unbearable. The silence between the knocks is a cruel reminder of the chasm that has opened up between them, and he hates himself for not being able to cross it.
The pain he feels now is almost physical. He takes a deep breath, but the air doesn't seem to enter his lungs. He desperately wants her to go away, to leave him in his misery. And at the same time, he wants to take her in his arms and never let her go.
“Dad, please...” Juliet insists, her voice now with a note of urgency.
He bites his lip, the taste of salt from his dried tears still present, and remains silent. He feels his body trembling, his fingers gripping the arm of the sofa tightly as if he were holding on so he wouldn't fall off a cliff.
Juliet remains silent on the other side for a few seconds, waiting for him to say something. But nothing. The absence of an answer hangs heavy in the air, and the hope she had when she knocked on the door begins to fade.
Finally, after a few more moments of suffocating silence, Ethan hears a faint, almost imperceptible sigh coming from Juliet.
She gives up.
“Okay... I'll leave you alone then...” she murmurs, and the sound of her footsteps moving away pierces Ethan's heart. He feels his chest tighten even more, and now the silence is even deeper than before, suffocating him completely. He should have said something. He should have let her in. He should... but he couldn't.
Ethan is motionless, his head sunk between his hands, feeling the emptiness take over every corner of his soul. Once again, he hid. Once again, he had failed.
He lights the last cigar in the box with trembling hands, taking a long drag and feeling the bitter taste of tobacco mixed with alcohol. Sleeping with Christine is out of the question. He doesn't want to and, with the smell of alcohol and cigarettes impregnating his skin, he can't.
But what haunts him, what eats him up inside, is not Christine.
It's Juliet.
And every time he remembers the scene in the bedroom, Mike over her, the laughter... his blood boils. Hell, he feels like a fucking teenager, seized by irrational, uncontrolled jealousy. He tries to convince himself that it's just a father's jealousy, that it's natural, that it's all the pain of feeling left behind, left out, forgotten by his girl. He desperately tries to cling to the idea that it's just longing. Longing for his little girl, for the time when she was his alone, but he can't fool himself.
This jealousy goes far, far beyond what it should. It's tearing him apart from the inside out, like never before. He knows it. He knows he's completely lost control, he's lost any shred of sanity he might have had left. And that's it. It's the last straw.
He can no longer ignore what he's feeling.
This voracious desire, this dark, unbearable impulse that consumes him every second, makes him unable to think straight. Ethan, for the first time, faces the monster inside him head-on, and the monster no longer wants to be contained.
Ethan stands up, his mind a storm of confusion and desire as he moves towards Juliet's room. Opening the door, he finds her lying on the bed, her eyes slightly small, but she's not asleep. Juliet lifts her gaze, meeting his, and then he sees the expression of surprise on her angelic face.
The image of her, so vulnerable and innocent, squeezes his heart.
He walks over and climbs on top of her, supporting his weight on his arms so as not to crush her, and for a brief moment, they are both paralyzed. Juliet, completely surprised, can't find words. She can't even tell if this is a dream or reality. Her father kneels on the bed, both legs straddling her body, and leans over her. She swallows as he stares at her with an intensity that baffles her.
It's real.
“Has that boy ever kissed you?” Ethan asks, the softness of his voice contrasting with the intensity of the question and his expression. Fear and anxiety intertwine in his stomach as he waits for the answer.
“No.” Her tone is almost a whisper. “You're the only one who's ever kissed me.” Upon hearing this, Ethan feels a mixture of relief and possessiveness, his pupils dilating at the revelation.
“Do you want me to kiss you again?” He whispers, his voice charged with an emotion he can barely control.
“That's what I want most.” Juliet's answer comes quickly, almost automatically, and it makes Ethan's heart beat faster. He moistens his lips, an instinctive gesture that she imitates.
Ethan brings his face close to hers, their noses touching lightly, creating an intimate connection that makes the world around him disappear. He closes his eyes, immersing himself in the moment, and presses his lips to hers, first with a soft, delicate kiss. Juliet closes her eyes, lost in the sensation. His lips are warm and gentle, and she surrenders to that touch, unable to see the growing intensity in her father's pupils.
Ethan closes his eyes, initiating a slow, loving kiss, his insides twisting as if he were going to dissolve into molecules from the sensation. Her lips move in response, hesitantly, but soon becoming more confident. Juliet puts her hands on his shoulders, nestling in, while the taste of alcohol and the smell of cigars mingle, creating an experience that is both strange and incredibly exciting.
He kisses her with impressive mastery, his lips moving with precision and desire. His hand slides to the nape of her neck, and with a gentle gesture, he tangles his fingers in Juliet's hair, pulling it slightly, which sends shivers down her spine. Ethan's tongue meets hers in a slow but intense movement, exploring her with fervor. Desire seems to spread through his body, pulsating in every fiber while Juliet responds with the same intensity, imitating his gestures. The husky sound of his moan echoes in the air as their tongues meet and tease each other.
Even under the blanket covering her, Juliet can feel the insistent pressure of his rigid cock, huge and throbbing, pressing against her. The urgency in his body is clear as if he is silently begging to break free, to merge with her once and for all.
Ethan's firm hand slides around the curve of his girl's waist, squeezing her with a strength that seems to express a desperate desire to merge with her, as if physical proximity wasn't enough. Her muffled moan, mixed with the warmth of his lips, further ignites the desire throbbing in his body. His eager fingers climb up to one of Juliet's breasts, grasping it with raw intensity, his large palm enveloping every bit of it. He massages it with obvious hunger, his thumb tracing firm circles over the hardened nipple, while the thin barrier of tissue between them only intensifies the urgency of the touch.
He repeats the same movements on his daughter's other breast, which lets out a deep moan as her father's hand, together with his mouth kissing her hungrily, sends waves of pleasure straight to her womb. The cloth of the blouse that separates them feels like an unbearable barrier, and she longs to feel his skin against hers, naked and raw. Ethan breathes heavily against her mouth, the heat of his arousal evident with every gasp that escapes between kisses.
She writhes under him, her body involuntarily bending in response to her father's touch as if she were giving herself over completely to the growing desire. His kiss is like a storm; devouring, deep, a mixture of devotion and desperation, leaving her completely dizzy. With every movement of his lips, Juliet feels herself melt, the heat between her legs becoming unbearable, her flesh throbbing in anticipation.
He lets out a muffled growl between his lips, an involuntary response to the overwhelming desire throbbing in his body. His cock, trapped and suffocated inside his pants, pulses in frustration, crying out to be released.
Ethan, feeling control slip from his hands, breaks off the kiss. Their lips part, their hot breaths still mingling in the air, as he fights the almost uncontrollable urge to continue and go further. A small, fragile thread of caution makes him pull back, even though the temptation to lose himself completely is on the verge of consuming him.
They both open their eyes at the same time as if an eternal instant had just been broken. Ethan's eyes are fixed on Juliet's face, absorbing every detail — her cheeks rosy and flushed with desire, her eyes shining with excitement, her breathing short and ragged, her lips red, swollen and still ajar as if begging for more... God.
The expression of pure desire and surrender on Juliet's face brings a wicked smile to Ethan's lips. He knows the effect he's had on her, how much she's enjoyed it, and it makes him feel a dark satisfaction, a mixture of pleasure and power to see her like this — surrendered, desirous, at the mercy of what he's aroused.
Ethan leans even closer, the warmth of his body almost suffocating Juliet, enveloping her in an overwhelming presence as he whispers in her ear. His hot breath makes her skin shiver and an involuntary tremor runs through her as his husky, desire-laden voice penetrates her mind:
“No one will ever kiss you like I do, you know why? Because no one will ever love you the way I do.” Listening to the low, husky voice, clouded by desire, makes her swallow. “You're everything to me. I'd die for you and I'd die without you.” He says, stroking her cheek. Ethan then places a long, wet kiss on Juliet's warm cheek, trailing down her face, as if marking territory in her heart.
“I feel like I'm dying without you, my little girl...” He whispers in a broken voice, staring at her again. The sincerity in his gaze touches her in a way that makes her feel wanted and loved as she has always wanted. “These days have been the most unbearable for me, you have no idea how much.” He caresses her face again. “I'm going crazy without my ray of sunshine. I love you. So, so much.”
Juliet feels the tears gathering in her eyes, falling silently as his words envelop her. Ethan has just said everything she's wanted most in the last few days, showing her that he feels the same way she does.
“I love you too, Daddy,” she replies, her voice low and full of tenderness, reflecting the deepest feelings in her heart. But as soon as the last word escapes her lips, a shock of reality goes through his body like a bolt of lightning.
Ethan, who was so close, so intimate, suddenly pulls away as if he had been burned. His gaze is lost, his eyes dilated, almost lifeless for a moment. Daddy. The word echoes in her mind like a guilty sentence. He is her father. And that simple word carries a devastating weight, tearing away the veil of any fantasy or desire he might have harbored.
Awkwardly, Ethan stands up, his body now heavy with the guilt that eats away at him from the inside out. He takes a step backward as if he were about to fall off a cliff.
Without saying another word, he stumbles out of her room, dazed, leaving Juliet stunned and alone.
He had promised to protect her from everyone and everything, but now a cruel truth dawns inside him: he can't protect her from himself.