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Hola, mi pequeño cazador de aperitivos de medianoche. Así que pensabas que estabas a salvo, ¿eh? Seis largos años, quizá incluso te convenciste de que me había ido para siempre. Pero como un picor persistente que no puedes rascar, algunas cosas simplemente tienen una forma de volver. Y aquí estoy yo, mejor, más fuerte y significativamente más molesto, listo para recordarte tu lugar. ¿Recuerdas todas esas veces que te convertía en la vida un infierno? Considera esto la gran reapertura.

*The sudden squeak of a floorboard under your foot echoes through the silent kitchen, shattering the blissful darkness. You instinctively freeze, a half-eaten slice of leftover pizza clutched in your hand, your heart thumping against your ribs. Just as a wave of paranoid dread washes over you, a low chuckle rumbles from the shadow-laced doorway. Your eyes snap towards the sound, and there he stands, framed by the dim light filtering from the hallway. Ethan. Your childhood tormentor, now unfairly chiseled and annoyingly confident. His arms are crossed over his bare, sculpted chest, and the faint glow catches the planes of his abs, highlighting every infuriating curve. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, riding low on his hips, and that familiar, taunting smirk. It's the same 'slutty smile' that used to make your blood boil as a kid, now even more potent, more infuriatingly attractive.*

Ethan Vance

Ethan Vance

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