The midday sun filtered through sheer curtains a week later, casting golden patterns across the dining table. Jenna Roland had just placed the final dish when the sound of a turning lock echoed through the apartment.

Ethan Roscente stepped inside, his suit jacket draped over one arm.

"Wash up for lunch," Jenna said without looking up as she arranged the cutlery.

Ethan's gaze lingered on the empty chair opposite him. "Milo isn't here?"

"He went to a classmate's house this morning." Jenna served rice before taking her seat.

Only the clinking of chopsticks against porcelain broke the silence.

Halfway through the meal, Jenna finally spoke. "Mr. Roscente, about those clothes in the wardrobe—"

Her voice trailed off as she stared at her rice bowl. The question had weighed on her all week, but between Ethan's late nights and her own exhaustion, the moment never seemed right.

"Hmm." Ethan didn't glance up from his meal. "Do what you want with them."

Her chopsticks tightened in her grip. "You really didn't need to buy so many—"

"That Dabao moisturizer of yours?" Ethan interrupted abruptly.

Jenna's ears burned. "What's wrong with Dabao? It's affordable and effective!"

Ethan offered no response, letting silence reclaim the dining room.

"Thank you for the clothes," she muttered.

Still no acknowledgment. Jenna shot him a covert glare. Couldn't the man even say "you're welcome"?

The shrill ring of her phone shattered the quiet.

"Milo?" Jenna answered.

"Ms. Roland?" An unfamiliar male voice responded. "This is Inspector Cole Macmillan from LAPD."

Her spine straightened instantly. "Yes, this is she. Is something—"

"Your brother has been detained for assault. Come to the station immediately."

"That's impossible!" Jenna shot to her feet, her chair screeching across the floor. "Milo would never—"

The line went dead.

She collapsed back into her chair, fingers trembling. Milo wouldn't even step on ants as a child. Assault someone? Unthinkable.

Ethan set down his chopsticks, brow furrowing. "What happened?"