Chapter 20 Sep 17, 2025 The Pearson estate wrapped around me like expensive armor-marble floors that echoed my childhood footsteps, gardens manicured into submission, and the persistent scent of fresh linen that made every breath feel laundered. Sunday lunch sprawled across the formal dining room, crystal catching afternoon light in patterns I'd memorized before I could read. "What made your marriage work?" The question escaped between courses, surprising even me with its directness. "Thirty years is a long time to stay interested in the same person." My father set down his wine glass with the precision of a man who'd never rushed anything in his life. His smile arrived before his words, warming his features in a way quarterly reports never managed. "Your mother destroyed me in a corporate ethics seminar our junior year at Yale," he began, his voice carrying the particular warmth reserved for this story. "She dismantled my entire argument about shareholder primacy with three questions and a laugh that made failure feel like a gift. Twenty-two years old, and she was already the sharpest mind in any room she entered." Mother rolled her eyes, but her hand found his across the table-a gesture so practiced it looked choreographed. "She still argues like that," he continued, his thumb tracing circles on her wrist. "Still laughs at my logical fallacies, still manages to be brilliant at breakfast and gentle at dinner. The woman who conquered boardrooms raised you with bedtime stories. That paradox never gets old, Ruby. When someone can surprise you after three decades, that's when you know you chose correctly." The weight of his words settled in my chest like stones. I didn't know who Alex would become in thirty years. Hell, I didn't know who I was becoming in thirty days. "That's beautiful, Dad, but it doesn't answer the practical question. How do you keep choosing each other when everything becomes routine?" "Routine is underrated," Mother interjected, her corporate lawyer precision cutting through sentiment. "Chaos might be thrilling, but you can't build anything lasting on an earthquake." Later, on the veranda overlooking gardens, I pressed the question differently. Tea steamed between us-Earl Grey for her, jasmine for me-our Sunday ritual since I was fifteen. "How do you turn routine back into heat?" I asked, watching her face for the tell-tale signs of maternal deflection. "With Alex, everything feels scripted lately. Even our arguments follow a pattern." She studied me with intensity. "Are we discussing Alex, or are we discussing why you're asking this question now?" "Please, Mom. Just answer without the cross-examination." "Calm is the soil relationships grow in for years, Ruby. But sparks need to be laid deliberately, like kindling." She set down her teacup with a decisive click. "The conversation about desire happens more than once because people change. What thrilled you at twenty-one might bore you at twenty-five. That's not failure-it's evolution." "So what do you do when evolution takes you in different directions?" "You talk. Without armor, without agenda, without the safety of pretense." Her fingers found the pearl necklace she never removed, a nervous tell I'd inherited. "The strongest bonds rest on honesty and small risks. Scribbled weekend plans that break routine. An unexpected admission at three AM. The willingness to hear uncomfortable truths without preparing your rebuttal." "And if talking doesn't work?" "Then at least you'll know you tried with your whole voice, not just the parts that felt safe." She reached across the glass table, covering my hand with hers. "Whatever's happening, sweetheart, silence is the only thing that guarantees failure." I packed my weekend bag with her words echoing in my ears, loaded my car, and headed back home with something resembling intention. Maybe Alex and I could excavate whatever remained beneath our accumulated routines. Maybe honesty could burn through the comfortable fog we'd settled into. The parking garage beneath my building swallowed the car in fluorescent twilight. I grabbed my bag, entered the elevator, and leaned against the panel as floors counted upward. My phone buzzed with an incoming message just as the doors sealed. A video loaded automatically-no face, just a torso caught in lamplight that turned skin to gold. The camera angle started at his chest, tracked down abs, stopped just where his sweatpants hung low enough to constitute a threat. Aiden: Sundays are boring without proper competition. Tell me you're feeling the same. My breath caught. The elevator climbing felt suddenly too warm, too small, too slow. I played the video again, watching the way shadows defined muscle, the way his breathing made everything shift subtly, the way- The doors slid open. I stepped out, eyes still fixed on the screen, and collided with solid warmth. "Ruby?" Alex steadied me with hands on my shoulders, his surprise genuine. The phone slipped from my grip, clattering against marble with a sound like breaking. We both moved for it, but Alex was faster, his athlete's reflexes beating my panicked grab. "I came by earlier to leave something for you," he said, straightening with my phone in his hand. "Emma said you were at your parents', so I was just going to-" His words died as the screen caught his attention. The video had looped, playing again from the beginning. I watched his face change-confusion, recognition, and then something worse than anger: a controlled calm that turned his features to stone. "What exactly am I looking at?" His voice carried the measured tone. He turned the phone in his palm, not breaking eye contact, letting the video play between us like evidence in a trial.