"You all lied. You all tried to manage the fallout instead of facing it." Lauren's eyes filled, but she blinked the tears back, trying to hold herself together. I pointed at the floor between all of us.
"This right here, this is where we stop rewriting the story. This is where we call things what they are." The room stayed absolutely still. For the first time since the beach, the power wasn't scattered or balanced or contested.
It was centered right where it belonged. In my hands. The cabin felt smaller than it ever had. Walls closer.
Air thicker. Like the place itself was bracing for impact. Lauren tried to steady herself. Hands clasped so tightly her knuckles went white.
She started with the word she always used when she wanted forgiveness without owning anything. "Ethan, I made mistakes."
I shook my head once. "Not mistakes. Choices." The correction landed like a dropped stone.
She flinched just a fraction, but it was enough to expose the crack in her composure. Brad shifted beside her, that familiar defensive arrogance slipping back into place. "Look, man. Things got out of hand."
"Nobody meant for any of this—"
I held up a hand. "Stop." He did, faster than I expected. Jenna opened her mouth to speak.
Some justification, some plea, some attempt to get ahead of the truth. But I cut her off the same way. "You'll all get your turn," I said. "But we start with reality."
I reached into my bag and placed a thick manila folder on the coffee table. The sound it made when it hit the wood was small, but it changed the entire room. Brad's eyes narrowed. Jenna swallowed.
Lauren stared at it like it might detonate. Inside was everything. Emails, text logs, bank statements, screenshots, timelines, photos. A blueprint of three people trying to build a lie big enough to live in.
"Ethan," Lauren whispered, voice trembling. "Please don't."
"You three lied to me," I said calmly. "But worse, you lied to each other." I opened the folder, pulled out a page, and handed it to Lauren.
A text from Brad to Jenna. Timestamped, clear, unmistakable. A message about the two of them meeting up behind her back. Lauren read it once.
Frowned. Then read it again, slower this time, like her brain was trying to reject it. Her lips parted. Her face drained.
"What? What is this?" she whispered.
I didn't soften my voice. "It's Brad and Jenna together. While you were busy convincing yourself he was yours." Brad stepped forward, hands up.
"That's out of context."
"There is no context," I said. "There's just the truth you thought she'd never see." Jenna's eyes filled, but she blinked hard, refusing to let whatever apology she had spill out.
Lauren stared at Brad like he'd suddenly turned into a stranger. "You told me you—"
"They used you the same way you used me," I said. That broke something. Not loudly.