Ethan's house was too quiet.
Not in a peaceful way. In the everyone knows something and isn't telling me kind of way.
His mother was humming in the kitchen. It was no longer her usual distracted hum; instead, it was the kind you hear on birthdays or during surprise visits, indicating that something special was happening.
On the table, there was a breakfast Ethan didn't recognize: artisanal bacon, evenly cooked eggs, a colorful assortment of fresh fruit, and a shiny toast.
Ethan looked at it with a focused gaze.
His mom never made fruit arrangements. She barely tolerated fruit.
Across from him, his father—perpetually wedded to sweatpants and stock tickers on Sundays—was now in slacks and a polo shirt. Reading a newspaper. With glasses on.
"Okay," Ethan said slowly, "who died?"
His mom turned around with a too-sweet smile. "No one died, honey. We just thought we'd celebrate."
"Celebrate what?"
She placed a glass of orange juice in front of him. "Your engagement, of course."
He stared at the glass as if it contained poison.
His dad folded the paper. "Son, I gotta say—Isabella's got poise. And ambition. I can see why you picked her."
"I didn't pick anyone," Ethan muttered.
"You proposed."
"It was a joke."
His mom leaned in, smiling like a secret agent who'd just closed a deal. "She brought us gifts. Organic tea. Handwritten notes. Even asked if she could start calling us 'Mom' and 'Dad'."
Ethan nearly dropped his fork.
"She's very polite," his father added, as if that was the primary concern.
"I'm being domestically conquered," Ethan muttered under his breath. "And you're all clapping."
He stood up and went upstairs, shut his door, and stared at his whiteboard—his safe space. Diagrams of code logic. Notes on UI structure. A roadmap for his startup project.
Half of it now had WynnTech resources scribbled in the margins. Integration points. Cloud credits. Legal protections.
He hadn't asked for any of this.
And yet…
He hadn't said no, either.
His phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:
From: Lena Pierce
You're the last person I expected to pull a public stunt. Meet me after lunch. I want to know if this is real. Bring answers.
Lena. His academic rival.
He sat down slowly.
Then another buzz:
From: Isabella
Bring a coat. I made us reservations for tonight. Our first formal outing as a couple. I already arranged your size with the tailor. ❤️
Ethan stared at the heart emoji like it might detonate.
He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and muttered to no one:
"I think I've been kidnapped. Just very politely."