The Morning after, sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Jillian stirred first, blinking groggily. Her back felt warm, too warm. She shifted—and froze.
A firm arm rested across her waist, steady and heavy, pulling her back gently against a solid chest.
Her heart stopped.
Ethan?
Her breath caught, and she turned her head slightly. Sure enough, Ethan lay beside her, still asleep, his hair tousled and his expression peaceful—almost boyish. He looked nothing like the cold CEO the world knew. Here, he looked… human. Vulnerable.
And dangerously close.
She bit her lip and tried to gently lift his arm, but he stirred.
"Trying to escape?" he murmured, voice husky with sleep, a slow smirk tugging at his lips.
Jillian's cheeks flamed. "This was not part of the plan."
"It was my plan," he mumbled, tightening his arm slightly, just enough to fluster her more before releasing her completely. He sat up and stretched lazily. "You toss too much to be left on the couch."
Jillian threw a pillow at him, embarrassed and speechless.
But deep inside, her heart was no longer tossing like her body had. It had found a strange, unfamiliar stillness—one that came only when Ethan was near.
After washing up, the aroma of eggs and toast filled the small kitchen as Jillian flipped a pancake with exaggerated focus, trying to pretend the morning hadn't started with her waking up in Ethan's arms.
Ethan leaned against the counter, arms crossed, hair still slightly damp. He watched her with a grin that spelled trouble.
"You know," he began, his voice low and amused, "not everyone can say their fiancée made them wake up ten times in one night to take a cold shower."
Jillian froze, her hand mid-reach for the honey.
"Excuse me?" she said slowly, without turning.
"You toss and turn like a possessed noodle," he said, stepping closer, "and every time I moved even slightly, your warmth would—" he cleared his throat dramatically, "—test my patience."
Jillian spun around, face flushed. "You did not just say that."
"Oh, I did," Ethan smirked. "And let me add: bad-mannered girls who sleep beside someone, looking like that, then curl into them at night should come with a warning."
She tossed a napkin at him, laughing despite herself. "I didn't curl into anyone. And whose fault is it for sneaking me into bed?"
Ethan shrugged, completely unapologetic. "Next time, I'll book two rooms. Maybe."
She narrowed her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "You're impossible."
"And you're adorable when you're flustered," he replied, brushing past her to pour coffee into two mugs.
As they sat at the table, the teasing faded into a quiet, content atmosphere. The sound of cutlery clinking, soft sips of coffee, and occasional glances between them carried something new—something not loud or chaotic, but soft and certain.
And Jillian, watching Ethan across the table as he buttered a slice of toast with lazy ease, realized something quietly dangerous: this felt like home.
Back at the hospital, the usual rush of nurses and echo of beeping machines surrounded her, but Jillian's mind was far from sterile hallways and patient reports.
She sat at her desk, a stack of lab results in front of her, but her pen hovered idly over the paper. The numbers swam, her focus drifting back to Ethan's teasing that morning—the curve of his grin, the way his voice dipped when he said adorable. And worse, how natural it felt to eat breakfast with him, like they'd done it a hundred times before.
"Doctor Smith?"
She blinked. One of her interns was standing at her door, holding a tablet. "The patient in Room 409 is asking for an update."
"Oh—yes, right. I'll be there in a second," she said, clearing her throat and forcing a smile.
As the intern left, Jillian rubbed her temple. Get it together, Jill. This is not the time to daydream about the man who kissed your forehead after stealing your bed.
But as she walked down the corridor, her lips betrayed her with a faint, secret smile.
After a long day of distracted thoughts and half-finished reports, Jillian was finally off shift. She'd just changed out of her scrubs and was slipping on her coat when her phone buzzed.
Ethan Hunter: Are you hungry? Meet me outside the hospital.
She blinked at the message, surprised—and not. She hadn't seen him all day, but somehow she knew he'd show up again.
Outside, the evening air was crisp, and a few nurses lingered near the gates, chatting. Then came the shift in the atmosphere.
A sleek black Cadillac was parked by the curb, its presence commanding attention. The car was nothing like the others passing by. Clean lines. Subtle shine. Tinted windows.
And as Jillian stepped out, the rear door of the car opened slowly. Ethan stepped out just enough to lean on the door, one hand tucked in his pocket, eyes already on her.
"You're late," he said, lips tilting in a faint smirk. "I almost sent Charles in with a search team."
Jillian rolled her eyes, but the flush on her cheeks betrayed her. "You didn't have to come."
"I wanted to," he said simply. "Now, come on. I've got something special planned—doctor's orders."
As they sat in the private dining room, a light warmth settled between them. The waitress brought in course after course—steamed dumplings, crispy duck, fragrant mapo tofu—all plated like works of art. Jillian took a bite, then sighed contentedly.
"See?" Ethan leaned in slightly. "Told you I had good taste."
She chuckled. "In food, yes. In women… highly questionable."
Ethan placed a hand over his chest, mock offended. "You wound me, Dr. Smith."
Jillian lifted her teacup to hide her smile, but he noticed anyway. There was something in the way he looked at her—like he could see through all the polished layers straight to the girl who once had to grow up too fast.
"So," he said, voice lower now, "are you always this guarded during dinner dates? Or am I just special?"
She nearly choked on her tea. "Dinner date? Is that what this is?"
He tilted his head, playing innocent. "Would you rather it wasn't?"
She hesitated, eyes softening as she looked at him. "No… I like it."
The air shifted, heartbeats a little louder than before. Ethan reached across the table, fingers brushing hers lightly. "Then let's make it the first of many."
Her heart skipped, but she didn't pull away. She smiled, a little shy and a little brave. "Only if you bring me more dumplings."
He laughed, deep and warm. "Deal."
After dinner, as the city lights twinkled like distant stars, Ethan glanced at Jillian and said, "Let's walk." He pulled out his phone and texted Charles a quick message to head back. Then he offered his hand.
She blinked. "We're walking back?"
He smirked. "Burn off those dumplings you love so much."
With a quiet laugh, she slid her hand into his. The warmth of his palm was steady, grounding. They walked slowly through the softly lit streets, passing lantern-lit stalls and quiet parks. The noise of the world faded with each step.
"It's been a long time since I walked like this with anyone," Jillian admitted, her voice barely above the wind.
Ethan looked over at her, his voice softer now. "Then let's do it more often. You don't have to walk alone anymore."
She didn't reply right away—but she didn't let go either.
As they neared her apartment building, he squeezed her hand lightly. "You've got a way of making this city feel warmer."
She smiled at that, heart full, cheeks slightly pink. "You're not too bad yourself, Mr. Hunter."