They arrived at her apartment building, the quiet of the evening wrapping around them like a soft blanket. Jillian unlocked the door, and they stepped inside, the familiar scent of her home welcoming them in.
She turned to take off her shoes, and when she looked up, Ethan was already leaning against the kitchen counter, hands in his pockets, looking around as though trying to memorize the space.
"You didn't have to come up," she said, walking past him with a faint smile.
"I wanted to make sure you got in safe," he replied, his voice low. "And maybe linger just a little longer."
They stood there for a moment, the air between them gently charged, until the sound of a car horn outside broke it. Ethan glanced at his phone. "Charles is here."
Jillian nodded, walking him to the door. "Thanks for dinner. And the walk."
He paused, looked at her. "Thanks for saying yes."
She gave a small smile, and before he left, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Text me if you can't sleep."
And then he was gone, leaving Jillian standing in the quiet apartment with her heart doing cartwheels.
The night stretched long and quiet, the city outside humming with distant traffic. Jillian lay on her back, staring at the ceiling as the glow of her phone lit up the dark. Sleep had evaded her completely—her thoughts too full, her heart too stirred.
Finally, she picked up her phone and typed:
"Can't sleep."
It didn't take a minute before his reply lit up the screen:
"Should I come over?"
She stared at the message, her fingers hovering. Her mind wrestled with reasons to say no, but her heart had already softened. Still, she waited, debating, until she finally typed back:
"Door's open."
She placed the phone down, heart racing. Moments later, a soft knock came at her door, followed by the quiet sound of it opening. Ethan stepped in, his expression unreadable, his presence grounding.
Neither said anything at first. They didn't need to.
He just crossed the room, sat beside her on the edge of the sofa, and gently reached for her hand.
Jillian leaned her head against Ethan's shoulder, the quiet between them filled with more comfort than words ever could. After a while, she broke the silence in a low voice, "It's strange... how safe I feel when you're around."
Ethan glanced down at her, eyes soft. "It's not strange at all," he murmured. "You've carried so much on your own. Let someone hold part of it for once."
She didn't reply, only curled a little closer. Her breathing began to slow.
Within minutes, Jillian had drifted off in his arms, her lips parted slightly, eyelashes resting against her cheeks. Ethan watched her, brushing a strand of hair from her face with a gentleness he didn't often allow himself to feel.
Carefully, he lifted her and brought her to bed, tucking her in as if the smallest disturbance might wake her. He paused at the door for a moment, looking back at her one last time before quietly stepping out.
At the door, he checked the lock twice, then once more—just to be sure.
The night was cool as he walked back to his car, but his heart felt strangely warm.
The hum of the city night accompanied Ethan as Charles drove him back to his apartment. But Ethan's thoughts weren't in the back seat with him—they were still in that quiet living room, wrapped in Jillian's sleepy warmth.
"She never asks for anything," he muttered, more to himself than to Charles. "Even when she clearly needs someone."
Charles glanced at him briefly through the rearview mirror but said nothing. He knew better than to interrupt when Ethan wore that look—soft around the edges, but dark with thought.
Back at his penthouse, Ethan poured himself a glass of water but didn't drink it. He stared out the window, the city lights flickering below like restless fireflies.
He couldn't get Jillian out of his mind—the way her voice had wavered, how tired she looked before sleep claimed her, how she curled against him like she had finally found rest.
A protective feeling stirred deep inside him. Fierce. Unshakable.
He tapped his phone screen again. No new messages, but he wasn't expecting one. He'd told her to rest. He meant it.
Still, Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, glancing at the clock, wondering if she was still asleep… and if she'd dream in peace tonight.
The following morning at 6:32 AM, Ethan sends a message,
"Morning, sleepyhead. Did you rest well?"
He stared at the screen for a moment, fingers hovering, then added:
"Don't skip breakfast. And if you need a ride to work, I'm just one text away."
He hesitated before hitting send, but then smiled slightly. She had fallen asleep in his arms last night, and he wasn't going to pretend it hadn't meant something.
Moments later, his phone buzzed.
6:37 AM, Jillian,
"I slept well… thanks to you. But someone owes me a proper good morning in person."
Ethan chuckled.
"Demanding, aren't you," he whispered to himself.
He typed back:
"Then I guess I'll see you soon. Text me when you're ready."
Jillian glanced at the time as she rinsed her cup, a soft smile playing on her lips. The morning had been quiet, almost peaceful, but her thoughts kept circling back to him. She dried her hands, grabbed her phone, and typed:
7:40 AM, Jillian sends a message to Ethan,
"I'm ready. Just waiting for you now, Mr. Personal Chauffeur."
The reply came almost instantly.
8:42 AM, Ethan,
"On my way. Make sure you look out the window—I don't want you missing your ride."
She shook her head, chuckling. Moments later, the familiar black Cadillac pulled up outside.
As Jillian stepped outside, the morning sun lit up her figure. Ethan was already out of the car, leaning against the door with that signature smirk.
"You're two minutes late," he teased, opening the passenger door for her.
She rolled her eyes playfully. "Two minutes? You sound like my head nurse."
He leaned in slightly as she slid into the seat. "I'm much more charming than your head nurse."
The car door shut with a soft thud, and soon they were cruising through the city streets. Inside, the car felt like a bubble—quiet, comfortable, just the two of them.
Ethan reached across and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You seem lighter this morning."
Jillian smiled. "Because you brought coffee or because you're the one driving me to work?"
"Both," he said. "But mostly because I'm starting to like mornings with you."
She turned to the window, hiding the blush that crept across her cheeks, but Ethan saw it anyway.
The sleek black car pulled up at the hospital entrance, drawing a few curious glances from staff and patients nearby. Ethan moved to open Jillian's door, but she beat him to it, stepping out with a confident smile.
"You'll cause traffic if you stay too long," she teased, adjusting her coat.
Ethan leaned against the door frame, eyes fixed on her. "Let them wait. I'm admiring something rare."
She rolled her eyes with a flustered smile, then—without warning—stood on her toes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hunter."
Before he could react, she spun around and dashed toward the hospital doors.
"Jillian!" he called, half amused.
She turned her head, cheeks pink, and called over her shoulder, "I'm already late!"
And with that, she disappeared inside, leaving Ethan standing there—touched, surprised, and grinning like a man completely smitten.