Ethan listened to Lena's voicemail for the fifth time.
It played in his ears like a question laced with hesitation. The crack in her voice wasn't just emotion—it was restraint. Was she forcing herself to speak? Was she afraid? Or worse, was she afraid of him?
Her unusual silence that morning, the way she avoided his gaze like he might break her if he asked the wrong question, the way she left the house without so much as a proper goodbye—it all echoed now in that brief voicemail. She didn't ask much. She never did. But this time, her tone sounded like she wanted something… anything… but didn't know how to say it.
He ran a hand across his jaw and leaned back in his office chair, letting the quiet play again. Sixth time. Each replay gave the same lines, yet they landed differently every time.
He hated this.
Not the message, but the uncertainty. The sense that something inside him had started shifting without permission. Ethan O'Martin didn't do confusion. He didn't do emotional spirals. Yet here he was—half-listening, half-guessing, and entirely distracted.
It wasn't like he had a long list of confidants. He had barely two people in his corner by choice—Christian, his painfully loyal partner-in-everything, and Lena. Before them, it had just been a rotating door of therapists and a few half-remembered names.
But Lena wasn't like the others. She didn't knock on his walls. She climbed over them, sat beside him in the silence, and left him no choice but to notice her presence.
And now that she'd gone quiet, it bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
His phone buzzed again. He ignored it. Opened the photo album from the event last week instead. Scroll. Tap. Scroll. Pause.
There it was. A picture of him and Lena mid-laughter, too close, caught in a moment that looked like a kiss—and technically, it was. That unplanned, unexpected kiss under the flickering lights. Her eyes had fluttered shut for a second. His hand had lingered on her back longer than it should have.
He stared.
Why did he not delete this?
"Ethan?"
A tap on the shoulder. He blinked, jolted from his spiral.
It was Thomas, one of the senior managers.
"You okay?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the screen.
"Yeah." Ethan locked his phone and slid it across the table without another glance.
"You sure? You've been zoned out for a while."
"I said I'm fine," Ethan replied curtly.
Thomas nodded slowly and returned to his seat as the meeting resumed. Ethan tried to tune in, tried to listen to the speaker going on about the new contract pipeline and data projections. But it all melted into a distant hum.
His mind refused to cooperate.
He opened the gallery again—this time searching for more pictures of Lena. Her expressions in each photo were subtle but distinct. Her smile changed around others. With him, it was softer, less rehearsed. Did anyone else notice that? Did she notice?
He should've never let things get this personal. He wasn't the kind of man who lingered on photos of women or played voicemails on loop. He was cold, calculated, emotionally removed.
But Lena had shifted something. And that terrified him.
A soft chime on his phone. A new video clip from the event. He pressed play.
In it, George—his business partner—watched Ethan and Lena's brief kiss with a subtle grimace. His eyes narrowed, almost like disapproval. Ethan frowned.
"Ethan?" the presenter's voice called. "Thoughts?"
Ethan blinked. "Oh… I think it was great."
The room stilled. A few people exchanged looks.
He quickly followed up. "I mean, personally, it was great. But anyone else can chime in. Open to ideas."
A few nervous chuckles. The damage was done. He hadn't been paying attention, and they all knew it.
A break was called shortly after, and Ethan took a long breath, rubbing his temples as he stood. He barely had time to regroup before Thomas returned.
"Hey, Ethan," he said again, more directly this time.
Ethan sighed. "Can I help you?"
"I just want to know if you're okay. Really."
"I've answered that already."
"You have. But your face says otherwise."
Ethan gave a tight, dismissive smile. "Maybe I'm just having a slow day."
Thomas wasn't convinced. "I watched you scroll through your phone during the whole presentation. And not emails, Ethan—pictures. You even smiled at one. I've worked with you for six years, and I've never seen that."
Ethan's jaw clenched.
"You zoned out and greenlit a proposal you would've torn apart two weeks ago. So I'm asking—what the hell is going on?"
Ethan stared at him, then replied evenly, "Maybe I'm just changing. Maybe I don't have to tear things apart every time."
Thomas tilted his head. "Or maybe you're getting… soft."
The word hit harder than he expected.
Soft.
He wanted to scoff. To laugh. But instead, he just stared blankly as Thomas walked off.
He opened his phone and began deleting the pictures. One after the other. Her smile. Her profile. The candid one of her looking away with the wind in her hair.
Delete.
Delete.
He hovered over the one of the kiss.
Then a message popped up.
Vivian.
Hey Ethan. Heard you're in town. I'm also around. Feel like coming to my hotel? Or send me your address instead.
– V
Vivian. Predictable. Beautiful. Uncomplicated.
He didn't even have to respond to know what that invitation meant.
He hadn't thought about her in months. And yet now, with Lena confusing the hell out of him, Vivian's name suddenly felt like a door back to normalcy.
Another buzz.
Lena.
Hey…
Just one word. Just three dots after.
He stared at it.
Was that a mistake?
He didn't even know what to feel. Hope? Guilt?
Then, another buzz.
Sorry. Wasn't meant for you.
His stomach twisted.
If it wasn't meant for me, then who the hell was it meant for?
His hands tensed around the phone. Suddenly, he didn't want Vivian. He didn't want distraction. He wanted answers. From Lena.
And if he wasn't careful, his emotions would start making decisions for him.
Something he swore he'd never allow.