Lena was still frozen, her lips tingling from a kiss that never should have happened.
A few minutes ago, Charles was just her mentor. A constant through years of academic strain and personal loss. He'd been there when everything was crumbling—supportive, wise, and distant enough to feel safe.
But now?
Now she wasn't sure if it had all been a disguise.
Six years.
Six whole years, and not once had he hinted at something more. No look too long, no word too intimate. Was it always there—hidden in the shadows—or had he just acted on impulse tonight?
And the kiss…
God, the kiss.
It hadn't lasted long. But long enough to sting. Long enough to burn. Long enough to feel like she'd just betrayed Ethan.
The guilt sat heavy in her chest, thudding louder than her heartbeat. She hadn't kissed Charles back—but she also hadn't stopped him fast enough. And now she made herself a promise:
Ethan can never know.
She was still lost in thought when Ethan approached, cutting through the fog in her head like a blade.
He stopped in front of her, gaze steady. She couldn't look at him.
Her face flushed, eyes darting everywhere but at the man she had vowed to share her life with—however complicated that vow might have been.
"Came back and didn't see you," Ethan said, voice calm but watchful.
"Y–yeah," she stammered, fidgeting with the edge of her dress. "I met with someone… over there."
Act normal, Ethan told himself.
Keep it together.
"Someone?" he repeated. "Already making friends, huh?"
She didn't respond. That silence—awkward and stretched—felt more like an answer than any words she could offer.
"What are we still doing here?" she asked suddenly, her voice tight.
"Keeping up appearances," Ethan replied smoothly.
"I don't feel right," Lena murmured. "Can we… go?"
Ethan looked at her, really looked at her.
She was uneasy. Restless. Almost… afraid.
Was it guilt? Was it shame?
Was she protecting herself—or protecting Charles?
His jaw tightened, but he nodded. "If you said so."
They moved quickly through the side doors, slipping backstage like ghosts. No one noticed. No one questioned. The city lights blurred behind them as they stepped into the night.
The silence in the car was deafening.
Not a word.
Not a glance.
Just the occasional flash of passing headlights over their faces—hers still flushed, his a mask of unreadable control.
Halfway through the drive, Ethan pulled out his phone.
He typed with purpose, his fingers a little too firm against the screen.
> Need you to run a profile on someone.
Will send you the details soon.
He hit send to Christian without hesitation.
If Charles wanted a war, Ethan would meet him with precision and fire.
They drove into the darkness, side by side, hearts pounding with unspoken battles.
Each of them trapped in their own thoughts.
Each of them unsure how much the other already knew.
But one thing was clear.
This wasn't over.
Back at the mansion, Ethan moved with quiet calculation.
He wasn't a novice when it came to winning women over. In fact, he rarely needed to try. But Lena…
Lena was different.
She wasn't someone you "won"—she was someone you earned.
Her softness came with scars. Her silences were layered with pain.
Ethan knew one wrong move could set her retreating, and this time, he wasn't willing to lose her.
He had to walk a tightrope—play the game with Charles without pulling Lena too close, too fast.
Without hurting her.
Still, something deep within him—a quiet, persistent beat—refused to back off. He didn't just want her anymore.
He needed her.
Was Lena the long-missing key to whatever love he hadn't known how to feel?
Or just another illusion dressed in vulnerability?
First things first: Frederick Henderson.
He turned slightly to glance at her as they entered the room. She said nothing, carefully quiet like she was walking on eggshells.
"Feeling better now?" Ethan asked, keeping his voice neutral.
"Yeah… The crowd was consuming, I think," she replied, easing herself onto the bed.
They both knew this routine by now.
Same bed.
Careful distance.
Separate blankets.
So close, yet a world apart.
Ethan didn't press further. He lay beside her, giving her the space she didn't ask for but clearly needed.
"Where did you run off to?" she asked after a while, her voice low in the quiet room.
"To meet up with some friends," he replied, casually.
"Friends, huh?" she echoed. "Never heard you use that word before."
He smirked faintly. "Yeah, my bad. He wasn't really a friend."
She hummed in response, and slowly her breathing evened out—sleep taking her gently.
Ethan waited. Counted her breaths.
When he was sure she was fully asleep, he slipped out from under the covers and padded softly to his office.
He needed to prepare.
Whatever Charles—no, Frederick Henderson—was planning, Ethan wouldn't be caught unprepared. Not again.
His phone buzzed on the desk.
Christian.
> Still waiting on the name for the profile run.
Right. He'd nearly forgotten. Maybe Charles wasn't much of a threat after all. Or maybe he was just hoping that.
He typed quickly:
> Someone at Lena's school. Professor Charles. I know there might be a bunch of them—compile photos. I'll pick him out easily.
And Christian… don't ask why.
He hit send, tossed the phone on the desk, and slumped into his chair, rubbing the tension from his jaw.
Was he really falling for Lena?
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
But for once, it didn't feel like a transaction.
Or a distraction.
It felt real. Raw.
And terrifyingly powerful.
He exhaled slowly, letting the weight of the night settle.
If Charles wanted war, he'd get one.
But Ethan wasn't just fighting for pride now.
He was fighting for her.