The doorbell echoed through the penthouse, dragging Lena from the quiet comfort of her tea. She adjusted her oversized shirt—Ethan's, technically—and approached the door with measured steps.
When she peeped through the peephole, her heart sank.
Dr. Charles.
She opened the door halfway. "Dr. Charles… this is unexpected."
He smiled, though his eyes held something heavier. "You've been avoiding my calls, Lena."
"I've been… overwhelmed," she said, voice faltering.
"I can tell." He handed over a hardcover notebook—her therapy journal. Tucked inside was a folded note. He nodded toward it. "You left that. And I left you a question in there too."
Before she could reply, a familiar voice interrupted from the hallway.
"Morning," Ethan said, padding in barefoot, his presence instantly commanding.
Charles straightened. "Ethan."
Ethan nodded. "Doctor."
The air thickened as the two men exchanged polite but strained glances.
"Well, thanks for dropping this off," Lena said quickly, clutching the book. "I'll read your note."
Charles gave her one last look. "I meant what I said in it." Then to Ethan, with forced civility: "Take care of her."
And he left.
The door clicked shut, but the silence that followed was louder.
Ethan didn't say anything at first. Just looked at Lena, who looked like she'd rather evaporate.
"You okay?" he finally asked.
"Yeah," she said too fast.
He raised an eyebrow. "Mentor… student kind of visit?"
Lena rubbed the back of her neck. "He's just been helpful. Professionally."
"His eyes said otherwise." Ethan walked past her and leaned against the kitchen island, arms folded. "So? What's the deal?"
She sighed and sat down. "He asked me out once. I didn't know how to say no. He's been good to me, and I didn't want to be cruel."
"You two would make a cute couple," Ethan said, lips twitching into a smirk.
She gave him a look. "Really?"
He shrugged. "He's smart, steady, checks your emotional pulse. Probably more qualified than me."
She tossed a pillow at him. "Shut up."
He laughed softly, but there was something unreadable in his eyes.
Later that evening, when Lena stepped out for a quick call with Audrey, Ethan opened the journal.
Inside the note was scribbled:
"Why are you avoiding me? You know what I feel. Just say it."
Ethan's lips thinned. Without hesitating, he grabbed his phone, pressed record, and hit play on the conversation he and Lena just had. Her words echoed back clearly:
> "He asked me out once… but I don't want to involve myself with him romantically."
That would do.
Charles arrived at the café, expecting civility.
What he got was a phone placed face up on the table.
Ethan hit play.
Lena's voice poured out, soft but clear. Her confession. Her rejection.
Charles looked up, his face a mix of irritation and defeat. "You recorded her?"
"I wanted you to understand it from her lips. No confusion. No 'maybe.'" Ethan leaned in. "She said no. I think it's time you respect that."
Charles sat back, jaw clenched. "You think you've won."
"I'm not trying to win," Ethan said calmly. "I'm trying to protect her peace."
Charles's voice dipped low. "She not wanting me doesn't mean she wants you. And even if she does—what do you think you'll do with her, Ethan? Break her? Like the others?"
That one hit deeper than Ethan let show.
"She's not like your exes," Charles continued. "And if you touch her heart the way you did theirs, you won't just hurt her. You'll destroy her."
He stood, picking up his coat. "She's gentle, and she's strong—but not invincible. If you truly care… don't make her another chapter in your regret pile."
Then he left.
Ethan sat there, silent, jaw tightening as Charles's words replayed in his head.
Was that what he did—leave wreckage behind?
He pulled out his phone again and looked at the screen for a long time. Not to text Lena. Not yet.