Ethan's words lingered in the air long after the whispers died down.
"She is my wife. If anyone has something to say about her, they say it to me."
For a moment, even the chandelier above us seemed to shine brighter, as if it approved of him. The ballroom fell into an uneasy silence before voices cautiously picked up again, now layered with curiosity instead of mockery.
I stood beside him, my fingers trembling slightly against the fabric of my dress. A deep emerald gown, one his assistant had picked, not him—but tonight it felt different. It clung to me gently, highlighting curves I usually hid beneath oversized sweaters. Paired with soft curls and light jewelry, I almost felt like the version of myself I used to be before life broke me in pieces.
Ethan's hand rested lightly on the small of my back, a gesture so subtle yet foreign to us both. He wasn't squeezing or claiming territory… just guiding me. Protecting me?
The thought felt dangerous.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, leaning close so only I could hear. His breath brushed my ear, warm and grounding.
I nodded, though my heart raced uncontrollably.
"Yes. Thank you, for… what you said."
His jaw softened, rare, so rare that I found myself staring. "They were out of line. You didn't deserve that."
A strange warmth bloomed in my chest.
We moved through the rest of the gala together, hand in hand, not for show, not for the cameras, because somehow it felt natural in that moment. He introduced me to business partners with a tone lighter than usual, and when someone complimented me, he actually smiled.
When he laughed at a joke one of his colleagues made, it wasn't the cold, practiced laugh I'd grown used to. It was real. And for the first time in months, I found myself laughing too.
When the event finally ended, I slipped on my coat, shivering as the night breeze swept over my bare shoulders. Ethan noticed instantly.
"Here," he murmured, draping his jacket over me.
I blinked. "You'll get cold."
"I'm fine."
His tone was firm but gentle, the kind he rarely used with me.
We walked toward the car, the pathway dimly lit by soft garden lights. The driver wasn't far, but Ethan slowed his pace, as though savoring the quiet between us.
"Liana," he said suddenly.
I looked up. His eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, seemed softer tonight, reflecting the glow of the lights.
"About tonight… I should've said something earlier. I should've stood up for you sooner."
The honesty in his voice startled me.
"It's okay," I whispered.
He shook his head. "No. It's not."
For a second, I saw him, really saw him, not the cold CEO, not the man of contracts and boundaries, but someone with regrets, someone trying to make amends in the only way he knew how.
Inside the limousine, the air felt warmer than before. Our shoulders brushed occasionally, and each time, my heart reacted like it had forgotten how to behave.
Halfway home, he spoke again.
"You looked beautiful tonight."
The words hit me harder than they should. "Thank you."
He studied my reaction as if it fascinated him. "You don't hear compliments often, do you?"
"Not lately."
Silence returned, but not the heavy kind. This one felt… thoughtful.
When we reached the mansion, he helped me step out of the car. His fingers lingered against mine longer than necessary. I didn't pull away.
Inside, the house was dim, only a few lights glowing in the living room. I kicked off my heels with a sigh of relief.
Ethan chuckled softly. "Feet hurting?"
"Yes. Whoever designed heels hated women."
"Or loved watching them struggle," he said, teasing in a way I never expected from him.
I stared at him. "Did you just make a joke?"
His mouth twitched. "Maybe."
The sound of our shared laughter echoed faintly in the large hallway. It felt unreal.
We walked toward the kitchen, and for some reason, he offered, "Want tea?"
"You know how to make tea?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I can boil water," he replied dryly, which made me laugh harder.
The tea somehow tasted better than anything I'd had in weeks. Maybe it wasn't the tea, maybe it was the company. Ethan leaned against the counter beside me, his sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms. His tie was loose, his posture relaxed.
I felt my chest tighten, confused by these… warm feelings.
"Thank you," I said softly.
"For what?"
"For tonight. For everything."
He didn't speak for a moment. Then-
"I'm trying, Liana."
The sincerity in his voice was more intimate than any touch. My breath caught.
"I see that," I whispered.
His eyes flicked to my lips briefly before he looked away.
We talked for nearly an hour. About trivial things, about the event, about food preferences, favorite movie genres. Nothing deep, but everything meaningful. It felt like we were peeling back layers neither of us dared to before.
When I finally stood to head upstairs, the air between us shifted—quiet, charged, something unspoken humming beneath the surface.
I gave him a small smile. "Goodnight, Ethan."
"Goodnight, Liana."
I turned to leave, heart fluttering…
And that's when it happened.
His phone rang.
A sharp, piercing sound that cut through the warm atmosphere like a blade.
Ethan stiffened instantly. His hand shot to his pocket.
I paused on the first step of the staircase and looked back.
There was fear. Yes, fear, in his eyes for a split second. He didn't want me to see the caller ID.
"Who's calling you this late?" I asked slowly.
He hesitated.
Too long.
"It's nothing important," he said finally, voice tightening.
Nothing important.
Then why hide the screen?
Why step away from me as he answered?
He turned slightly, lowering his voice.
"Yes… I said I would handle it… Not tonight… I can't talk now."
My stomach twisted.
The warmth that had blossomed throughout the night shriveled instantly, replaced by cold doubt.
When he hung up, our eyes met.
"Business call," he said stiffly.
A lie.
I felt it like a slap.
"I see," I whispered.
The silence that followed was suffocating. He reached for me slightly, as if wanting to explain, but I stepped back.
"I'm tired," I said quietly. "Goodnight."
This time, his "Goodnight" carried tension, regret—something heavy.
I walked upstairs alone.
The warmth of the evening still lingered around me, but now it hurt.
Because it had felt real.
Because I had let myself hope.
Because for a second, I believed we were becoming something more than a contract.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, tears gathering at the corners of my eyes.
I hated how much I wanted to believe him.
I hated how much power he still had over my heart.