The breeze outside greeted me like a tired friend as I walked toward the house. The evening air carried that coolness that made everything feel slower, softer, almost reflective. I pushed the door open, stepped inside and allowed the warmth of home to settle around me. Without thinking, I dropped my bag on the sofa in the sitting room. The silence wrapped around me gently, the kind of silence you get in neighbourhoods where everyone minds their business behind closed doors.
I headed straight for the kitchen. My stepmother had already texted earlier that she would be home late. It meant I would need to prepare something for both of us. It was normal. Predictable. Routine. I took comfort in routine on days that felt mentally heavy.
I washed my hands, opened the cupboard and started arranging things for dinner when a knock cut through the quiet.
Sharp.
Unexpected.
I froze.
At that hour, I was not expecting anyone. No deliveries. No neighbours. No planned visit. My body reacted before my mind did. I reached for the knife on the counter and held it tightly. My heart quickened. I walked towards the sitting room, each footstep slow and measured. Another knock. Firm. Patient, but with an unsettling certainty behind it.
I reached the door and opened it only enough to peek.
And there he was.
Ethan.
The one person I had spent days trying to avoid. The one person whose message I regretted sending. The one whose silence had nearly torn through every ounce of calm I was trying to maintain. He stood in front of me, dressed casually but neatly, holding a small, fanciful bag like it was the most natural thing in the world.
For a moment neither of us spoke. His eyes settled on mine with a familiarity I wasn't prepared for.
I leaned on the edge of the door and looked away.
"How can I help you, Mr. Ethan?"
He let out a breath that sounded like he had rehearsed it.
"Would you at least let me in?"
I hesitated only for a second before opening the door wider. He stepped inside immediately, almost as if he expected the invitation. Before I could offer him a seat, he had already sat down. Typical Ethan – comfortable, confident, and somehow always ahead of my pace.
I sat on the handle of the chair closest to him, keeping a deliberate distance. My heartbeat had not yet settled.
He looked at me. Really looked. His eyes locked with mine in a way that felt like a demand rather than a question.
"Tell me about the message."
I exhaled slowly, my shoulders dropping a little.
"It's been three days since I sent the message, Ethan. Three days."
He shifted, guilt washing over his face.
"I know, Esme. Trust me, I'm so sorry. Work has been overwhelming lately. Half the time I barely remember I even have a phone. And… I wasn't with my phone when you sent the message. My mum collected it, said she wanted to use it for something, but she didn't explain further. I'm sorry."
I studied him for a second, searching for sincerity. Maybe he wasn't lying. Maybe he was. I didn't even know which one I preferred.
"Well, it's fine," I said quietly. "Nothing much happened. Just that we suspected there was a spy."
"Spy?" he gasped, his brows shooting up. "What spy? What happened?"
He was already leaning forward to ask more, but I raised my hand slightly to stop him.
"Everything is fine now, Ethan. Don't worry, I'm safe."
He leaned back but didn't look convinced.
"I wanted us to meet somewhere more professional. You didn't reply to my message, so I couldn't send the location."
"Yeah," I said as I stood up and walked toward the fridge. "I was a bit busy when your message dropped in."
And I didn't want to apologize for it.
Should I really be apologetic for choosing my own sanity?
He watched me closely.
"You look worried, Esme."
"Worried?" I shook my head. "I don't think I am. I'm just… stressed."
I opened the fridge. "Tell me, Ethan, what do you want?"
He paused for a moment, then shrugged softly.
"Just water."
I raised a brow.
"That's all?"
He chuckled slightly. "What's stressing you, Esme? I hope it's not me."
I laughed, the sound escaping before I could stop it.
"You?" I turned, still smiling. "You're less of a problem."
He laughed too, softer this time, and for a brief second the tension between us dissolved into something almost natural.
I grabbed a cold bottle from the fridge and handed it to him.
"Thank you," he said with a smile that lingered a little too long.
I sat back down, trying to compose myself.
"I received an invitation from Mr. Boylen Keens," I said.
Ethan's brows furrowed.
"What invitation?"
"Nothing serious," I began. "Just a live session with top influencers. I am to represent Boylen Keens Media Company because they mentioned us. And honestly, it feels like everything is happening at once. I have had such a busy schedule lately. One campaign to the next. Advertisement. Another live broadcast. A whole list of engagements. I do not understand why Mr Boylen keeps entrusting all these heavy tasks to me. Does he not remember he has a project manager?"
Ethan sipped his water slowly before answering.
"I think it is because he knows you are full of potential."
"Maybe," I whispered.
I was about to sit properly when Ethan lifted the small gift bag and handed it to me.
"Thank you… you got me this? Thank you."
Before I could open it, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it and sighed.
"Esme, I will take my leave now. My mum just texted."
I nodded, slightly relieved and slightly disappointed but unsure which emotion belonged to what.
"Oh, okay. My regards to… to her."
He stood up, brushing something lightly from my hair.
"Please do not forget to text me when your schedule clears up so we can fix our date night."
I froze for a moment, not because of the words necessarily, but because of the softness in his tone when he said them. I watched him walk toward the door. Just as he opened it, the outside light cast a shadow behind someone standing there.
My stepmother.
For a moment, they just stared at each other.
A long silence.
A silent exchange I could not interpret.
"Good evening, ma," Ethan greeted politely.
"Good evening, Ethan," she replied, her eyes fixed not on him but on me as she stepped inside.
Ethan gave me one last glance, then walked to his car and drove off. The moment I closed the door, I felt the weight of her gaze land on me like a question that had existed long before this evening.
She folded her arms.
"We need to talk, Esme."
Her tone was calm, but there was an unspoken tension around it, the kind that made the air feel tight. She turned and walked out of the sitting room, leaving me frozen in the doorway.
What did she want to talk about?
Ethan?
Work?
My sudden busyness?
Or something else entirely?
I stood there for a moment, gripping the gift bag Ethan brought, while a wave of uncertainty rolled over me. The evening that began with a simple knock had turned into a night loaded with questions I was not sure I was prepared to answer.
But one thing was certain.
The conversation awaiting me would not be casual.
Not with the way she said it.
Not with the way her eyes lingered on mine.
And not with the way my entire world seemed to be shifting beneath my feet.