Chapter 5:
The ride home was silent.
The city lights blurred past the window, but all I could see was the space between us in the back seat of the car. Close enough to touch. Far enough to hurt.
Ethan stared straight ahead, his jaw tight, his hands clenched like he was holding himself together by force.
I wanted to ask him why he stopped.
I wanted to ask why he looked at me like that.
I wanted to ask why my chest felt so heavy.
But I said nothing.
When we arrived at the penthouse, Ethan exited the car first. He didn't offer his hand this time. The absence felt louder than words.
Inside, the doors closed behind us with a soft click.
"I'll have the staff prepare your room," he said coldly.
"Our room?" I asked quietly.
He turned slowly, his eyes dark. "Don't push me."
The words weren't cruel—but they hurt more than cruelty.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, though I wasn't sure for what.
He laughed once, bitterly. "That makes two of us."
I took a step closer. "You almost kissed me."
The air shifted.
Ethan's control cracked—just slightly.
"Yes," he admitted. "And that's exactly why it can't happen."
"Why?" My voice trembled. "Because of the contract? Or because you're afraid?"
His eyes flashed. "You don't get to ask me that."
"Why not?" I demanded softly. "You touch me in front of everyone. You claim me. You pull me close—then act like I'm nothing."
He crossed the distance between us in two steps, stopping inches away. I could feel the heat of him, the tension vibrating in the air.
"You are not nothing," he said hoarsely. "You're the problem."
My heart shattered quietly.
"I never wanted this," I said, tears burning my eyes. "I never wanted to feel this way."
"Neither did I," he whispered.
For a moment, the billionaire mask fell away. He looked tired. Wounded. Human.
His hand lifted—then dropped again before touching me.
"If I cross that line," he said, his voice low and broken, "I won't stop."
My breath caught.
"So you'll keep hurting me instead?"
He turned away.
"That's the only way I know how to protect you," he said.
He walked toward the study door, then paused.
"Stay away from me tonight."
The door closed.
I stood alone in the quiet penthouse, pressing my hand to my chest.
Because the worst part wasn't that he didn't kiss me.
It was knowing that he wanted to.
And so did I.
The ride home was silent.
The city lights blurred past the window, but all I could see was the space between us in the back seat of the car. Close enough to touch. Far enough to hurt.
Ethan stared straight ahead, his jaw tight, his hands clenched like he was holding himself together by force.
I wanted to ask him why he stopped.
I wanted to ask why he looked at me like that.
I wanted to ask why my chest felt so heavy.
But I said nothing.
When we arrived at the penthouse, Ethan exited the car first. He didn't offer his hand this time. The absence felt louder than words.
Inside, the doors closed behind us with a soft click.
"I'll have the staff prepare your room," he said coldly.
"Our room?" I asked quietly.
He turned slowly, his eyes dark. "Don't push me."
The words weren't cruel—but they hurt more than cruelty.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, though I wasn't sure for what.
He laughed once, bitterly. "That makes two of us."
I took a step closer. "You almost kissed me."
The air shifted.
Ethan's control cracked—just slightly.
"Yes," he admitted. "And that's exactly why it can't happen."
"Why?" My voice trembled. "Because of the contract? Or because you're afraid?"
His eyes flashed. "You don't get to ask me that."
"Why not?" I demanded softly. "You touch me in front of everyone. You claim me. You pull me close—then act like I'm nothing."
He crossed the distance between us in two steps, stopping inches away. I could feel the heat of him, the tension vibrating in the air.
"You are not nothing," he said hoarsely. "You're the problem."
My heart shattered quietly.
"I never wanted this," I said, tears burning my eyes. "I never wanted to feel this way."
"Neither did I," he whispered.
For a moment, the billionaire mask fell away. He looked tired. Wounded. Human.
His hand lifted—then dropped again before touching me.
"If I cross that line," he said, his voice low and broken, "I won't stop."
My breath caught.
"So you'll keep hurting me instead?"
He turned away.
"That's the only way I know how to protect you," he said.
He walked toward the study door, then paused.
"Stay away from me tonight."
The door closed.
I stood alone in the quiet penthouse, pressing my hand to my chest.
Because the worst part wasn't that he didn't kiss me.
It was knowing that he wanted to.
And so did I.