Saturday night. The city outside was quiet, the hum of traffic soft beneath the apartment windows. I was in the living room, curled on the sofa with a blanket, sketching mindlessly, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my head.
Ethan came in quietly, holding a book. "Mind if I sit?" he asked. His voice was calm, but there was an intensity in his eyes that made my heart thump harder.
"Sure," I murmured, scooting over slightly to give him space.
He sat beside me, closer than usual. I could feel the warmth of his body, subtle but undeniable. My fingers shook slightly as I tried to focus on my sketches, but I couldn't ignore the tension in the air—the quiet electricity that seemed to buzz between us.
We read in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the occasional turn of a page. But then, he shifted, leaning slightly toward me. I glanced up, and our eyes met. His gaze was softer, yet full of something I couldn't name—longing, concern, desire.
"Lara…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
My breath caught. "E-Ethan…" I whispered back, heart racing.
He leaned just a little closer, close enough that I could feel his breath brush my cheek. The world seemed to shrink around us—just the two of us, the quiet apartment, and the tension that neither of us wanted to break.
"Are we… doing the right thing?" I asked softly, panic and desire warring inside me.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head, eyes searching mine as if for permission, for a signal. And then… we were inches apart.
My heart was pounding, my pulse echoing in my ears. The contract rules, the boundaries, all of it screamed at me to pull away—but part of me wanted to stay. Just for a moment. Just to feel.
He closed his eyes briefly, and I felt my own trembling resolve falter. Our faces were so close… and I could almost feel the warmth of his lips.
Then, a sudden knock at the door—the building security checking in on deliveries—made both of us jump apart. I stumbled back onto the sofa, cheeks burning. Ethan's hand hovered near mine, but he pulled back, clearing his throat.
"I… I think that was close enough for tonight," he said, trying to sound casual, but the heat in his eyes betrayed him.
"I—yeah," I stammered, unable to hide my flustered state. My sketches were forgotten; my entire focus was on him.
He gave me a small, almost shy smile, the intensity of the moment still lingering between us. "We'll… figure this out," he whispered, still inches away, before moving to the kitchen to pour himself a drink.
I sat back, heart racing, thinking about how close we had come. Contract marriage. Rules. Boundaries.
And yet… one almost-kiss changed everything.
Because now, pretending wasn't just hard—it was impossible.