The pub buzzed with easy energy, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. Lena slid out from the booth after an hour or so, excusing herself to the restroom with a polite smile. When she pushed open the restroom door and disappeared inside, Ethan moved without hesitation.
When Lena emerged a few minutes later, smoothing her hands down the sides of her black knit top, she found Ethan standing against the wall just a few feet away, arms crossed casually, as if he'd been waiting all along.
Startled, she stopped short.
"Ethan?" she asked, confused. "What are you—"
He pushed off the wall, taking a step closer, cutting her off without a word. His eyes locked on hers, dark and steady, forcing her to stand still.
"Are you trying to set me up with Sophie?" he asked, voice low, direct—no room for dodging.
Lena blinked, heat rushing up her neck. "I… I just thought you two seemed to get along really well."
Ethan's brow lifted, unimpressed.
Lena fumbled for words, feeling her heart pick up its pace. "Sophie's smart. She's funny. She's easy to talk to. She's warm, open... She's the kind of woman who makes everyone around her feel at ease."
She paused, then quickly added, "And no, she doesn't know anything about this. I didn't say anything to her."
Ethan tilted his head slightly, studying her like he could see straight through the careful distance she was trying to put up.
"So you think Sophie and I would make a good match?" he asked slowly, the weight in his voice making her throat tighten.
Lena swallowed, forcing a smile she didn't feel. "I just thought... If you're looking for a relationship, Sophie could be someone worth considering. You two... click."
For a beat, Ethan said nothing.
Then he stepped even closer.
Close enough that Lena caught the faint scent of his cologne again—fresh and clean, dangerously familiar.
"I already have someone in mind," Ethan said, his voice dropping even lower.
Lena stared up at him, heart stuttering.
"What?" she breathed out, stunned.
He gave a slow, small smile—something real, something private meant only for her.
"I'm not looking for anyone else, Lena. I already know who I want."
She felt the ground shift under her feet.
"I—I'm sorry," she stammered, voice tight. "I didn't realize. I won't... try to matchmake you and Sophie again."
She stepped to the side, needing to move, needing space—but Ethan was quicker.
He moved with her, stepping into her path, closing the distance between them in one deliberate stride.
Lena froze, back brushing lightly against the cool wall behind her.
Ethan leaned down slightly, his hand bracing next to her against the wall, caging her without touching her. His eyes didn't waver, didn't soften.
"I like you, Lena," he said simply. Steady. Unshakable. Like it had been true for a long time, and he was finally tired of pretending otherwise.
Her breath caught. Lena stood frozen for a moment, Ethan's words echoing in her mind, louder than the noise of the pub, louder than her own frantic heartbeat.
She swallowed hard, pulling herself together, forcing her emotions back behind the careful walls she always carried.
"Ethan..." she began, her voice soft but firm. "I don't understand why it's me."
He didn't move, just watched her with that unshakable calm that made it impossible to look away.
Lena drew in a shaky breath. "I'm not looking to jump into another relationship. Not so soon. I can't... I'm not ready."
She gave a small, sad smile and dropped her gaze. "Thank you—for what you said. It means a lot. But a man like you?" She forced a light laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You could have anyone you want. Don't waste your time on me."
Ethan's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. Instead, after a long, heavy pause, he asked quietly, "Then why Anthony?"
Lena stiffened.
She looked up at him sharply, walls slamming back into place with frightening speed. "Don't," she said tightly. "That's not your business."
"Lena—" Ethan started, but she shook her head.
"It was a mistake," she said flatly. "One I have to live with. That's all there is to it."
Her voice cracked just slightly at the end, but she didn't let it show for long. Without waiting for him to say anything else, she sidestepped him and walked away, heels clicking briskly against the floor.
Ethan didn't follow.
He just stood there, watching as she slipped back into the crowd, her spine straight, her shoulders squared—as if she hadn't just shattered a piece of herself to keep him at a distance.
When Lena reached the booth, she slid back into her seat beside James and Sophie, flashing them a small smile that didn't quite hide the way her hands trembled slightly beneath the table.
James noticed first, his brow furrowing slightly. "You okay?" he asked under his breath.
"I'm fine," Lena said quickly, smoothing a hand over her skirt. She turned to Sophie and offered a reassuring smile. "I'm just feeling a little tired. Think I'm going to head home and rest."
Sophie leaned in, concern flashing across her face. "Are you sure? We can leave together if you want—"
Lena shook her head gently. "No, don't worry about me. Stay and enjoy the night. I'll be fine."
James opened his mouth to say something else, but Lena was already standing, gathering her things with a quiet efficiency. She needed the space. The noise, the laughter, even the low hum of the bar—it was all too much.
Before Ethan could return, she slipped away from the booth and weaved through the crowd. As Lena navigated through the crowded bar, weaving between patrons and servers, a sudden grip tightened around her wrist. She turned sharply to see an unfamiliar man leering at her, his grasp unyielding.
"Hey, let go!" she demanded, trying to pull free.
The man smirked, his grip firm. "Come on, just stay for a drink."
Lena's heart pounded. She attempted to wrench her arm away, but his hold was too strong. Drawing on her self-defense training, she prepared to strike.
Before she could act, a familiar voice cut through the din.
"Let her go."
Ethan stood beside them, his eyes cold and fixed on the man.
The man hesitated, then released Lena's wrist. "Just having a bit of fun," he muttered, backing away.
Ethan's jaw tightened, his fists clenched. He took a step forward, but Lena placed a hand on his arm.
"Don't," she said softly. "He's not worth it."
Ethan looked at her, the tension in his posture slowly easing. He nodded, and together they moved to a quieter corner of the bar.
Once there, Lena turned to him, concerned in her eyes. "Are you okay?"
Ethan exhaled, trying to steady his breathing. "I just… I hate seeing you treated like that."
"I appreciate you stepping in to help me. But you need to be careful. As the new CEO of Calloway Holdings, your actions are under scrutiny. Any altercation could end up in the media or worse." Lena said with a calm voice.
Ethan looked at her, a hint of frustration in his eyes. "So, you're worried about my image?"
"Yes," Lena replied. "As your legal consultant, it's my job to ensure you uphold the company's reputation."
Ethan studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Understood."
Lena glanced away, feeling the heaviness settle between them again. She straightened her coat and said quietly, "I should go."
As she turned to leave, Ethan stepped forward. "I'll send you home."
Lena shook her head quickly, trying to put some distance between them. "It's fine. I'll manage on my own."
But Ethan didn't budge. In a swift, decisive move, he reached out and gently grabbed her wrist—not roughly, but firmly enough that she stopped mid-step. She looked up at him in surprise.
"You're not walking out there alone," Ethan said, his voice low and final.
Without giving her another chance to argue, he steered her through the pub and out into the cool, damp night. Lena thought about protesting, but something about the stubborn set of his jaw made her fall silent and simply match his stride.
The ride back to her apartment was quiet. Lena sat with her hands folded in her lap, her gaze fixed on the rain-slicked streets rushing past the window. She could feel Ethan's glances now and then, but he said nothing—for a while.
Finally, as they paused at a red light, he spoke, his voice surprisingly gentle. "You need to be more careful, Lena."
She turned slightly, startled by the serious tone in his voice.
"I mean it," Ethan continued. "You can't just assume everyone will back off if you tell them to. Not everyone's decent. You need to learn how to protect yourself… or at least let someone have your back when you need it."
His words weren't scolding, just quietly earnest—laced with something that almost sounded like worry.
Lena hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her bag. She wasn't used to anyone worrying about her. She wasn't sure she knew how to accept it.
"I can take care of myself," she said finally, keeping her voice even.
"You really don't remember, do you?"Ethan said.
Lena's brow furrowed. "Remember what?"
Ethan didn't look at her. His eyes stayed on the road, but something shifted in his expression—something sharp and shadowed. "The night you almost got kidnapped."
Her breath caught. Her pulse stumbled. She stared at him now, the weight of his words crashing into her with full force, pulling memories up from the depths—fragments, flashes, shadows of a night she had tried for years to forget.
She had been eighteen, exhausted, walking home from a late-night study session with her headphones in and her guard down.
Two men, tall, unfamiliar, dangerous, had stepped out of the alley like they'd been waiting for her. There had been no time to run, no time to scream before they grabbed her, rough hands clamping over her mouth and dragging her toward the dark. She remembered the fear and being drugged. She had been too dazed, too shocked to process anything, her vision blurring, her limbs useless. When it was over, someone had pulled her to safety. Someone had held her steady, helped her breathe again. And when her eyes had finally focused, Anthony was there—face concerned, voice soothing, telling her over and over again that he had saved her.
Her breath caught, her pulse skipped. She stared at him, his words hitting her hard, dragging up memories she had buried for years—fragments of a night she wished she could forget.
"How do you know about that?" she asked, her voice low and shaky.
For the first time since they'd gotten in the car, Ethan turned to look at her. The passing streetlights carved shadows across the hard lines of his face, but it was his eyes—quiet, dark, and unbearably raw—that made her breath catch.
He hesitated, just for a second, then said, low and steady, "If I told you I was the one who saved you—and that Anthony just took the credit—would you believe me?"
The air between them grew heavy, the silence thick enough to suffocate. She stared at him, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest, trying to make sense of what he'd just said. Ethan looked away, jaw tight as he returned his attention to the road ahead.
Her mind reeled. No.That couldn't be right. Anthony had been the one who'd found her, the one who'd held her hand in the ambulance, sat beside her in the hospital, told her again and again that he'd gotten there just in time. He had reassured her. Made her feel safe. He had been her hero. Hadn't he?
Her throat tightened painfully. "I thought you had left the city after high school?"
Ethan's hands flexed on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. "I did leave," he said. "But that night... I was back in the city for a few days—some urgent family matter. I wanted to see you before I left again. I never expected to find you like that."
Lena couldn't breathe.
Ethan came to see her?
The thought echoed in her mind. Does that mean… Ethan had liked her since high school?
The car slowed as they neared her apartment building. Ethan pulled up to the curb and the quiet hum of the car filled the space between them. Neither of them moved.
Finally, Lena reached for the door handle, her hand trembling slightly. But before she could push it open, Ethan spoke again, his voice low and unguarded.
"I left and I didn't mention anything," he said, "because you looked at him like he was your hero."
Her hand froze. Her breath stalled in her chest.
Ethan didn't look at her when he said it, but his voice carried the weight of a decade's silence. "But I'm not making that mistake again."
The weight of his confession pressed down on her, too heavy to sort through all at once. She needed time—to think, to breathe, to separate the truth from the years of lies she had unknowingly built her memories on.
Without a word, she unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the car door, and stepped out into the cool night air.