The message hit Ethan like a punch to the chest.
"I want to go."
He didn't waste a second. Whatever conversation he had slipped away from, it no longer mattered.
He scanned the hall until he found her—alone in a quiet corner, wiping her tears quickly the moment she sensed him approach. Her chin lifted, as if trying to pretend it hadn't happened, but her red eyes betrayed her.
"Lena…" he started, his voice low, uncertain.
"I'm fine," she said, brushing past him.
---
Back home, the silence between them was heavier than usual.
Lena poured herself a glass of water, leaned against the counter, then turned to face him.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
Ethan gave a small nod.
"That woman—Vivian… did you ever think she might have fallen for you? Or was she just… a bedmate?"
Ethan blinked, then let out a breathy, ironic laugh. "Vivian? We were nothing. She made it more in her head. I told her that more than once."
Lena stared at him a moment longer. "Right. Just a bedmate…"
He tilted his head. "Are you jealous?"
She scoffed lightly. "Not really. I was just thinking—if you can have a bedmate, maybe I should have one too."
His expression changed instantly.
"Maybe the live-in bodyguard," she added with a teasing smirk. "Not bad-looking."
"Lena," Ethan said flatly, his jaw tense. He didn't find it funny.
She grinned, leaning in just enough to push his buttons. "What? You said it yourself—what we have isn't real, right? So I'd never do it while you're around. I'd respect your presence. I'd wait till you're gone."
"Lena—"
"Unless, of course, you want to call this a real—"
He kissed her.
No warning. Just emotion. Just heat.
His lips captured hers, fierce and breathless. For a second, she was too stunned to react.
Then she kissed him back.
It was deep, intense—everything they'd both been denying. Hands tangled in hair, bodies drawn closer, breaths uneven.
And then she stopped.
Her hand pressed to his chest, eyes wide with something between fear and realization.
"What are we doing?" she whispered.
Ethan didn't answer right away. He only looked at her like he was just now waking up from his own dream.
Ethan stared at her, heart pounding.
What are we doing?
That question echoed louder than the music had at the event, louder than Vivian's voice, louder than the silence he used to drown himself in every day.
His hands dropped slowly from her waist. He took a step back.
"I don't know," he admitted. His voice was husky, low—stripped of his usual control. "I didn't plan to do that."
"But you did," Lena said, her voice barely above a whisper, lips still parted from the kiss they just shared.
"I did," he said.
She waited, like she was hoping for more—an explanation, maybe something soft, maybe something that would make it make sense.
But Ethan couldn't give it.
Because how could he admit that everything had started to feel… different?
That for once, he didn't just want someone in his bed—he wanted someone to stay.
Still, he saw the confusion in her eyes, the guarded look starting to return.
He cleared his throat. "I'm not good at this."
"I know."
"I don't do relationships."
"I know."
"I mess things up. I keep people out because if I let them in—" He stopped himself.
Lena didn't push.
She didn't have to.
He'd already said too much.
He looked away, hands at his side, his jaw tight. "You want honesty, Lena? I hated the idea of you with anyone else. Even as a joke. I hated it."
"That's jealousy," she said softly.
"I know."
They stood in silence again.
He stepped closer, just a little. "I don't want you to have a bedmate."
Lena blinked. "Why? You already have yours."
"I don't want anyone else," Ethan said.
It wasn't a declaration. It wasn't dramatic.
But it was the closest he had come to admitting the truth.
"I'm trying to figure this out," he added. "You. Me. Us. And if I ruin it, just… say something before I do."
Lena's gaze dropped to the floor, and for a long moment, she didn't speak. Then, quietly, she said—
"Then stop keeping me out."
Lena's words hung in the air like a fragile thread between them.
"Then stop keeping me out."
Ethan felt something shift inside him—a crack in the wall he'd spent years building. He wasn't ready to tear it all down, but for the first time, he didn't want to hide behind it either.
He moved toward her again, slowly, like he was afraid she might disappear.
"I don't know how," he said, voice low.
Lena looked up at him, her eyes soft but guarded. "Then let me try… with you."
He reached out, cupped her cheek, and leaned in—not to kiss her this time, but just to feel the warmth of her skin against his palm. It grounded him.
"I've always been surrounded," he said, "but never really seen. Until you."
Lena leaned into his touch. "Then don't push me away when I see you."
A silence stretched—thick, intimate.
Ethan's fingers traced her jaw, slow and uncertain. "I don't want to mess this up, Lena."
"Then don't," she whispered, placing her hand over his. "Just be here… with me."
He kissed her again, not like earlier—this time it was slower, deeper. Less urgency, more need. Not for sex. For closeness. For reassurance. For something real.
Lena responded, her hands slipping beneath his shirt, fingers brushing against bare skin. He let out a quiet breath, his forehead pressing against hers.
"You feel safe," he murmured.
"You feel like a storm," she replied. "But I'm not afraid of getting caught in it."
He let out a shaky laugh, something between relief and fear. "You should be."
"Too late," she said.
They moved toward the couch, not in haste but like they were choosing it. Ethan pulled her gently onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in the crook of her neck.
They stayed like that—just breathing each other in.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. No pressure. No rush.
Just them.
"I'm scared, Lena," he finally said, voice muffled. "I haven't been scared in a long time."
She held him tighter. "Me too."
For once, the night didn't feel like a curse to him.
Not when she was in it.