The soft clink of porcelain cups filled the mansion kitchen as Ethan lifted a cookie and studied it, eyes flicking briefly toward Lena, who stood with a tentative smile.
"Thanks for the cookies," he said, lifting the treat before taking a bite. "You're trying to fatten me up?"
Lena laughed lightly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Just trying to balance out your seriousness."
He offered a rare grin. "You're coming with me tonight."
That made her pause, smile freezing ever so slightly. "Is that... off the record?"
"Let's say it is," he replied smoothly. "So, is that a yes?"
Her heart skipped. She hated that it did. "Hmm... okay."
Ethan nodded once, satisfied. "Good."
---
Dinner wasn't formal, but there was an unspoken weight behind it. The kind that clung to air between businessmen with hidden expectations. Lena didn't know what to expect—she only knew she wasn't supposed to mess anything up.
As they got ready, Ethan opened a black velvet case and handed it to her. Inside was a sleek, nearly invisible earpiece.
"Do you understand Mandarin?" he asked, his voice casual but searching.
She shook her head. "No... do I have to?"
"I figured." He gestured to the device. "So you don't feel left out."
Her fingers brushed his when she took it. "That's beautiful."
He leaned in and kissed her gently. There was something unspoken in that kiss—calm, controlled, almost too careful. Like he didn't want her to read too much into it.
They left in silence, the luxury car humming softly as it took them to a high-end Chinese restaurant nestled in a quiet district.
The private room they entered was minimalist but expensive. At the center sat two Chinese businessmen and an American with sharp eyes and a smoother tongue. Ethan's steps slowed slightly at the door.
Lena's fingers tightened around his. "Nervous?"
He shook his head too quickly. "Never."
She gave a gentle tug. "Well, in case you are… your grip is telling on you."
His lips twitched. He loosened his hand. They entered.
Introductions were swift, warm. The gentlemen stood, each shaking hands with a practiced air. The table was already laden—Peking duck, dumplings, braised fish, and even a few Western touches. A culinary handshake between cultures.
Lena said little. She didn't need to. She watched.
Ethan transformed before her eyes. Confident. Charming. Fluent.
"你会说中文说得很好." (Nǐ huì shuō zhōngwén shuō dé hěn hǎo – You speak Mandarin very well), one of the men said, laughing.
"谢谢,我很早就开始学习." (Xièxiè, wǒ hěn zǎo jiù kāishǐ xuéxí – Thank you, I started learning early), Ethan replied effortlessly.
She couldn't stop watching him. His expressions, his tones, the way his fingers never strayed far from hers beneath the table. He occasionally reached for her hand, resting it gently on his lap, thumb moving in slow circles.
"她是你妻子吗?" (Tā shì nǐ qīzi ma? – Is she your wife?)
Ethan glanced at Lena, then lifted their intertwined fingers onto the table. "Yes. Newly married."
There was a warm chuckle around the table. "她很漂亮." (Tā hěn piàoliang – She's beautiful.)
"谢谢." Lena smiled politely, understanding enough from context.
"有孩子吗?" (Yǒu háizi ma? – Do you have kids?)
This time, Ethan let her answer. She cleared her throat softly.
"No kids yet," she said. "We're in no rush."
The men laughed, seemingly pleased with her confidence.
"不要介意我的英语,我还在学习." (Bùyào jièyì wǒ de yīngyǔ, wǒ hái zài xuéxí – Don't mind my English, I'm still learning.)
"You're doing great," Lena replied sincerely. "Better than my Mandarin."
The dinner continued with more laughter, more stories. Nothing official was said. No contracts, no business—only pleasantries. But Lena knew this was part of the game. Knowing your people before trusting them.
One of the men leaned toward Ethan. "你是在哪里学中文的?" (Nǐ shì zài nǎlǐ xué zhōngwén de? – Where did you learn Chinese?)
"I spent six months in China," Ethan said. "My father believed business meant understanding people. He made sure I had the tools."
Lena's heart snagged on that one word. Father.
---
When they exited the restaurant, the evening air was cooler. Lena leaned against the car for a moment as Ethan lit the engine.
"So?" he asked. "What do you think?"
She gave a small, sly smile. "I think you're stupidly sexy when you speak Mandarin."
That drew the first genuine laugh from him. "And the evening?"
"Surprisingly fun. Not as awkward as I feared."
"They're kind people," Ethan said, glancing at the rearview mirror.
She turned to him. "You really just picked up Mandarin like that?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Dad enrolled me in language programs. We traveled a lot."
Lena smiled softly. "Sounds like a great dad."
"He is."
"I mean… you speak German, Mandarin, Spanish, French. That's impressive."
"I could teach you," he offered lightly.
She didn't respond. Instead, she turned her face toward the window, watching the blur of city lights.
Ethan noticed. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said too quickly.
"Lena."
She hesitated. Then turned, her voice quieter. "You mentioned your dad… and then brushed it off like it burned to speak about him. It's like you're allowed to know everything about me, but I'm not allowed to ask about you."
The tension in the car thickened.
"I'm not accusing you," she added softly. "But… sometimes I feel like I'm being invited into your world and held at the door at the same time."
Ethan didn't speak.
She turned back to the window. "I'm sorry. I just... noticed."
They walked into the mansion in silence. No more words. No more smiles. Just a long hallway, two shadows moving side by side but not in sync.
That night, as they lay in the same bed, an invisible wall formed between them—built not from lies, but from silence.