Their eyes opened at the same time.
No alarm, no sound, just an unspoken pull that made them turn toward each other, drawn like magnets under the morning light spilling across the sheets. Ethan reached out first, cradling Lena's face in his palms with a slowness that made her heart skip. Her breath hitched, but she didn't pull away. She leaned into his touch.
"Good morning," he murmured, voice low, intimate.
"Good morning, babe," she whispered back.
There was no urgency. No need to move. They remained as they were, staring into each other's eyes like they were seeing the other for the first time—and maybe the last.
He brushed a stray lock from her forehead, his thumb lingering at the edge of her lips. "How's your stomach?"
"I feel better," she replied, voice soft but sure.
"I thought as much," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
She moved closer, her leg sliding slowly over his—until she felt him, hot and firm beneath the sheet. Her thigh brushed against his morning arousal. A low groan escaped his throat.
He reached for her waist, pulling her against him like he couldn't bear the inches that separated them.
Still, no words.
Her fingers slid beneath the fabric of his shirt, tracing his abdomen, every movement slow and deliberate. She drew imaginary patterns over his skin, feeling the heat radiating off him. He trembled under her touch, and his eyes fluttered closed as her hand traveled lower, grazing the edge of his shorts before slipping inside.
He exhaled hard, jaw tightening.
Her touch was confident now. Teasing. Circling him slowly as he pressed into her hand. She leaned in, brushing her lips over his collarbone, then his neck. He tilted his head, giving her access, his hands moving up her back, gathering the hem of her nightshirt.
With one fluid motion, he slipped the fabric over her head and tossed it aside.
She was bare beneath.
He stared at her like she was made of fire and silk, his fingers gliding over the curves of her hips, then up, brushing her nipples until she arched toward him.
"I need you," she whispered against his lips.
"You have me," he said, and rolled her beneath him.
He slid her panties down, kissing her thigh as he did, then moved between her legs. His tongue found her slowly—leisurely—drawing a gasp from her chest as she tangled her fingers in his hair.
He didn't rush.
He explored.
He worshipped.
She bucked against him, moaning his name louder than before. When she reached for him, pulling him upward, their eyes locked.
His shorts dropped. Skin to skin. His tip brushed against her, and her body trembled with need.
Then he entered her—slowly—watching every flicker of emotion in her eyes. He filled her inch by inch until they were one, bodies pressed so tightly no light could pass between them.
Each thrust was deeper. Harder. But still tender. Still laced with something unsaid. Something they were both afraid to name.
Lena's moans echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls.
"Remind me to soundproof this place," Ethan said breathlessly as he drove into her again, her back arching.
"Was I too loud?" she asked in a teasing gasp.
"I'm not complaining," he grinned against her neck. "It's for the maids."
"I love it."
The duvet was already a mess on the floor, but they didn't care.
He flipped her onto her side, pulling her leg up and sliding back inside her. This time, it was rougher. Desperate. Like time was running out.
Because deep down, they both felt it.
Something was coming.
Something that could change everything.
"I want more," he groaned into her ear.
"Take it," she moaned.
They moved together like they'd done it a thousand times and yet every time felt new. He spilled into her with a final thrust and collapsed beside her, panting. She turned toward him, her legs still tangled with his.
They didn't speak for a long time, just lay there, breathing each other in.
But reality waited.
And it didn't knock.
---
By 9:00 a.m., they finally began to move. Slowly. Like their bodies didn't want to part.
"I'll be nearby," Ethan told her, sliding on a shirt as she adjusted her dress.
"If you change your mind about meeting him, call me."
"I won't," she replied quietly.
But Ethan didn't trust that. And so, unseen, his crew followed her at a distance.
Lena arrived at the café thirty minutes early, nerves coiled in her gut. She took the seat she'd reserved, tucked into a corner, out of plain sight but near enough to an exit.
Ten o'clock passed.
No sign.
Nothing.
Then her phone buzzed.
> DON'T GO. I'M AROUND. JUST MAKING SURE YOU WEREN'T FOLLOWED.
She scanned the room—her heartbeat quickening. Nothing. No faces she recognized. But she stayed.
A few minutes later, a man in a hoodie approached her table, dropped a folded note, and disappeared before she could say a word.
Lena unfolded it with shaking hands.
The texter had already entered. He'd moved tables. He was inside.
She turned—slowly—and saw him.
Tux. Familiar shoulders. Eyes she hadn't seen in weeks but couldn't forget.
She approached him from behind.
"You really kept a lady waiting," she said, sliding into the chair across from him.
Then her heart dropped.
"George?"
He didn't smile. "Hi, Lena."
Her jaw tightened. "You've got to be kidding me. This—this whole elaborate setup. All of this was just to get at Ethan?"
"This isn't about Ethan," George said calmly. "It's about you. About what you deserve."
She laughed bitterly. "You think he doesn't deserve me?"
"I know he doesn't."
Before she could answer, the door opened.
Ethan walked in like a storm in a suit, his presence shifting the entire energy of the room. He didn't hesitate—he came straight to her, leaned down, and kissed her.
"In front of him?" she asked.
"He wanted a show," Ethan said, looking at George. "Figured I'd give him one."
"Is this the guy?" Ethan asked her.
She nodded.
Ethan looked at George with a smirk. "You again? I already apologized for what happened years ago. Let it go, man."
But George didn't smile.
He stood.
And his expression changed.
"You think that's what this is about?" he said darkly. "You think this is just old rivalry?"
He looked at Lena. "You don't know, do you?"
Ethan stiffened.
"Don't," Ethan warned.
Lena turned pale. "Know what?"
George smiled sadly. "Tell her, Ethan. Or I will."
"George—"
"You were right, Lena. Your instincts told you there was more to Ethan's past. You just didn't want to believe it."
Lena looked at Ethan. "What's he talking about?"
"Ask him what happened to his mother," George said coldly.
Ethan froze.
"Ask him, Lena," George urged.
She swallowed. "What happened to your mom, Ethan?"
He didn't answer.
George did.
"He killed her," he said. "They got into a fight. She stormed out. He followed her. Tried to stop her. He was high. On heroin."
Lena gasped.
George went on, relentless.
"He drove. Lost control. She died on impact. And guess what? He covered it up. Blamed the weather. Blamed everyone but himself. But the test came back positive."
Ethan closed his eyes.
"He sent Frederick to prison for the same thing he did. Because the truth is, Ethan hates monsters… especially when they remind him of himself."
Tears spilled from Lena's eyes.
"Stop…" she said, barely a whisper.
George looked at her with sympathy. "I tried to warn you. But it's not too late. You still have a choice. You can take my offer. You can get out before he destroys you, too."
Then he turned to Ethan.
"You think you've had loyal women? Even your ex betrayed you. You were never special. You were just good at pretending."
And with that, he walked away, the room echoing with silence.
Lena stood there, trembling.
Ethan didn't move.
Didn't speak.
He just stared ahead.
Frozen.
Like a man watching his entire world collapse.
---