Chapter 14
The morning broke with chaos. Alarming headlines Clara never imagined she would see.
Corporate Giant CGE Rocked by Massive Embezzlement Scandal: Senior Executives Arrested in Midnight Sweep.
Two department heads were marched out in handcuffs from their offices. The High ranking officials were taken into Police custody. Police cars swarmed the streets outside their headquarters.
By the time Clara arrived at the office, the building buzzed like a hornet’s nest. Colleagues clustered in anxious huddles, whispering names she recognized—men and women who had worn expensive suits, who had always spoken to her with authority. Now they were criminals being dragged away in handcuffs.
Vanessa Blake, once the untouchable queen of Marketing and Design Department, had folded under Adrian’s pressure. In exchange for her own reduced sentence, she had spilled everything—names, numbers and the network of embezzlement. The dominoes fell fast.
A receptionist whispered as Clara passed.
“They caught Fletcher—Head of Finance. He’d been caught at the airport, suitcase stuffed with cash and a forged passport.”
Someone else murmured, “Half of Logistics was suspended. They say the CEO himself is behind it.”
Phones buzzed furiously across the building, rumors spiraling with every new arrest.
Clara sat frozen at her desk, the weight of the news pressing down like stone. She wasn’t the only one. Whole departments huddled in corners whispering, shocked and anxious.
Daniel, Adrian’s implacable PA, appeared in the main lobby just before noon. “Everyone, listen.” His baritone cut through the panic. “Yes, there have been arrests. Yes, certain managers betrayed the trust of this company. But CGE stands. We will not fall. The CEO is fully aware of the situation. A press briefing and internal address will be held tomorrow morning. Mr. Cole himself will speak. Until then, return to your work. Everything is under control.”
His words steadied the room, but Clara’s stomach tightened. She had never met the elusive CEO. Few had. But now…Now, in the swirl of scandal, she was finally going to meet Adrian Cole, the man who had placed so much trust in her to head the Cultural Showcase, and now, the Marketing and Designs Department.
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That night, Clara climbed the dim stairwell of their apartment building, clutching her purse, exhaustion heavy in her limbs. The cracked walls and peeling paint seemed even grimmer after the day’s upheaval. She’d rehearsed what to tell Ethan about the day, how surreal it had all felt—how lucky she was to be safe amidst the chaos.
But when she opened the door, she froze.
Ethan stood waiting.
Except he didn’t look like himself. Not quite.
He turned towards her slowly, the overhead light catching on his inky black hair. His brown hair—always a little unkempt—was gone. In its place, sleek black strands fell perfectly into place, the silver streak near his temple gleaming under the weak bulb. He was dressed not in scuffed shoes and worn shirts, but in a dark, tailored jacket that hugged his shoulders like it was made for him.
This man standing before her looked nothing like her husband.
For a moment, Clara simply stared, her pulse racing. Ethan looked older, different, almost dangerous—but it was still him. The same eyes—those same dark, searching eyes that watched her too closely—anchored her.
“Ethan?” she whispered. “You’re back. You…you look different.”
He smiled faintly, a knowing, almost mischievous tilt of his lips.
“You like it?”
She stepped towards him, her pulse hammering. She wanted to demand answers, but instead, the truth spilled in a different shape.
“I love it,” she said softly.
Then she was in his arms.
The day, the scandal, the world outside—all of it fell away as he drew her close. Ethan’s kiss was hungry, urgent, threaded with a need she hadn’t felt before. It was as if he were trying to memorize her. His hands slid along her sides, tracing the shape of her waist, her hips, her spine. He kissed her neck, nipping at her skin until she gasped, her fingers tangled desperately in his jacket. Each touch felt deliberate—worshipful and desperate all at once. When he whispered her name against her throat, his voice trembled with emotion.
Clara had so many questions—about his sudden absence, about his change, about the tension that pulsed through him—but every time she tried to speak, his lips found her skin again, silencing her.
He led her gently to the couch, his gaze never leaving hers. When he lifted Clara into his arms, she clung to him like a lifeline. He set her gently on the threadbare couch, the fabric rough beneath her back. She whispered his name—“Ethan”—but he silenced her with a kiss so deep it seemed to carry a thousand unsaid truths. He undressed her slowly, reverently, as though unveiling something sacred. His touch was both tender and commanding, unbuttoning her gown and baring her naked form for his eyes to feast on. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, his body trembling not from lust alone but from something deeper—
He kneeled, his hands parting her thighs, then his head dipping to taste her juice. He kissed her lower, slower, until she arched and trembled beneath him. Clara moaned but he didn’t stop sucking her until she shuddered, climaxing.
Then adjusting his girth, he thrust into her softness. They moved together until the world dissolved into rhythm and heartbeat, every movement threaded with desperation. The night became a blur of sighs and shivers, his mouth worshipping her, his touch unraveling every knot of doubt she’d carried. His whispered pleas tangled with her gasps.
Between ragged breaths, Ethan murmured against her skin, “Promise me, Clara. Promise you’ll stay. Whatever happens. Promise me.”
Every thrust was desperate, almost frantic. And when they finally shattered together, her nails clutching his shoulders, his forehead pressed to hers, he repeated it again, like a broken prayer—
“Stay my love.”
Clara’s heart twisted. She cupped his face, seeing the vulnerability hidden beneath. “I promise,” she whispered. “Always. I’m not going anywhere.”
He held her long after, his face buried against her neck, as though afraid she might vanish.
“Ethan,” she murmured drowsily, tracing the silver streak in his hair, “what happened to your grandmother? Is she all right?”
But he only kissed her shoulder, a faint tremor running through him. “She’s fine,” he whispered. “Don’t think about that. Think only about us.”
She tried to press further, but his mouth found hers again, and the questions slipped away.
Ethan barely let Clara discuss anything that night. Anytime she tried to start a conversation, his mouth silenced her words, his hands mapping every familiar curve of her body.
He loved her as if their world were ending.