58 - Mrs.Blackwood
The glass doors of the Blackwood Enterprises boardroom slid shut behind Andrian Richard with a soft, decisive hush.
Evening light spilled through the towering windows, gilding the marble floors and the sharp lines of the corporate empire he'd just bound himself to. The ink on the final page of the contract was barely dry, its scent still faintly metallic in the air, but the deal was done. Sealed. Unavoidable.
Andrian adjusted his cuffs with practiced ease, the subtle snap of fabric echoing his satisfaction. He paused just long enough to catch his reflection in the glass wall—tailored suit immaculate, posture relaxed, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
He'd expected resistance. Counteroffers. Delays dragged out over days, maybe weeks.
Instead, Scarlett had dismantled every obstacle before it could even form.
She had read the room with unnerving precision, anticipated objections before they were voiced, redirected negotiations with solutions that left both sides believing they'd won.
Watching her work had been like watching a chess grandmaster play several moves ahead—effortless, calm, devastatingly effective.
Brilliant.
And that brilliance only deepened the puzzle she had become.
The Scarlett he'd met in Greece had laughed with salt on her skin and sun in her hair, talking about art galleries and impossible dreams as if the world were wide open and waiting for her. That woman had been passionate, impulsive, alive.
The woman who had commanded the boardroom earlier that day had been razor-sharp, controlled, untouchable.
Two versions. One name.
Both had lodged themselves somewhere inconveniently deep beneath his skin.
Behind him, heels clicked softly.
Catherine followed, her expression carefully composed during the negotiations finally slipping now that the doors had closed. Her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes narrowing as they fixed on him with barely concealed displeasure.
"Andrian," she called.
She stepped into his space and wrapped her arms around him in a greeting that was warm by design, deliberate in its intimacy.
He returned the hug easily, patting her back. "How are you doing, Catherine?"
Her answer was lost as Andrian's gaze flickered—just briefly—at the sound of a name spoken somewhere behind them.
Scarlett.
His eyes gleamed, the corners crinkling with genuine amusement as he chuckled. "Let's just say she has a way of making things work," he said lightly, deliberately vague, watching Catherine closely as he spoke.
Her smile tightened. Just a fraction.
A tell.
Interesting.
He pivoted smoothly, shifting the weight of the conversation. "Now. About the launch plans. What's the timeline looking like?" He tilted his head, already half disengaged. "I hope you'll manage from here."
Catherine straightened instantly, business snapping back into place like armor. She began outlining the rollout strategy for their joint venture, crisp and efficient, her voice steady.
Andrian nodded at the right moments.
But his attention drifted.
Movement outside the glass-paneled office caught his eye.
A familiar figure stepped into the building.
Scarlett.
The afternoon sun poured in behind her, catching in her hair and setting it alight, rich brown melting into burnished copper. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt slightly off its axis.
Without thinking, Andrian was already moving toward her.
"Hey, Scarlett!"
She turned at the sound of her name.
And the transformation was immediate.
The cool, controlled executive vanished, replaced by something softer, warmer. Her face lit up with a genuine smile—unguarded, real—as her eyes found his. She stepped forward instinctively, her presence pulling attention like gravity.
Nearby conversations faltered. Heads turned.
Ethan, standing beside Andrian moments earlier with a stack of final documents in hand, went rigid.
His sharp gaze flicked between them, tracking every smile, every unspoken familiarity. His jaw tightened, the muscle along it jumping as his grip on the pen grew tense.
Click.
Click.
The sound was soft but relentless—a nervous tell, or something far more dangerous.
Behind him, Catherine leaned closer, her voice low and deliberate. "Did they know each other?"
Ethan didn't respond.
But the air around him thickened, charged and volatile. His fingers curled slowly into a fist, knuckles whitening.
Scarlett stopped in front of Andrian, tilting her head slightly. A strand of hair slipped free, brushing her cheek, and she tucked it back with a familiar gesture—one Andrian remembered far too clearly.
"Is the deal done?" she asked, professionalism layered thinly over lingering warmth.
He lifted a hand in an easy salute, fingers brushing his temple. "It's done. Signed, sealed, and already heading to legal."
She exhaled, relief softening her shoulders. Her smile deepened, revealing the faint dimple in her right cheek.
"Thank you, Andrian."
He waved it away. "You don't have to thank me. You made this happen."
Then—casual, effortless, reckless—he added, "You finished with work for the day?"
She glanced at her watch. "Yeah. Finally wrapping up."
His grin widened. He was already pulling out his phone, thumb hovering over his calendar. "Then let's go out. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
He stepped toward the exit, expectation clear, as if she would follow him just like she once had—across whitewashed streets and endless blue horizons.
Behind them, Catherine watched Ethan with barely concealed fascination.
His expression had darkened with every word exchanged, shadows pooling beneath his eyes. She sidled closer, placing a hand lightly on his arm.
"They seem... close," she murmured. "Old friends, perhaps?"
Before Scarlett follow him, Ethan's patience snapped.
"Mr. Richard."
His voice cut cleanly through the space—calm, clipped, lethal.
He shrugged off Catherine's touch and strode forward. "I need to introduce her to you officially. This is Scarlett."
Andrian turned, blinking once. "Yes, I know. She's from your design department. Very talented. She made the deal"
He didn't get to finish.
Ethan's arm came around Scarlett's waist, smooth and unmistakably possessive. Casual to the untrained eye. A claim to anyone who mattered.
Scarlett stiffened.
The contact caught her off guard, a flash of irritation and embarrassment flickering across her features as she tried—subtly—to shift away.
Ethan didn't let her.
"Yes," he said evenly, "you're right, Mr. Richard." Then, slower. Deliberate. "And she's my wife."
The word landed like a gunshot.
"My wife?"
The corridor went still.
Scarlett felt it first—the shift. The way the air tightened around her chest, the way every pair of eyes snapped toward her as if she'd been dragged into the light without warning.
"Scarlett Blackwood."
Her name didn't sound like hers anymore.
Ethan's arm was suddenly heavy around her waist, his presence closing in, solid and immovable. The contact wasn't painful—but it was unmistakable. A statement made without asking her permission.
She inhaled sharply.
A flicker of heat flashed through her—not loud, not explosive, but sharp enough to sting. Her shoulders tensed beneath his grip, instinct screaming to pull away, even as her body remained still, trapped between optics and pride.
Across from them, Andrian froze.
For the briefest moment, the easy smile slipped. Something unreadable crossed his face—surprise, calculation, and beneath it, a flash of something raw he hadn't prepared for.
Married.
The word settled slowly, sinking deeper with every heartbeat.
Then he laughed.
Too quick. Too loud.
"What?" His eyes widened theatrically as he looked at Scarlett. "You're married?"
Scarlett exhaled, the sound tight.
"Yes, Andrian," she said, her voice controlled, even—but not light. "I'm sorry. I didn't get a chance to tell you."
She didn't look at Ethan when she said it.
A ripple of awkward moment hovered—but didn't quite land.
Ethan felt it like a cut.
His arm tightened around her waist, fingers pressing just slightly—enough for her to notice. Enough to remind her he was there. Enough to remind everyone else, too.
Andrian straightened, smoothing his jacket, his gaze lifting—finally—to Ethan.
Something passed between them then.
Not words.
Measure.
Assessment.
Challenge.
"Well," Andrian said lightly, clapping his hands together, "this certainly calls for a celebration. Tonight. My place." The invitation came fast, as if momentum itself might keep something from settling too deeply. "Everyone should come. Catherine, you too, of course."
His eyes never left Ethan's.
The tension between them wasn't hostile.
It was territorial.
Ethan didn't release Scarlett.
"We'll see you tonight," he said.
Not yes.
Not no.
Andrian's smile widened, undeterred. "Perfect. I'll text Scarlett the details."
He emphasized her name—just enough to be noticed.
Scarlett's jaw tightened.
Catherine stepped in smoothly, seizing the opening. "That sounds lovely," she said. Then, to Ethan, with calculated concern, "Don't you have that Tokyo conference call tonight? The merger discussion?"
Her gaze flicked to Scarlett. "Perhaps Scarlett could represent us at the celebration. She did secure the deal."
Ethan's expression didn't change—but his eyes sharpened.
"The call can be rescheduled."
Flat. Final.
Catherine's smile faltered—then reset. "Of course. Just thinking of the company."
Andrian watched the exchange with quiet interest, then nodded once, satisfied enough for now. Before leaving, he gave Scarlett a final look—longer this time, more serious.
Then he was gone.
The glass doors slid shut.
Only then did Ethan exhale.
His grip loosened—but he didn't move away.
Scarlett felt the space between them thrum, unsettled.
"You didn't have to do that," she said quietly, not looking at him.
Ethan leaned closer, his voice low, edged. "Didn't I?"
She stepped out from under his arm this time—subtle, deliberate, undeniable—and walked toward her car without another word.
And Ethan watched her go, realizing too late that the claim he'd made so confidently had just cost him something he didn't yet know how to name.
--
Catherine seized the opportunity, sliding up to Ethan with practiced ease. "Well, that was interesting," she murmured, standing close enough that her perfume—expensive and deliberately chosen to appeal—wafted around him. "I didn't realize your wife had such... colorful acquaintances."
Ethan's jaw tightened again as he watched Scarlett's retreating figure. "Neither did I," he said, his voice hard as flint. Without another word, he strode after Scarlett, his long legs eating up the distance between them.
Catherine watched him go, frustration and determination warring in her gaze. This unexpected development with Andrian Richard could be either a complication or an opportunity. She just needed to figure out how to play it to her advantage.
Meanwhile, Ethan caught up to Scarlett just as she reached her car. He placed a hand on the door, preventing her from opening it.
"We need to talk," he said, his voice controlled but with an undercurrent of something raw and unguarded.
Scarlett looked up, meeting his gaze directly. "Yes," she agreed, surprising him.
"About Andrian Richard. Do you know him already?", he questioned.
"We do." She glanced around the busy parking lot. "But not here."
Ethan nodded once, sharp and decisive. "Then come with me.", without her knowledge he told the driver "You may leave for the day, Scarlett will come with me".
Ethan turned towards her and made her walk towards the car.
It wasn't a question, and Scarlett didn't treat it as one. She simply slipped into her car when he removed his hand from the door.
The casual, familiar way she called Andrian's name—without title or formality—made something dark and possessive flare in Ethan's chest. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking visibly beneath the taut skin. "You and Andrian seem too close," he observed, the words dripping with insinuation.
Scarlett finally turned, her face a careful mask of neutrality, though her eyes—deep amber in the fading light—burned with barely contained anger. "Not too close," she countered, her gaze meeting his unflinchingly.
"I don't care," Ethan said, the slight tremor in his voice and the whitening of his knuckles as he gripped the armrest contradicting his words.
"But remember, whatever you do is inevitably connected to me.
" The car reached the mansion. He turned and leans towards her.
"For tonight's party, we're going together.
Be ready by seven." His voice dropped an octave lower, commanding rather than requesting.
"And don't forget—we have to act like a couple. "
The silence that followed his words hung heavy between them.
Scarlett's lips parted slightly as if to retort, but instead, she pressed them into a thin line.
A flash of something—hurt? resignation?—crossed her features before she turned away, hesitating for a heartbeat before disappearing into the house.
The soft click of the door was the only response he received.
Ethan remained standing, staring at the closed door, a muscle working in his jaw. His reflection in the window showed a man whose composed exterior barely contained the storm brewing within.