67 - Unspoken tensions
By the time Ethan made his way downstairs, the morning sun had fully risen, bathing the minimalist living room in warm golden light.
The polished hardwood floors gleamed, and the modern art piece on the far wall—all sharp angles and bold colors—caught the light in ways that transformed it entirely from its nighttime appearance.
Scarlett was already dressed for work, adjusting the strap of her leather bag by the front door.
She wore a tailored navy blazer over a silk blouse, her copper hair swept into a neat ponytail that emphasized the elegant line of her neck.
Professional, put-together—a stark contrast to the flustered woman from upstairs.
"Ready?" he asked casually, reaching for his car keys from the sleek bowl on the entryway table. His fingers brushed against a stack of mail they'd both been ignoring for days.
She nodded curtly, avoiding his gaze, the memory of their morning encounter still evident in the slight tension of her shoulders. Without another word, the two of them left together, stepping out into the crisp morning air.
The drive to the office was quiet, filled only with the low hum of classical music from Ethan's car stereo and the occasional commentary about the increasingly congested traffic.
The familiar rhythm of their mornings together had become so natural that neither questioned it anymore—this strange arrangement born of necessity that had evolved into something neither could quite define.
The Blackwood building rose before them, a sleek glass tower reflecting the cloudless blue sky. They pulled into the reserved parking space—Ethan's name emblazoned on the sign—and made their way to the private elevator that would take them to the executive floor.
Inside the confined space of the elevator, Scarlett became acutely aware of Ethan's presence beside her—the subtle scent of his cologne, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his reflection in the polished doors stood tall and unwavering.
The elevator climbed smoothly, floor numbers illuminating one after another, each soft ding marking their ascent.
At the office, as they entered through the main doors of the executive suite, Catherine glanced up from the reception desk.
Her sharp eyes, enhanced by cat-eye glasses that matched her sleek gray suit, followed their synchronized steps, the easy familiarity between them.
Nothing escaped Catherine's notice—twenty years as executive assistant to the company's founder had honed her observational skills to near-psychic levels.
"Good morning, Ethan," she said with that perfectly balanced mix of professionalism and quiet judgment.
Her cat-eye glasses framed eyes that missed nothing.
"Morning," Ethan replied, accepting the stack of messages she offered with a nod.
Scarlett gave a curt smile and a slight nod, already scrolling through her phone.
She didn't see the faint curve of amusement at the corner of Catherine's lips.
Scarlett bidded bye to Ethan and moved towards her workplace.
"They're getting closer," Catherine murmured to herself once they were out of earshot, her lips pressing into a knowing smile as she adjusted her glasses and returned to her computer screen.
She'd seen many things in her years at this desk, watched many relationships unfold within these walls.
This one, she suspected, would be more interesting than most.
—
Scarlett barely had time to settle into her spacious corner office, with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline, before she saw Andrian waiting for her.
He leaned casually against her glass desk, his lanky frame draped with the kind of effortless elegance that came from old money and expensive education.
His blonde hair was artfully tousled, his designer suit impeccably tailored to his slender build.
"You're here early," she noted, setting her leather bag down on the cream-colored sofa by the window. The morning light caught the gold accents in the room—picture frames, desk accessories, the delicate clock on the bookshelf—making them gleam.
Andrian shrugged, the movement smooth and practiced. "You owe me lunch, remember?" His British accent gave even the simple statement a sophisticated lilt.
Scarlett winced, remembering the canceled plans.
"Right. I'm sorry about yesterday. Work came up.
But I promise I owe you that" She didn't elaborate on how that "work" had involved staying late with Ethan to review quarterly projections until her eyes burned from staring at spreadsheets, how they'd ordered takeout and eaten it in his office as midnight approached, how the ride home had been quiet but comfortable in a way that made her chest feel tight.
"If you're really sorry, you'll accept this," Andrian said, his tone lightening as he revealed a single red rose from behind his back with a theatrical flourish. The crimson bloom was perfectly formed, its velvety petals still carrying droplets of moisture from the florist's spray.
Scarlett blinked, then laughed, the sound genuine and melodic as it filled the office. "Seriously? A rose?" She raised an eyebrow, her lips quivering in amusement.
"Symbolic," he said with a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to his heart. "A token of forgiveness. Plus, I passed that little flower shop on the corner, and the old woman running it looked so hopeful." His blue eyes twinkled with good humor.
Scarlett shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips, but she accepted the flower, twirling it between her fingers. The thorns had been removed, she noticed—a thoughtful touch. "Fine. I accept your ridiculously dramatic gesture."
From the hallway outside Scarlett's office, Ethan's sharp gaze caught this moment through the glass walls. He had been on his way to discuss the Henderson account with Scarlett, a folder of documents tucked under his arm, when he stopped short at the sight before him.
His grip on his phone tightened imperceptibly as he watched Scarlett laugh, her face animated with genuine amusement, the rose still held delicately between her fingers.
Andrian leaned closer, saying something that made her smile widen, his hand brushing against hers as he adjusted the flower in her grip.
The scene sent an unexpected jolt of something acrid and unpleasant through Ethan's chest. He didn't have a name for it—or perhaps was unwilling to name it.
"Look at them," Catherine mused, appearing silently beside him with more files for his review. Her knowing eyes took in the tableau in Scarlett's office, then flicked to Ethan's face, reading more than he wanted to reveal. "Seems like they are getting closer."
Ethan's jaw clenched, a small muscle ticking at the corner.
The friendly smile Scarlett reserved for her colleagues—for Andrian—was so different from her flustered reactions to him that morning.
Without a word, he turned and walked toward the meeting room, his mood inexplicably soured, leaving Catherine watching his retreating back with a shrewd expression.
The folder he'd meant to give Scarlett remained tucked under his arm, momentarily forgotten.
—
The morning passed in a flurry of meetings, phone calls, and emails.
Scarlett threw herself into work, focusing on the Henderson account merger that had consumed most of her time for the month.
But even as she reviewed contracts and fielded calls from anxious clients, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was. .. off.
Ethan had been fine this morning—teasing, smug, his usual insufferable self.
But the times she'd seen him since arriving at the office, he'd barely acknowledged her.
When she'd stopped by the conference room to update him on the Henderson negotiations, he'd listened with a detached coldness that left her feeling oddly hollow.
The rose Andrian had given her sat in a slender crystal vase on her desk, its vibrant color a stark contrast to the monochrome elegance of her office. Occasionally, her eyes drifted to it, and her brow furrowed in thought.
By noon, she pushed her hesitation aside and made her way to Ethan's office. His assistant, John, waved her through with the easy familiarity of someone who knew the unspoken hierarchy.
Ethan's office was larger than hers, a corner suite with panoramic views of the city and the harbor beyond.
The space was masculine and minimalist—dark wood, leather, and steel, with a few strategically placed modern art pieces that suggested wealth without being ostentatious.
He sat behind his imposing desk, attention focused on his computer screen, his profile sharp and unreadable in the natural light streaming through the windows.
When she stepped inside, Ethan barely spared her a glance, his fingers continuing to move over the keyboard with practiced precision.
"Do you have plans for lunch?" she asked, forcing lightness into her tone as she approached his desk. She ran her fingertips along the edge of a nearby bookshelf, pretending interest in the leather-bound financial journals arranged there.
"No," he said flatly, still not looking up from his screen. The single syllable hung in the air, unadorned and cold.
Scarlett was excited and asked him. "Then let's go together. There's that new place on Fourth that everyone's talking about, or we could do that Thai place you liked last—"
"Do I look like I have time for that?" The words were clipped, each one a small, sharp dismissal.
Scarlett blinked, her hand stilling on the bookshelf. The abrupt change from their easy morning dynamic caught her off guard. The dismissal was sharp, cutting through her practiced professional demeanor and touching something vulnerable beneath.
She studied him for a moment—the rigid set of his shoulders, the tightness around his mouth, the way he seemed to be deliberately avoiding her gaze. The subtle tells she'd learned to read over months of working closely with him.
"Did something happen?" she ventured, her voice softer now, tinged with genuine concern.
Ethan's gaze flicked up then, meeting hers for the first time since she'd entered, and what she saw there—or rather, what she didn't see—made her stomach clench. His eyes were shuttered, unreadable, the warm gray turned to cold steel.
"I have work to do, Scarlett." His tone was final, dismissive. He turned back to his computer, effectively ending the conversation.
A knot formed in her stomach, a vague sense of loss she couldn't quite articulate.
She didn't press further, knowing from experience that Ethan's walls, once raised, were impenetrable.
With a quiet nod that he didn't see—or chose not to acknowledge—she turned and left, the coldness of his tone lingering in her chest like an ache.
The click of the door closing behind her sounded oddly final in the hushed corridor.
As Scarlett left the room, Ethan shut his laptop and stood up and went near the window and looked outside.
He didn't want to dismiss her invitation, but when she came into the room, the morning memory flashed and made him lose his control.
—
Andrian was waiting outside her office when she returned, casually scrolling through his phone. He looked up as she approached, his expression brightening. "Come, let's go for lunch?" he asked, his usual easy grin in place, oblivious to the subtle shift in her mood.
Scarlett hesitated for a fraction of a second, her thoughts still tangled in the puzzle of Ethan's coldness, before nodding. "Yeah. Let's go." But she didn't realise Ethan was watching everything.
The restaurant Andrian chose was one of those high-end establishments but very old where the portions were small, the prices astronomical, and the wait staff moved with the silent efficiency of theater stagehands.
Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over cream-colored walls, and the soft murmur of conversation blended with the gentle notes of a piano somewhere out of sight.
They were seated at a secluded table near a window that offered views of the city park across the street.
Andrian was charming as always, his conversation flowing easily from company gossip to his recent trip to Barcelona.
Scarlett made appropriate responses, smiled at his jokes, but part of her mind remained elsewhere, replaying the moment in Ethan's office, searching for clues she might have missed.
Andrian was in the middle of ordering—something about a wine pairing for the Chilean sea bass—when his gaze flickered toward the entrance, and his words faltered.
"Uh, Scarlett?" he said, nudging her lightly across the table.
She followed his line of sight—and her breath caught.
Ethan.
He stood near the entrance, hands in the pockets of his tailored charcoal suit, his presence commanding attention without effort.
The waitress was speaking to him, gesturing toward the back of the restaurant, but Ethan's gaze had already found her across the room.
Even from a distance, she could see the hardening of his expression, the slight narrowing of his eyes as they moved from her to Andrian and back again.
Scarlett's heart gave an odd lurch, a mixture of confusion and something else she couldn't name.
She rose instinctively, the napkin falling from her lap to the floor unnoticed as she made her way toward him.
"Ethan? What are you doing here?"
His eyes met hers, but there was no warmth, no recognition of the strange intimacy they'd shared that morning.
"I should be asking you that," he said coolly, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear.
"Why ?Am I not allowed here?"
Scarlett frowned, confusion creasing her brow.
"It's lunch time Mr.Blackwood. Andrian and I just—"
"Looks like you enjoy spending time with him.
" His words were sharp, laced with something she couldn't quite place—bitterness?
Disdain? He glanced over her shoulder at Andrian, who was watching them with undisguised curiosity.
"Good. I'm sure you both have plenty to discuss.
"
Before she could respond—before she could make sense of the bizarre interaction—he turned and walked away, his stride purposeful, shoulders rigid.
But Scarlett didn't miss to notice Catherine hurriedly followed after him.
Something inside her twisted, a physical sensation of loss that took her by surprise.
She returned to the table, but the mood had shifted.
The food arrived—beautifully plated, artfully arranged—but she barely tasted it, her mind clouded with Ethan's words, his unreadable expression, the strange tension that had sprung up between them from nowhere.
Andrian noticed. Of course he did. He was more perceptive than his playboy image suggested.
"You're not really here, are you?" he asked after several minutes of her pushing food around her plate.
Scarlett forced a small smile, setting down her fork.
"Sorry. It's just... work stuff." The explanation sounded hollow even to her own ears.
Andrian studied her for a moment, then nodded, not pressing further.
He deftly changed the subject to safer territory—a client they shared, the upcoming company retreat—but the easy camaraderie of earlier had faded.
The ride back to the office was quiet, the silence broken only by the soft classical music from the car's speakers and the occasional comment about traffic.
Andrian walked her to the elevator, his parting smile tinged with something like resignation.
—
The rest of the workday passed in a blur, her focus completely shot.
She made careless errors in the Henderson report that took an hour to fix, forgot a scheduled call with legal, and found herself staring out her office window more than once, watching clouds gather on the horizon, promising rain.
When it was time to leave, she hesitated before taking out her phone.She called him, heart inexplicably racing as she waited through three rings.
"Yes?" His voice was clipped when he answered.
"Can you pick me up?" she asked, hating the uncertain note that had crept into her voice.
His reply was instant, without hesitation.
"I have some work, so take a taxi."
Scarlett stilled, her grip on the phone tightening.
The words were like a slap—not in their harshness, but in their finality.
"I can wait if you're not ready yet," she offered, striving for a casual tone.
"No need." The line went dead.
Scarlett stared at her phone, the disconnected call screen glowing up at her accusingly.
Around her, the office had emptied, only the night cleaning staff moving silently between cubicles, emptying trash bins and wiping down surfaces.
She didn't understand. Yesterday they'd been fine—better than fine.
They'd worked late, eaten dinner together, driven home listening to that podcast she'd insisted he'd like.
This morning he'd teased her, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips as he'd trapped her against the dresser.
And now?
Complete shutdown.
She booked a taxi through the app, gathering her things mechanically, feeling an unshakable heaviness settle over her as she rode home through streets now slick with rain.
The city lights blurred through the water-streaked windows, mirroring the confusion in her mind.
The house was dark when she arrived, but Ethan's car was in the driveway.
She let herself in quietly, moving through the silent rooms with a growing sense of unease.
Was he avoiding her? In their own home?
When she stepped into the bedroom, memories of that morning flickered in her mind—the warmth of Ethan's arms, the teasing smirk, the way he had looked at her with that indefinable something in his eyes that had made her heart race.
Now the room was empty, the bed still made, untouched.
The bathroom door was open, no light or steam suggesting a shower.
The house felt vast suddenly, echoing with absence.
She changed into comfortable clothes, ordered food that she barely touched when it arrived, and tried to focus on a book without absorbing a single word.
Eventually, she gave up and went to bed, curling on her side of the mattress, the empty space beside her a tangible presence.
She didn't know when she fell asleep, but the last thought she had before drifting off was the one she couldn't shake, the question that circled endlessly in her mind.
What changed?
Outside, the rain continued to fall, pattering against the windows like gentle fingers seeking entry, while somewhere in the house, Ethan sat alone in his study, a glass of untouched whiskey at his elbow, staring at nothing as the night deepened around him.