71 - Taking her away from you
Ethan stood motionless in the doorway of Scarlett's office, his eyes fixed on her empty chair.
Her computer screen had gone dark—set to sleep mode after inactivity.
His gaze shifted to the cabinet where her belongings should be, the door slightly ajar.
"Scarlett?" he called, stepping further into the room.
The silence that greeted him sent an unfamiliar sensation down his spine.
He moved toward her desk with measured steps, as if approaching something that might shatter.
There, sitting innocuously on the polished surface, was her purse—untouched since morning.
Ethan reached for it, his fingers hesitating before grasping the soft leather.
He unzipped it carefully, immediately spotting her phone inside.
The screen lit up at his touch, revealing several missed notifications but nothing urgent.
Nothing that would explain her absence.
"Where did she go?
" The words escaped him in a whisper, the emptiness of the room somehow making them echo louder than intended.
He paced the office, checking the adjoining bathroom, even peering under the desk as if she might be hiding from him.
Each minute that passed without her return twisted something inside him—a sensation he wasn't accustomed to feeling.
Worry? No, Ethan Blackwood didn't worry about others.
He was the one who caused worry, who commanded rooms and conversations with his presence.
Yet here he was, checking his watch every thirty seconds, an uncomfortable tightness building in his chest.
After an hour, the discomfort had transformed into something more urgent.
Ethan strode to the security office, demanding access to the CCTV footage.
The security guard's surprised expression at seeing the CEO himself requesting surveillance quickly dissolved into efficient compliance.
"This way, Mr. Blackwood," the man said, leading him to a small room filled with monitors.
Ethan leaned forward, eyes scanning the screens as the footage rewound.
Then he saw her—Scarlett exiting the building, no coat, no umbrella, despite the ominous dark clouds gathering overhead.
Her face, even on the grainy footage, showed unmistakable distress.
Something clenched inside Ethan's chest at the sight.
For a moment, the earth seemed to stop revolving.
"Where is she now?" he murmured, more to himself than to the security guard who shifted uncomfortably beside him.
Without another word, Ethan turned and headed for the parking garage.
The drive to their shared mansion was a blur of speed limits ignored and traffic lights barely acknowledged.
Rain lashed against the windshield, each droplet seeming to mock him for letting her leave without protection against the elements.
The mansion loomed ahead, its grand fa?ade offering no comfort today.
Ethan burst through the front door, his voice echoing off marble floors and high ceilings.
"Scarlett!" he called, his voice carrying through every room.
"Scarlett, are you here?"
Room by room, he searched—the kitchen with its gleaming countertops where she often prepared coffee for them both; the library where she spent hours reading, curled up in the window seat; the bedroom where the scent of her perfume still lingered in the air.
Each empty space heightened the foreign feeling growing inside him.
Finally, Ethan collapsed onto the living room sofa, hands gripping his head as if physically trying to hold himself together.
The enormity of her absence crashed over him like a wave.
When had Scarlett become so essential to his daily existence?
When had her smile, her voice, her mere presence become something he counted on without realizing it?
The rain continued to pour outside, providing a soundtrack to his troubled thoughts.
He mentally cataloged everyone Scarlett might turn to.
Linda, her closest friend, was the obvious choice.
Her parents lived out of state, and his own parents had never particularly warmed to Scarlett, a fact that suddenly bothered him more than it ever had before.
Picking up his phone, he dialed Linda's number, trying to keep his voice level when she answered.
"Linda, it's Ethan. Is Scarlett with you?
"
"No," came Linda's surprised response.
"I haven't seen her since lunch. Is something wrong with Scarlett?
" The genuine concern in her voice confirmed she wasn't covering for her friend.
"It's nothing, I couldn't find her" he lied.
"I'll update you when I find her."
As he ended the call, the weight of his own words from earlier that day pressed down on him.
"You are not anyone to me." He'd flung the words at her during their argument, watching how they landed like physical blows.
He hadn't meant them—they were weapons deployed in the heat of anger, nothing more.
But the memory of her face falling, of something vital dimming in her eyes, now haunted him.
The truth, which Ethan was only now beginning to acknowledge, was that Scarlett had become everything to him.
Her absence had revealed what her presence had masked: he needed her.
Not as an employee, not as a convenient companion, but as an essential part of his life—like oxygen or sunlight.
The realization terrified him more than anything had in years.
—
Andrian's apartment was a study in bachelor minimalism—clean lines, neutral colors, and strategically placed personal touches that hinted at a deeper personality than first apparent.
As he ushered Scarlett inside, the warmth of the space enveloped her like an embrace.
"Please, sit," he said, gesturing toward a comfortable-looking sofa.
"Make yourself at home. I'll get you a towel.
"
While Andrian disappeared into another room, Scarlett took in her surroundings.
A bookshelf lined one wall, filled with an eclectic mix of classic literature, contemporary fiction, and what looked like engineering textbooks.
A few framed photographs caught her eye—Andrian with an older couple who shared his smile, presumably his parents; another of him in hiking gear atop some mountain, arms spread wide in triumph.
This space felt lived in, personal in a way that the mansion she shared with Ethan never quite managed, despite its grandeur and expensive furnishings.
"It suddenly started raining," she said as Andrian returned with a fluffy white towel.
"I had nowhere else to call." The admission cost her something, a small surrender of pride.
Andrian sat opposite her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
Their eyes met, and the genuine warmth in his gaze made something flutter in her chest.
"I'm glad that you called me," he said simply, no pretense or hidden meaning in his words.
Just truth.
Scarlett excused herself to the bathroom, where she did her best to dry her hair and clothes.
The mirror reflected a woman she barely recognized—mascara slightly smudged beneath tired eyes, hair curling wildly as it dried, cheeks flushed from cold and emotion.
She looked vulnerable, stripped of her usual polished exterior.
When she emerged, a sudden sneeze betrayed how chilled she'd become.
"That settles it," Andrian said, already moving toward the kitchen.
"You need tea."
Scarlett watched him as he filled a kettle and set it to boil, his movements efficient and practiced.
There was something soothing about observing him in this domestic moment, so different from the corporate environment where she usually saw him.
"Here," he said minutes later, pressing a warm mug into her hands.
"Drink this, Scarlett. Or you'll catch cold.
"
The tea was perfect—hot enough to warm her from the inside out, sweetened exactly to her taste, though she couldn't remember ever telling him how she preferred it.
She took a grateful sip, letting the warmth spread through her chest.
They talked easily, conversation flowing naturally between them.
Andrian had a gift for storytelling, painting vivid pictures with his words that made Scarlett laugh despite herself.
His anecdotes about clients and colleagues revealed a sharp observer of human nature who found humor in the absurd without ever being cruel.
When his phone rang, Andrian glanced at the screen with a slight frown.
"Excuse me," he said. "I need to take this.
I'll just be a moment."
As he stepped into another room, his voice becoming a distant murmur, Scarlett felt exhaustion wash over her.
The emotional drain of her argument with Ethan, the strain of being stranded in the rain, and now the comforting warmth of tea and good company—it all conspired to make her eyelids grow heavy.
She fought against sleep, not wanting to impose further on Andrian's kindness.
But the soft cushions beneath her seemed to pull her downward, and before she knew it, darkness had claimed her.
Andrian returned to find Scarlett asleep on his couch, her body curled slightly inward like a comma, one hand still loosely holding the empty mug.
For a moment, he simply stood and watched her—the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her features had softened in sleep, years of tension melting away to reveal the young woman beneath.
With careful movements, he retrieved a pillow and duvet from his bedroom.
Gently, he lifted her head to slide the pillow beneath it, his touch feather-light to avoid waking her.
As he draped the duvet over her form, he noticed something that made his heart clench—a single tear tracking down her right cheek, glistening in the soft lamplight.
Without thinking, his hand moved to wipe it away, thumb brushing against her skin with a tenderness he rarely allowed himself to show.
Whatever had happened between her and Ethan had wounded her deeply—more deeply, perhaps, than even she realized.
"I don't know what I should do for you, Scarlett," he whispered, his voice barely audible even in the quiet apartment.
Meanwhile, across town, Ethan's restlessness had reached a fever pitch.
Every minute that passed without word from Scarlett heightened his anxiety.
He paced the length of the living room, phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline.
A terrible thought occurred to him—could Scarlett be with Andrian?
The idea twisted in his gut like a knife.
He knew of their friendship, had always sensed an undercurrent of something more beneath their professional interactions.
His finger hovered over Andrian's contact information in his phone, ready to dial.
No, he decided, setting the phone down on the coffee table.
He was being paranoid. Scarlett wouldn't—
The phone rang suddenly, Andrian's name flashing on the screen like an accusation.
Ethan snatched it up, his heart pounding.
"It's me, Andrian," came the familiar voice, smooth and controlled as always.
"Yes, I know," Ethan replied, struggling to keep his own voice steady.
"What's the matter?"
A pause, weighted with meaning.
"I thought you might be worried." Another pause, deliberate and challenging.
"Scarlett is here, at my place. With me.
"
The words hit Ethan like physical blows.
His free hand clenched into a fist, knuckles whitening with the strain.
Heat rushed to his face as a primal surge of jealousy and possessiveness overwhelmed him.
"Give her the phone," he demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.
"Right now she's sleeping," Andrian replied, a hint of protectiveness coloring his tone.
"So I can't put her on the phone."
"Then tell her to wait for me.
I'll come over to pick her up." It wasn't a request but a statement of fact.
"You don't need to do that, Ethan. I'll bring her home once she's awake.
"
Ethan was about to respond when Andrian continued, his voice hardening with resolve.
"And for you to know, I'm done with my thinking.
I've decided to take Scarlett away from you.
Sooner rather than later."
The declaration left Ethan speechless, frozen in place as if someone had replaced his blood with ice water.
The phone remained pressed against his ear, but he heard nothing beyond the roaring in his head.
Andrian's words had confirmed his deepest fear—that Scarlett might be lost to him, might choose a life without him in it.
Only now, faced with that very real possibility, did Ethan begin to understand just how devastating such a loss would be.
—
Andrian gazed at Scarlett's sleeping form one last time before rising from his seat.
"I will not leave you, Scarlett," he thought, the silent promise feeling like a vow.
He moved to the kitchen, opening cupboards and the refrigerator with quiet efficiency, gathering ingredients for soup—something nourishing and warm for when she woke.
The rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables created a soothing cadence in the apartment.
Andrian found himself smiling slightly as he worked, a sense of rightness settling over him.
This felt natural—caring for Scarlett, creating a safe harbor for her.
It was what he'd wanted to do for longer than he cared to admit.
A soft rustling from the living room caught his attention.
He turned to see Scarlett stirring, her eyes blinking open slowly as she oriented herself.
"Are you awake?" he asked, setting down his knife.
Scarlett nodded, pushing herself up to sitting.
"Yes, I dozed off a little." Her smile was soft, slightly embarrassed.
The duvet pooled around her waist as she ran a hand through her tousled hair.
"I'm sorry for imposing."
"You're never an imposition," Andrian assured her.
"How are you feeling?"
"Better." She glanced toward the kitchen.
"What are you doing?"
"I thought you should eat something warm," he explained, gesturing to the half-prepared meal.
"So I'm cooking something that should help chase away any lingering chill.
"
Scarlett watched him with a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, more complex.
The domesticity of the moment wasn't lost on her—how easy it would be to imagine this as everyday life.
Andrian cooking in the kitchen, herself waking from a nap on his couch, the outside world held at bay by the walls of his apartment.
The sharp ring of the doorbell shattered the moment.
Scarlett straightened, suddenly alert.
"I think someone's at the door."
A shadow passed over Andrian's face—brief but unmistakable.
"Yes, I'll take a look." He switched off the stove and moved toward the door with deliberate steps.
When the door swung open, Ethan stood on the threshold, his tall frame tense with barely contained emotion.
His normally immaculate appearance showed signs of distress—tie loosened, hair slightly disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly.
"I told you not to come here to take her," Andrian said, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of authority.
The tone only served to fuel Ethan's already simmering anger.
He pushed past Andrian into the apartment, eyes immediately finding Scarlett on the couch.
"Scarlett, come. Let's go." The command hung in the air between them, sharp and unyielding.
When she didn't immediately respond, Ethan crossed the room in long strides, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet.
The sudden movement made Scarlett gasp, her free hand instinctively grabbing the duvet to keep it from falling to the floor.
With a quick twist of her wrist, she freed herself from his grasp.
"Don't," she said, her voice quiet but firm.
For a moment, the three of them stood frozen in a tableau of tension—Scarlett between the two men, Ethan radiating cold fury, Andrian watchful and coiled like a spring.
Scarlett broke the silence, turning to Andrian with genuine regret in her eyes.
"Andrian, I'm sorry for bothering you. I think I need to go now.
" She gathered herself, summoning dignity despite her rumpled appearance.
"Thanks for helping me today."
Before Andrian could respond, Ethan's hand closed around her arm again, less forceful this time but no less insistent.
He steered her toward the door, pausing only to throw one last deadly look at Andrian—a clear warning, a marking of territory.