73 - Fractured Illusions
The next morning, Ethan and Scarlett arrived at the office together.
The ride had been mostly quiet, an unusual but comfortable silence stretching between them.
When they stepped out of the car, Linda, who had been waiting near the entrance, immediately noticed the shift in Scarlett's demeanor.
There was something lighter about her—something that hadn't been there before.
Smirking, Linda winked at Scarlett as they passed, and Scarlett, unable to suppress her amusement, giggled softly, her cheeks tinged with warmth.
Ethan escorted Scarlett to her cabin, his presence lingering as if reluctant to leave.
Scarlett turned to him, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Ethan, I can walk on my own, you know," she teased, motioning toward the direction of his office.
Ethan crossed his arms, cocking an eyebrow. "Of course, but are you okay?" His voice was softer now, laced with concern.
Scarlett rolled her eyes dramatically. "Yes, Ethan. Look at me—I have two eyes, two ears, one nose, and one mouth. I'm perfectly fine," she said in mock seriousness, tilting her chin up.
A low chuckle rumbled in Ethan's chest. He raised his hands in surrender. "Shhh... Scarlett."
Before she could retort, Catherine approached them, her expression all business. "Ethan, the director is here for the photoshoot."
Ethan glanced at his watch and nodded. "Yes, I'll be there."
Turning back to Scarlett, he softened his tone. "I have to go. See you later."
Scarlett, feeling playful, decided to push Catherine's patience. Just as Ethan was about to walk away, she grabbed his hand. "I miss you, Ethan," she said with exaggerated sweetness before pulling him into a hug.
Ethan stiffened for a brief second, taken aback, but then a smirk curved his lips as he let himself enjoy the unexpected embrace.
Catherine, watching with narrowed eyes, took a sharp breath before stepping forward. "Ethan, we should go," she said, breaking the moment.
Ethan released Scarlett with a final glance and followed Catherine to the meeting room, where the ad director greeted him. After a brief discussion, the director suggested something unexpected.
"You should model for this campaign, Mr. Blackwood. It'll create a stronger impact."
Ethan hesitated but eventually agreed after considering the marketing benefits. Catherine, already the selected female model, was visibly pleased.
The stylists brought out their outfits—royal-themed attire that exuded sophistication and power. As Catherine examined her costume, she turned to Scarlett. "Scarlett, can you help me with my dress?"
Scarlett, caught off guard, nodded and followed her to the dressing area. Once Catherine was ready, they moved to the set, where the photoshoot commenced.
Scarlett stood at the side, watching as Ethan and Catherine took their positions. When Ethan placed his hand on Catherine's waist, and she rested hers on his shoulder, Scarlett's stomach tightened. Their faces were inches apart, mimicking intimacy.
A flicker of memory surfaced—their own dress trial, the closeness, the way Ethan had looked at her then.
Scarlett blinked rapidly, trying to shake the thought away. But she wasn't the only one distracted.
Ethan wasn't looking at Catherine—he was looking at Scarlett. His gaze lingered, distant yet intense. Catherine noticed and her grip on his shoulder tightened.
Irritation flashed across her face before she turned to Scarlett with a saccharine smile. "Scarlett, this dress has a tear. Could you take it to your cabin and fix it?"
Scarlett frowned, inspecting the fabric. The tear seemed deliberate, but she chose not to make a scene. With a silent nod, she took the dress and left.
The moment Scarlett was out of sight, Catherine seized her chance, throwing herself into the shoot with exaggerated closeness to Ethan.
The director exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple as he studied the shots on the monitor.
"Something's missing, Mr. Blackwood."
The words settled heavily in the studio.
Ethan leaned forward, eyes narrowing as the images flickered past—him and Catherine, perfectly framed, flawless in execution. Every angle precise. Every pose controlled.
And yet.
He felt it too.
A hollowness beneath the polish.
"These don't," he realized silently.
The director was straight, decisive. "Let's redo the shoot. Wedding theme."
The word echoed longer than it should have.
Minutes later, Ethan emerged in an impeccably tailored wedding suit. Black. Sharp. Regal. It fit him like destiny carved in fabric—broad shoulders, commanding posture, quiet authority stitched into every seam.
Catherine stepped out in an elegant gown, pearls catching the light as if eager to be noticed.
Scarlett returned then, the repaired dress folded neatly over her arm.
She stopped.
Ethan stood at the center of the set.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed.
Tall. Powerful. Still.
The suit transformed him into something unreal—like a king carved from shadow and restraint. Her breath caught before she could stop it, her fingers tightening instinctively around the fabric she held.
Then Catherine moved.
She slipped her hand into Ethan's.
Claiming.
They walked forward together, the illusion effortless. A couple framed in romance and promise.
Something sharp twisted in Scarlett's chest.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just sudden. Precise.
She lowered the dress onto a nearby table.
Turned.
And walked away without a word.
The air shifted the moment she was gone.
Ethan felt it.
The set felt colder. Empty.
The director wrapped up quickly, satisfied enough, but Ethan barely registered it.
As soon as the last light dimmed, Catherine stepped closer.
"Ethan, can we talk?"
He sighed, nodding, already weary. They moved toward a quieter corner, away from the crew.
She didn't hesitate.
She stepped into his space, voice trembling just enough to sound sincere. "I love you. I can't forget you."
His brows pulled together. "What are you talking about, Catherine?"
She swallowed. "I know you're married. But it's just business. Not love."
"Catherine—"
"I came back for you, Ethan."
Before he could react, her arms wrapped around him.
At that exact moment, Scarlett reentered the studio.
Her phone.
She'd left it behind.
Her steps slowed as she spotted them.
Catherine pressed against Ethan.
Ethan stiff.
Scarlett froze.
Catherine's eyes flicked up.
She saw Scarlett.
And smiled.
Her arms tightened deliberately, possessively.
The sight landed like a blow.
Before Scarlett could breathe, could move, another hand caught hers.
Andrian.
He stepped in front of her, pulling her into his chest, shielding her from the scene.
"No, Scarlett," he murmured. "Don't."
She tried to look past him.
He held her firmly. "Let's go."
Her vision blurred as she let him lead her away, the image burned behind her closed eyes.
Behind them, Ethan finally moved.
He pushed Catherine back, his voice cutting through the air.
"Enough."
She stumbled slightly, startled.
"Scarlett is my wife," he said coldly. "Don't come near her. Or me. Ever again."
But the damage had already settled.
And none of them walked away untouched.
–
Scarlett didn't remember how she ended up in the garden.
Scarlett sat on the edge of the iron bench, hands clasped tightly in her lap as if letting go would make something spill out that she wasn't ready to face.
The park was quiet in that muted, late-afternoon way—distant traffic, rustling leaves, laughter drifting from somewhere far away. Life continuing, indifferent.
Adrian sat beside her.
Close enough that she could feel his presence.
Far enough that he wasn't touching her.
She wiped at her cheeks, straightened her back, and lifted her chin. The movement felt practiced. Automatic.
"I'm okay," she said, forcing a small smile as she turned toward him. "Really. Thank you for staying with me, Adrian."
He didn't return the smile.
Instead, he studied her—too carefully. His gaze lingered on the tightness in her jaw, the way her fingers kept twisting together.
Silence stretched.
Not awkward.
Heavy.
"Scarlett," he said finally, voice low, cautious, "can I ask you something?"
Her shoulders tensed, just slightly. She nodded once.
"What's it really like... between you and your husband?"
The question landed quietly—but it hit deep.
Her gaze shifted away, fixed on the gravel path ahead. "That's not something I need to explain."
"I'm not asking for details," Adrian said quickly. "I just—" He hesitated. "Today didn't look like a business arrangement."
Her lips pressed together.
"He let another woman hold him," Adrian continued, carefully. "And you looked like you didn't know where you belonged."
That did it.
Scarlett turned toward him, not sharply—not yet—but with something tight and defensive settling into her expression.
"You don't need to worry about that," she said, her voice calm but closed. "It's handled."
Adrian didn't look away. "I am worried."
The words were simple.
Unavoidable.
Something in her cracked—not loudly, not violently—but enough to let the edge through.
"Why?" she asked, her voice sharpening. "Why are you so interested in my personal life?"
The question hung between them.
This time, Adrian didn't hesitate.
Because there was no point pretending anymore.
"Because I care," he said quietly. "More than I should."
Her breath caught.
He exhaled slowly, as if he'd been holding that confession back for years. "I like you, Scarlett. I think I always have."
The world didn't stop.
But something inside her did.
She stared at him, shock flickering across her face. "Adrian... I'm married."
"I know," he said immediately. "And I know I shouldn't be saying this. But what you have with him—it isn't love."
She stood abruptly.
The bench scraped softly against the ground as she stepped back, distance slamming into place like a door.
"I can't accept this," she said, voice steady, final. "I need to go."
She turned and walked away.
"Scarlett."
She stopped, her back to him.
"If you ever feel suffocated," Adrian said quietly, not following her, not reaching out, "you have a place to come back to."
Her fingers curled at her sides.
She didn't respond.
She didn't turn around.
She kept walking.
—
The office lights were already dimming when Scarlett returned.
Her heels echoed sharply against the polished floor, the sound too loud in the near-empty corridor. Her face was composed—too composed—the kind of stillness that came not from calm, but from sheer exhaustion.
She just wanted to leave.
She was nearly past the corner when a presence stepped into her path.
Ethan.
"Shall we go home?" he asked.
His voice was neutral. Careful. As if nothing had happened.
Scarlett didn't answer.
She kept walking, brushing past him as though he were nothing more than another shadow in the hallway.
Ethan turned sharply. "Scarlett."
She didn't slow.
"What's wrong?" he asked, frowning now, confusion edging into his voice.
That was when she stopped.
Slowly.
She turned, folding her arms across her chest—not in anger, but in defense, like she was holding herself together.
"Do you really think," she asked quietly, "that I don't know what you do?"
His expression darkened. "What did I do?"
A short, humorless laugh escaped her before she could stop it. It surprised even her.
"Forget it."
She turned again, already done.
Ethan's jaw tightened. The patience he'd been holding onto snapped. "You're crossing a line, Scarlett. If you're not coming, then go on your own."
Her jaw clenched.
She didn't argue.
She didn't explain.
Without another word, she walked away—leaving him standing alone in the corridor, staring after her, realizing far too late that something essential had just begun to unravel.
–
When Ethan returned home, the house was empty.
No lights on.
No sound of movement.
Scarlett wasn't there.
He loosened his tie absently, irritation simmering beneath the surface as the silence pressed in. Hours passed before the front door finally opened.
She didn't look at him when she spoke.
"We're expected at a family dinner this weekend," she said flatly. "Your mother asked."
"I have work," Ethan replied without lifting his gaze from his phone. "Go alone."
The words landed heavier than he intended.
Scarlett exhaled sharply. "You never care about them."
He shrugged. "Not my concern."
That was it.
She scoffed, turned, and walked out of the room without another word—leaving the silence behind like a challenge he didn't know how to answer.
Long after she was gone, Ethan remained where he was, staring at nothing.
For the first time, the certainty he'd built his life on didn't feel quite so solid.
—