76 - Under His Gaze
Scarlett's eyes widened as she stared at Ethan, the garden lights streaming through the large bay windows casting half his face in shadow. His words hung in the air between them.
"Because I am concerned."
The gentle hum of the air conditioning filled the silence as she processed what he'd said. This wasn't the Ethan she knew—the calculating businessman whose every action served a purpose, whose every word was measured for maximum effect.
"What do you mean?" Scarlett finally asked, her voice soft yet cutting through the tension. "You don't act like yourself, Ethan. You don't care about anyone" She tilted her head slightly, studying his face for any hint of his true intentions.
Ethan's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He stood by the window, hands in his pockets, the crisp lines of his tailored suit a stark contrast to the uncertainty in his eyes.
"Yes, but now I am concerned for you?" The question lingered, unfinished, loaded with implications he wasn't ready to voice.
Scarlett let out a small, incredulous laugh, running her fingers through her auburn hair. "Really. The Ethan I know only cares about business." Her tone was matter-of-fact, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.
Ethan turned fully toward her now, his expression softening in a way she'd rarely seen. "Yes, things have changed now, Scarlett."
She crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive barrier between them, and fixed him with a penetrating stare. The diamond wedding band on her finger caught the light, a glittering reminder of their arrangement.
"What made you change like this, Ethan?" The question was genuine, vulnerable despite her guarded posture.
Ethan's gaze dropped to the polished hardwood floor. "I don't know," he murmured, the admission clearly difficult for a man who prided himself on certainty and control.
He moved across the room with purpose, the scent of his subtle cologne reaching her before he did. His hand found her elbow, warm and gentle as he guided her to the plush sofa and sat beside her—close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, but not quite touching.
"Now tell me," he said, his voice lower, more intimate, "what's bothering you?"
The moment he asked, Scarlett's mind flooded with images from the previous week—Ethan and Catherine in the hallway outside his office, locked in an embrace that seemed far too familiar, far too intimate.
Catherine's perfectly manicured nails against the back of Ethan's neck.
The soft words she couldn't hear. The history they shared that she would never be part of.
Scarlett swallowed hard, forcing the memory away. "Nothing," she lied, absently twisting her wedding ring. "Just wondering about our relationship. I want to keep things at a distance."
Ethan's brow creased, his dark eyes searching her face. "What do you mean by that?"
She shifted slightly, creating space between them. "I don't want our relationship to get too close, Ethan."
"Why?" The single word carried weight, hanging between them like a challenge.
Scarlett stared at their reflection in the glass coffee table, her face composed despite the churning emotions beneath the surface. "I know our marriage is only for business. So when it's time to end it, then it would be good for us to go our separate ways."
Ethan studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. She could almost see the analytical mind behind those eyes, dissecting her words, searching for the truth.
"So is this the reason you're moving away?" he finally asked, his tone deceptively casual.
"Yes." The lie fell from her lips too quickly.
Ethan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, closer now as his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Do you think I would believe this?"
The directness of his question struck her like a physical blow. Scarlett felt the color drain from her face, her carefully constructed facade crumbling under his scrutiny.
She remained silent, her throat constricting around words that refused to form.
Ethan's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Then fine, but I have my own ways to find out."
The implicit threat in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. Scarlett stood abruptly, smoothing down her blouse with trembling hands. "I'm going to bed," she announced, not waiting for his response as she fled toward the sanctuary of their bedroom.
She could hear his measured footsteps behind her, unhurried yet determined, like a predator confident its prey had nowhere to escape.
The bedroom was bathed in the soft blue light of the moon filtering through the partially drawn curtains.
Scarlett lay on her side of the king-sized bed, her back to the center, eyes wide open despite the lateness of the hour.
She could sense rather than hear Ethan's wakefulness beside her, the tension between them almost tangible in the darkness.
Her mind wandered back to the day they'd signed the marriage contract. It had been a business arrangement, pure and simple—a merger of assets and influence that benefited both their families. Love had never been part of the equation. She'd been clear-eyed about that fact, or so she'd thought.
What she hadn't anticipated was the way her heart would betray her, drawn to the glimpses of humanity behind his corporate mask. The rare genuine smile. The fierce protectiveness toward his family. The momentary vulnerability when he thought no one was watching.
Behind her, Ethan shifted slightly, the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets rustling with his movement. Was he thinking of Catherine? Of their history together? The thought sent a fresh wave of pain through her chest.
Ethan, meanwhile, stared at the ceiling, hyperaware of the small distance between them that felt like an unbridgeable chasm. When did things change? When had this marriage of convenience begun to feel like something he couldn't bear to lose?
He recalled their first meeting—her sharp intelligence that matched his own, her refusal to be intimidated by him when so many others cowered.
He remembered the business dinners that gradually evolved into conversations that stretched late into the night, discussing everything from art to philosophy to their shared love of obscure films from the 1970s.
He'd told himself it was all strategy, all part of making their arrangement appear genuine to the outside world. But lying here now, painfully conscious of her deliberate distance, he could no longer deny the truth to himself.
The moonlight caught the curve of Scarlett's shoulder, and Ethan fought the urge to reach out, to bridge the gulf between them. Instead, he remained still, replaying their earlier conversation, trying to decipher what she wasn't telling him.
Something had changed recently. Something had made her pull away just when he'd begun to hope for more. And he was determined to discover what it was, even if it meant confronting emotions he'd spent a lifetime burying.
Morning light streamed through the windows as Scarlett stirred from sleep.
She blinked against the brightness, momentarily disoriented.
Turning over, she found Ethan's side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool to the touch.
He must have been earlier, unusual for a man who typically maximized every minute of sleep his schedule allowed.
She showered and dressed with care, choosing a light sundress that suited the warmth of the day. The house was quiet as she made her way downstairs, but voices from the garden drew her attention.
Sarah and Clara sat beneath the pergola, enjoying the morning air with cups of tea before them. Scarlett hesitated briefly before approaching, still not entirely comfortable with her place in this family that wasn't truly hers.
"Good morning," she called, pasting on a smile.
Clara, Ethan's grandmother, looked up with genuine warmth in her eyes. "Scarlett, dear! Come join us. We were just reminiscing about old times."
Sarah patted the seat beside her. "Ethan's gone for his morning run. He should be back soon. Come, sit with us."
Scarlett settled into the chair, accepting the cup of tea Sarah poured for her. "It's such a beautiful morning."
"It reminds me of the mornings when Ethan was a boy," Sarah said wistfully, her eyes distant with memory. "He would be up with the sun, full of energy and questions."
Clara chuckled softly. "Such a serious child, even then. Always watching, always thinking."
"Was he always so..." Scarlett searched for the right word, "intense?"
Sarah's expression sobered. "Not always. He changed after his father died."
"He was only nineteen," Clara added, her weathered hands tightening around her teacup. "Too young to lose a parent. Too young to shoulder the responsibility that came after."
Sarah nodded, her eyes glistening slightly. "The company was struggling. Richard had made some risky investments before his heart attack, and the board was considering selling. Ethan wouldn't hear of it."
"He took a semester off from university," Clara continued, "said he'd return, but he never did. Day and night, he worked to save his father's legacy."
"The board thought he was a joke at first," Sarah said. "This boy in his father's too-large suit, making demands, presenting strategies. They humored him only out of respect for Richard."
"But they underestimated him," Scarlett murmured, seeing Ethan in a new light.
"Drastically," Clara agreed. "Within six months, he'd turned things around. Within a year, the company was stronger than ever. But the cost..." She shook her head sadly.
"The cost?" Scarlett prompted.
Sarah sighed deeply. "He lost something of himself in the process. The boy who loved poetry and played the piano for hours—he buried that part of himself. Became all business, all strategy."
"It only got worse after Catherine," Clara said, then pressed her lips together as if regretting the words.
Scarlett's heart skipped a beat at the name. "Catherine?"
Sarah and Clara exchanged a look, and Scarlett knew she shouldn't press, but couldn't stop herself.
"They were together for seven years," Sarah finally said. "She was his first love. We thought they would marry."
"What happened?" Scarlett asked, her mouth suddenly dry.
"She couldn't handle the man he'd become," Clara said bluntly. "Said he worked too much, was too consumed by the business. And perhaps she was right, in a way."
"When she left," Sarah added quietly, "he didn't cry, didn't rage. He simply worked more. Sixteen, eighteen hours a day. As if by exhausting his body, he could silence his heart."
"No one saw how deeply it affected him," Clara said.
"But I did. I found him one night in his father's study, staring at her picture, looking so lost. The only time I ever saw him vulnerable after she left.
The next day, it was as if it never happened.
He threw himself even harder into expanding the business. "
"That's when Blackwood Enterprises became the powerhouse it is today," Sarah explained. "Every acquisition, every merger, every success—it was all built on his pain, his need to prove himself. To prove she was wrong to leave."
Scarlett sat in silence, absorbing this new information, seeing the complex layers of the man she'd married but never truly known. She thought of Catherine in his arms just days ago and wondered if the wounds of the past had ever really healed.
"I think," Clara said softly, studying Scarlett's face with knowing eyes, "you might be the first person since then to see glimpses of the real Ethan. The boy beneath the businessman."
"I don't know about that," Scarlett demurred, uncomfortable with the weight of expectation in the older women's gazes.
"We've noticed how he is with you," Sarah said. "Different. More present. Almost... content."
Before Scarlett could respond, a deep voice cut through the conversation.
"Gossiping about me, are you?"
They turned to see Ethan approaching, his t-shirt clinging to his athletic frame, damp with sweat from his run. His hair was tousled, his expression more relaxed than Scarlett was accustomed to seeing.
"Only good things, darling," Clara assured him with a wink.
"Somehow I doubt that," he replied with a rare genuine smile, one that transformed his usually stern features and made him look younger, unburdened.
Scarlett found herself staring, momentarily captivated by this version of her husband—casual, at ease, unguarded. Their eyes met briefly, and something flickered in his gaze before he looked away.
"I'm going to shower," he announced. "Don't share all my childhood embarrassments while I'm gone."
As he disappeared into the house, Scarlett felt a strange ache in her chest. There were so many sides to Ethan Blackwood that she'd never bothered to discover, content to accept the facade he presented to the world. Now she wondered what else she might have missed.
The morning sun beat down on the expansive garden as the family gathered for an impromptu outdoor lunch.
The staff had set up a table beneath the ancient oak tree, its sprawling branches providing natural shade.
Crystal glasses caught the dappled sunlight, sending prisms dancing across the white tablecloth.
Ethan emerged from the house freshly showered, now dressed in casual linen pants and a light blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose tanned forearms. It was a stark departure from his usual corporate armor, and Scarlett couldn't help but notice how different he looked—younger, more approachable, almost carefree.
He took the seat beside her, close enough that she caught the clean scent of his aftershave. "Hope I didn't interrupt anything important earlier," he said quietly, for her ears only.
"Your mother and grandmother were just sharing stories," she replied, careful to keep her tone neutral despite the turmoil of emotions his proximity stirred.
Something in her expression must have given her away because his eyes narrowed slightly. "Good stories or cautionary tales?"
Before she could answer, Clara called for everyone's attention, raising her glass in a toast. "To family gatherings. They happen too rarely these days."
Glasses clinked.
Scarlett forced a smile, feeling like an impostor beneath Sarah's warm gaze. They welcomed her so easily.
If they knew the truth about the contract...
Would they still?
Conversation flowed.
Laughter rose.
Scarlett watched Ethan carefully.
He wasn't a ruthless executive now. He laughed at Clara's scandalous jokes. Listened attentively to Sarah's gardening complaints. Shared small anecdotes about his week that had nothing to do with profits or acquisitions.
This version of him—
This warm, relaxed, almost carefree version—
It was more dangerous than the cold one.
Because as she watched him tilt his head back in laughter, sunlight was catching in his hair...
Scarlett realized with a quiet, sinking certainty—
She wasn't afraid of losing their contract marriage.
She was afraid of losing him.
And the moment that truth settled into her chest—
Ethan turned his head.
And looked straight at her.
As if he already knew.
Ethan's gaze didn't just meet hers.
It held.
Pinned.
As if he had caught something in her expression she hadn't meant to reveal.
Scarlett's breath stalled.
His eyes darkened—not with anger, not with suspicion—
Recognition.
His thumb shifted against the stem of his glass. Slow. Thoughtful.
"Scarlett," he said quietly.
Not a question.
Not a call.
A warning.
The single word wrapped around her spine like warm smoke, slow and suffocating.
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass.
The world didn't stop.
Clara was still talking. Sarah was still smiling. Cutlery still touched porcelain. A breeze still stirred the leaves overhead.
But for Scarlett—
Everything narrowed to the man beside her.
Ethan didn't look away.
Didn't blink.
Didn't soften.
He just watched her.
Like he was waiting.
For what?
For her to speak?
To flinch?
To confess?
Her pulse began to pound harder, louder, traitorously.
"I—" she started.
Nothing followed.
His gaze sharpened.
Not impatient.
Interested.
Dangerously interested.
"Scarlett, dear, would you pass the bread?"
Clara's voice snapped the invisible thread.
Scarlett blinked, breath returning in a quiet rush she hoped no one heard. She reached for the basket, fingers brushing the woven handle too quickly, almost fumbling before she steadied it and handed it across.
"There you are," Clara said cheerfully, unaware she'd just rescued someone from drowning.
Scarlett forced a polite smile.
When she dared glance sideways—
Ethan was still looking at her.
Not openly now.
But not discreetly either.
Observing.
Calculating.
Not as a businessman.
As a man trying to solve a mystery.
Her.