82 - Crossed Lines
Scarlett and Andrian were left standing beside his car, the night suddenly quieter without Linda's bright energy filling the space.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Streetlight glow pooled across the hood of his car, painting soft gold along Scarlett's cheekbones. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes drifting briefly to the pavement before lifting again.
"You really don't have to drive me," she said, voice gentle, almost apologetic. "I could've called a cab."
Andrian opened the passenger door instead of answering. "I know," he said. "But I wanted to."
The simplicity of it made her pause.
No pressure. No performance. Just honesty.
She slid into the seat, smoothing her coat beneath her as he closed the door softly—carefully, like he was sealing something fragile inside.
By the time he rounded the hood and settled behind the wheel, the faint scent of her perfume had already settled into the car's interior, subtle but impossible to ignore.
The engine started with a low hum. The city lights reflected across the windshield like drifting constellations.
For the first few blocks, silence rode with them.
Not awkward.
Just... quiet.
Scarlett watched the passing streets through the window, neon signs streaking softly across the glass. Her reflection stared back faintly, eyes thoughtful, lips pressed together. She didn't notice Andrian glancing at her until he spoke.
"You look lighter."
She turned slightly. "Lighter?"
"Than earlier," he clarified, voice even, steady. "At the studio." His eyes searched hers—not accusatory, not probing. Curious. Concerned.
Her fingers curled loosely in her lap. "What do you mean?"
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You looked... flushed. Shaken. Different."
Her gaze lingered on him longer than necessary. The words weren't a line. They weren't rehearsed. There was a truth behind them that stirred something in her chest, something she hadn't expected to feel tonight.
"It was just a long day," she murmured, voice soft, almost a whisper.
Andrian nodded, eyes on the road. "Long days don't usually make people look like they're carrying thunderstorms behind their eyes."
Scarlett blinked, surprised into a quiet laugh. "That's oddly poetic."
"I read sometimes," he said, mock seriously.
She smiled. Small, real, fleeting—but it reached her eyes.
Why did he see this? Why did he notice so easily? Did he see everything about us? Is it that obvious... that we're tangled up in something we haven't named?
–
The car slowed at a red light. Outside, the world idled: a couple crossing the street, a distant horn, the hum of engines waiting their turn. Inside, time seemed to stretch.
Andrian's fingers rested loosely on the steering wheel, relaxed but steady. He didn't push. Didn't pry. Just stayed. He senses her nervousness.
"You don't have to tell me anything," he added quietly. "I just wanted you to know... you don't always have to hold everything alone."
Her throat tightened—not painfully, but enough that she had to look away.
Most people demanded explanations. Answers. Reactions.
He offered space.
That felt more dangerous.
Because space made her want to step closer.
The light turned green. The car moved again.
Scarlett traced a faint line on the fogged corner of the window with her fingertip, watching it fade. "You're very observant."
"Occupational hazard," he said lightly. Then, after a beat, softer: "Also... personal choice."
She glanced at him again.
He didn't look back this time. But the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly, like he knew she was watching.
The city thinned as they neared the office district. Buildings stretched taller. Streets are quieter. The glow from office towers shimmered like distant stars.
Neither of them rushed to break the silence now.
It had become something shared.
Something warm.
Something that made Scarlett forget—for just a few minutes—the way another pair of lips had felt earlier that day... and how that memory still lingered like a question she didn't know how to answer.
Andrian pulled up near the building entrance, shifting the car into park. The engine softened to a low idle.
"We're here," he said gently.
Scarlett didn't move right away.
She turned toward him instead.
"Thank you," she said.
Not just for the ride.
He seemed to understand anyway.
"Anytime."
The word settled between them, quiet but certain.
Scarlett reached for the door handle... then froze.
For the first time that night, she realized she didn't actually want to leave the car.
Andrian's presence—steady, unassuming, yet attentive—was like a quiet anchor against the chaos inside her. She knew he cared, had cared for her in ways that were patient, protective, unhurried. And yet... that certainty only made the storm in her chest worse.
Because when she thought of Ethan, it was different.
Sharp. Reckless. Consuming. Her pulse had always accelerated around him, her thoughts spiraled, her body remembered moments she hadn't fully allowed herself to name.
But with Andrian, it was something else: warmth, understanding, a softness that both terrified and tempted her.
She didn't know what she was feeling, didn't know who she wanted. But she knew this: the way her heart had reacted to Ethan and the way it reacted to Andrian... it wasn't the same.
Her fingers lingered over the handle, as if waiting for an answer she didn't have. She couldn't step into certainty tonight. She couldn't define the line between desire, affection, and something dangerously like love.
The office was dim, lit only by the floor lamp and the subtle glow of the city skyline outside the wide window.
Ethan sat at his desk, one hand pressed to his lips, elbow resting on the arm of his chair. His brows were knit, eyes focused on nothing.
Why did I kiss her?
He could still feel the shape of Scarlett's mouth. The moment hadn't been planned—it had simply... taken over him. It was like his body had moved before his mind had caught up. But it hadn't felt like acting. That was the problem.
And now? He was avoiding her. Like a coward.
Across the office, Catherine leaned against the glass wall, arms folded, watching Ethan silently. She could see it—feel it. He was somewhere else, his thoughts tangled in Scarlett. She'd seen that kiss. And the way he looked at Scarlett afterward?
She was losing him.
And she was furious with herself—for giving up on him before. For thinking she could walk back into his life and expect him to still be waiting.
She started walking towards Ethan's room slowly.
–
Inside the office, Catherine was seated at the edge of Ethan's desk, flipping through the proposal folder.
But Ethan wasn't listening. His eyes were fixed on the floor, brows furrowed, thoughts swirling.
That kiss—why did he kiss her? It hadn't been planned.
Not scripted. It had just... happened. And he still didn't understand why.
Catherine noticed. She closed the folder and approached slowly. "Ethan? You okay?"
He startled slightly, blinking. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just... distracted."
"You're not," she said gently. "You've been off all day. Want to talk about it?".
He didn't respond.
She stated "You're thinking about her."
Ethan glanced at her. "I'm thinking about the shoot."
"No, you're not." Her voice dropped. "You're thinking about Scarlett."
He looked away.
Catherine's voice trembled slightly. "You love her, don't you?"
He didn't answer.
"I can't believe I'm losing you," she whispered.
Ethan's jaw clenched. "You already lost me, Catherine."
He shook his head and stood. "I'll look over this later and send it in."
She blocked his path. "If it's not work... then can we talk about us?"
Ethan exhaled. "There's nothing to talk about, Catherine."
Her expression softened. "Don't say that. I know you still feel something. I felt it during the shoot."
He stood now, jaw tensing. "That was acting. For the camera."
Catherine's eyes glistened. "No, it wasn't. I felt it."
Ethan looked away, silent.
She took his hand. He flinched but didn't pull away. "I was scared, Ethan. But losing you... that fear was worse."
He finally spoke, voice low. "I moved on, Catherine."
"No, you haven't. Not really." She stepped closer, her voice low, deliberate, trembling just enough to betray her own fear. "You're still angry. That means you still care."
Ethan exhaled sharply, the rough edge in his voice matching the tension coiling in his chest. "This isn't the time—"
But she didn't step back. Instead, she let her hand brush against his, almost accidentally, almost intentionally. The warmth of her skin pressed against his, a jolt he couldn't ignore. Her eyes searched his, wide, vulnerable, and somehow daring all at once.
"You still feel it, Ethan," she whispered, leaning just slightly closer. "I felt it too. Don't shut me out."
For a heartbeat, he froze. Every rational thought warred with the pull of something raw and undeniable. Her nearness, her scent, the tremor in her voice—it all scraped against the careful walls he'd built.
Catherine's lips were inches from his now, and he could feel the inevitability like electricity. He wanted to resist, to pull back, to reclaim control—but he didn't.
And then, almost gently, she pressed forward, and their lips met.
It wasn't hurried. It wasn't careless. It was precise, daring, and loaded with every unsaid word between them.
Ethan flinched—surprised—but didn't pull away. His body betrayed him, leaning in despite the chaos in his mind, even though the one he truly craved wasn't here.
Scarlett stepped out of the elevator, heels echoing softly down the hallway. The lights in Ethan's office were still on. She could see his car outside. Something made her stop and look through the glass window.
What she saw made her freeze.
Catherine, standing close—too close. Her hand on Ethan's chest. And then, she kissed him.
Scarlett's breath caught. Her hand flew to her mouth to muffle the sob threatening to escape. Her vision blurred with tears. She backed away quietly, every step aching.
Outside the building, she stood under the streetlight, her world spinning. She opened her phone and booked a cab. When it arrived, she climbed in without a word. As the door closed, she sent a message.
Back inside the office, Ethan pushed Catherine away, eyes wide with fury.
"Don't ever do that again," he growled.
She recoiled. "Ethan..."
But he was already gone—storming out, the door slamming behind him
–
Ethan shoved the office door open so hard it nearly bounced off the frame. His footsteps echoed sharply in the quiet corridor as he stormed toward the elevator, chest heaving, jaw tight. He didn't look back. Couldn't.
The kiss still burned on his lips—but not in the way Catherine had probably hoped.
His car was parked beneath a streetlamp outside the building, a pool of pale yellow light reflecting off its sleek black surface.
He yanked the door open, dropped into the driver's seat, and slammed it shut with a jarring thud.
His hands wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly that the leather creaked beneath his grip.
For a second, he just sat there, knuckles white, breathing hard.
Then the engine roared to life, headlights slicing through the night as he pulled out of the lot with a screech of tires.
The city blurred around him as he drove—neon signs flickering past like ghosts, storefronts glowing with after-hours silence, pedestrians becoming vague shadows beneath streetlights. The night was warm, but his chest felt cold. Empty. Agitated.
His mind was spinning—an uncontrolled storm caught between two women.
Catherine. Scarlett.
What the hell was he doing?
He could still hear Catherine's voice: "You still love me."
Still feel her lips pressing against his. But that kiss—it hadn't stirred anything inside him. Nothing like when he'd kissed Scarlett. That kiss had undone him. It had cracked something open. And it scared the hell out of him because it hadn't been part of the plan.
He barely noticed the way his car cut through the streets—fast, reckless, threading between lanes as if outrunning something behind him.
Trees lining the boulevard blurred into streaks of green under the occasional flicker of traffic lights.
The moon hung low, casting silver patches on the windshield.
His hands still gripped the wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him.
At a red light, he finally exhaled. His forehead dropped against the steering wheel, eyes squeezed shut.
What did I do...?