93 - Between Smirks and Heartbeats
Sunlight spilled through the towering paneled windows of the Blackwood mansion, pouring liquid gold across the marble floors and pale silk sheets, touching everything with deceptive warmth.
It reached her last.
Scarlett Landon stirred beneath the covers, lashes trembling as consciousness dragged her upward from sleep's fragile refuge. The light brushed her face like an accusation. Dust motes drifted lazily in its path, swirling in slow spirals as if time itself had decided to move gently—
—but her heart did not.
Her eyes opened.
For a single suspended moment, her mind was blissfully blank. No contracts. No tension. No him.
Then memory struck.
Her confession.
Every word she had spoken. Every tremor in her voice. Every truth she had laid bare at his feet.
Scarlett shot upright.
The sheets tangled around her waist as her breath snagged in her chest, panic ricocheting through her ribs.
God... what have I done?
Heat surged up her neck, blooming across her cheeks in a burning wave.
The thought of facing Ethan Blackwood now—after that—made her stomach twist into knots.
She could already see it: those cool, merciless eyes narrowing with clinical amusement.
.. that sculpted mouth curving into a smirk sharp enough to slice pride into ribbons.
Her gaze snapped across the room.
He was already awake.
Already dressed.
Already devastating.
Ethan stood near the mirror, straight-backed and composed, like he had stepped out of a painting titled Control.
A dark suit wrapped around him with surgical precision, the fabric molded to his frame like armor forged specifically for him.
His tie was knotted flawlessly, the angle exact.
Even his cufflinks caught the light like quiet declarations of authority.
The faint, expensive bite of his cologne lingered in the air.
It curled around her senses.
It made her dizzy.
Scarlett's lips parted, searching for something—anything—to say.
Good morning.
Pretend nothing happened.
Act normal.
But before she could gather a single syllable—
His voice cut through the silence.
Smooth.
Rich.
Far too sharp.
"Looks like you slept well... after the confession."
The word dropped between them like a blade.
Her breath stalled.
Heat flared hotter across her skin.
Damn him.
That subtle tilt at the corner of his mouth—barely there, devastatingly deliberate—told her he was savoring this. Every second. Every flicker of her embarrassment.
Her pride screamed not to react.
Her body betrayed her instantly.
Warmth crawled down her throat. Her pulse hammered wildly. Panic surged through her veins like electricity.
Before he could say another word, Scarlett flung the covers aside, scrambled off the bed, and bolted for the bathroom.
The door slammed shut behind her.
The sound echoed.
Inside, she leaned against the wood, chest rising and falling too fast, palms pressed over her face as if she could physically hide from the memory of last night.
Last night, I gave him my heart.
This morning, he reduced me to a flustered fool.
Embarrassment burned.
But beneath it—
Something else pulsed.
Slow.
Stubborn.
Alive.
She lowered her hands and lifted her gaze.
Her reflection stared back from the mirror.
Cheeks flushed.
Eyes wide.
Lips still trembling from words she could never take back.
Her hand moved before she consciously decided to move it, reaching for the phone resting beside the sink. The screen lit beneath her touch, its glow cool against her fingertips.
Her thumb hovered.
Paused.
Then tapped.
The call rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three—
"Scarlett?" Linda's voice burst through, bright, alert, instantly attentive. "Why are you calling this early? Did something happen?"
Scarlett swallowed.
"Linda..."
Her voice came out small.
Unsteady.
The concern on the other end sharpened instantly. "Hey. What's wrong?"
Scarlett leaned forward until her forehead rested lightly against the mirror. The glass was cool. Grounding. Real.
"I..." Her fingers curled slowly around the edge of the sink. "I confessed to him yesterday."
Silence.
Then—
"You WHAT?!"
Scarlett winced, pulling the phone slightly away before bringing it back. "Keep your voice down! I'm already dying of embarrassment."
"Oh my god," Linda breathed, astonishment flooding every syllable. "You actually said it? Out loud? To him? To Ethan Blackwood?"
Scarlett squeezed her eyes shut. "Yes."
"And?"
Her throat tightened. "He... didn't say anything."
Saying it aloud made it heavier. Realer. Harder to breathe around.
"He just looked at me," she whispered. "Like I was some interesting problem he hadn't decided how to solve yet. No rejection. No acceptance. Nothing."
Linda went quiet for a beat.
"For someone who can destroy CEOs with a single sentence," she muttered, "that man sure knows how to torture you without saying a word."
Scarlett huffed weakly, shoulders sagging. "You don't understand. I have to face him right now. He's outside. Dressed. Calm. Like last night never even happened."
"Oh, he remembers," Linda said immediately.
Scarlett's brows knit. "How do you know?"
"Because men like him don't forget things that matter," Linda replied, certainty sharpening her tone. "And if he teased you about it this morning, that means it's living rent-free in his head."
Scarlett blinked.
Her heart skipped.
"He did mention it," she admitted softly.
"See?" Linda pounced. "That's not indifference. That's reaction."
Scarlett bit her lip. "Or amusement. He looked so... smug."
"Scarlett." Linda's voice shifted—steady now, grounding, the voice she used when anchoring her back to herself. "You confessed to a man who controls entire corporations with a glance. Of course he's going to act composed. That's his personality, not his answer."
Scarlett's fingers tightened around the phone.
"I'm so embarrassed, Linda," she murmured. "I don't even know how to look at him."
A small scoff drifted through the speaker.
"Listen to me carefully," Linda said. "You didn't confess to some random guy. You confessed to the man you love. There is nothing embarrassing about that."
Scarlett's breath slowed.
"And if he didn't reject you," Linda continued, voice firm now, "that means the story isn't over."
Scarlett swallowed.
"Do you want him?" Linda asked quietly.
Her answer came without hesitation.
"Yes."
"Then fight for him."
The words struck something deep inside her chest.
Linda's tone softened but didn't lose its strength. "You've faced boardrooms full of sharks without blinking. You've taken down rivals twice your size. And now you're scared of one man's silence?"
Scarlett exhaled slowly.
"He's not just a man," she whispered. "He's... Ethan."
"I know," Linda said gently. "Which is exactly why he's worth it."
Silence stretched.
Not empty.
Growing.
"Scarlett," Linda added, warmth threading her voice now, "love isn't won by the first confession. Sometimes it's won by the courage to stay after it."
Scarlett lifted her eyes to the mirror again.
Her pulse steadied.
Her shoulders straightened.
Resolve sparked in her gaze.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"Go get your man," Linda replied. "And try not to faint when you see him."
Scarlett laughed under her breath, the sound light but real. "No promises."
The call ended.
She lowered the phone slowly.
Her reflection stared back.
Not shaken.
Focused.
Scarlett inhaled sharply, determination flashing across her eyes like lightning.
"This isn't over, Ethan Blackwood. You'll love me. Even if it takes everything I've got."
--
When she stepped out—clean, dressed, her composure pulled tightly around her like armor barely holding at the seams—the air still hummed with tension.
She moved down the hallway quietly, rehearsing her plan to slip past him unnoticed. If she could just get out... if she could just pretend morning had erased last night...
But fate had never once shown her mercy.
Ethan was still there.
He sat sprawled across the sofa, laptop balanced across his lap, dark brows drawn in concentration. The glow of the screen carved shadows along his sharp cheekbones, turning him into something almost sculptural. This was the man the world feared. The CEO who dismantled opponents with silence alone.
But it wasn't his power that stole her breath.
It was the realization—
He was waiting.
Scarlett faltered mid-step, panic sparking through her veins. Instinctively she spun on her heel, pretending she'd forgotten something in the bedroom—
"How long are you planning to hide from me, Scarlett?"
The low command sliced through the room.
Her name, spoken like that, froze her blood.
She inhaled slowly, fingers curling into her skirt fabric. Then, gathering the fragments of her courage, she turned back toward him, keeping her eyes carefully trained somewhere near his shoulder instead of his face.
"I'm not hiding," she whispered.
The lie sounded fragile.
Even to her.
A sharp click.
The laptop closed.
The air shifted.
His footsteps approached—unhurried, deliberate, devastatingly certain—until he stood close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"Then look at me."
Quiet.
Unyielding.
Scarlett's throat tightened.
She forced her chin up.
Their eyes collided.
And she nearly crumbled.
He wasn't cold.
He wasn't angry.
He was smirking.
That dangerous curve of his lips—the one that always dismantled her defenses piece by piece.
Her cheeks flamed.
"Please, Ethan, don't..." Her voice cracked, lashes lowering as if they could shield her. "I didn't plan it. The words just slipped out. Without my will."
Her confession sounded raw.
Unprotected.
But Ethan only watched her like she was a puzzle designed for his entertainment. His voice dipped, smooth and merciless.
"You should've thought about that before. Now, you can't escape it."
Her shoulders sagged.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Yes..." she breathed. "You're right. I can't escape."
For a fleeting second, something shifted in the charged air. His gaze lingered longer than teasing required.
Then, as if deciding something internally, he slipped one hand into his pocket.
"Get ready for the office. We'll go together."
Her head snapped up. "Really?"
The hope in her voice was so unguarded it tugged somewhere deep inside his chest—
—but outwardly, Ethan only lifted a brow.
"Or should I just leave?"
Scarlett's lips parted into a quick, almost childlike smile. "No no no! Don't leave. Just give me five minutes."
He watched her go.
His eyes followed the sway of her movement until she disappeared behind the doorway.
Silence returned.
He didn't move.
Didn't look away.
Didn't breathe differently.
Then—
Slowly—
The corner of his mouth lifted.
Not the sharp smirk he wore like armor.
Something quieter.
Something unfamiliar.
Something dangerously close to gentle.
He didn't know why he wanted her beside him today.
Didn't know why the idea of leaving without her felt... wrong.
He only knew one thing.
It wasn't a feeling he had for just anyone.
It was for her.
Scarlett.
And somewhere deep beneath the iron walls around his heart—
something had already begun to shift.
Scarlett didn't realize she was smiling until she saw herself fastening her earrings.
She blinked.
Startled.
That smile didn't belong to the woman who had run into the bathroom minutes ago, flustered and hiding.
This one looked alive.
Charged.
Quietly dangerous.
She smoothed her skirt.
Checked her hair.
Then inhaled once—slow, steady, deliberate.
And stepped out.
Ethan was exactly where she'd left him.
Still on the sofa.
Still composed.
Still devastating.
Except now the laptop was gone, his hands resting loosely on his knees, fingers relaxed yet purposeful, like a king waiting for court to assemble.
His gaze lifted the instant she appeared.
As if he'd sensed her before seeing her.
Scarlett slowed.
She couldn't help it.
The way he looked at her—calm, assessing, unreadable—thickened the air between them until breathing felt like work.
For a fleeting second, neither spoke.
His eyes moved over her.
Not rudely.
Not quickly.
Slowly.
Taking in everything.
The fall of her hair.
The line of her collarbone.
The careful composure she wore like glass armor.
Her pulse fluttered.
"Done?" he asked.
One word.
Low.
Measured.
Scarlett nodded. "Yes."
Her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
Ethan rose.
The movement was smooth. Controlled. As if gravity itself adjusted for him. He adjusted his cuff once—precise, elegant—then stepped toward her.
Each step shortened the distance.
Each step tightened something inside her chest.
When he stopped, they stood close enough for her to see the faint reflection of herself inside his dark irises.
"Let's go."
Not shall we.
Not after you.
Just that.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world for them to leave together.
Scarlett swallowed and nodded again.
They walked side by side toward the entrance.
Not touching.
Not speaking.
But acutely aware.
Like two flames moving in parallel—close enough to feel heat, not close enough to merge.
Outside, the morning air was crisp, cool against her skin. The Blackwood estate stretched wide and immaculate, fountains whispering, hedges trimmed with mathematical precision.
Ethan was already beside the car when she approached.
He opened the rear door instantly.
He didn't say anything.
Just gestured with a small tilt of his hand.
Scarlett hesitated half a heartbeat.
Then slid inside.
He followed.
The door shut.
Silence wrapped around them.
The car began to move.
Inside, the space felt smaller than it should have.
Or maybe it was just him.
Ethan sat beside her, one arm resting along the back seat, posture relaxed yet commanding. His presence filled the car like expensive smoke. The faint scent of his cologne drifted toward her again, teasing her senses.
Scarlett stared straight ahead.
Calm.
Composed.
Absolutely aware of him.
She could feel his gaze without looking.
Could feel it like warmth on her skin.
Seconds passed.
Then—
"You're very quiet."
Her fingers tightened slightly around her handbag. "So are you."
"I usually am."
"I noticed."
A pause.
Then—
"You weren't this quiet last night."
Her breath caught.
Her head turned before she could stop herself.
He was already looking at her.
Watching.
That same infuriating, knowing calm in his eyes.
Scarlett's throat went dry. "You're enjoying this."
"Enjoying what?"
"This." She gestured faintly between them. "Watching me suffer."
A corner of his mouth tilted. "You confessed. Not me."
Her heart stumbled.
"You didn't answer," she said softly.
There it was.
The question she hadn't meant to ask.
It hung between them.
Heavy.
Waiting.
Ethan didn't reply.
Didn't look away.
Didn't even blink.
His silence pressed against her ribs harder than words ever could.
Scarlett's chest rose slowly. "Is silence your answer?"
Still nothing.
Just those eyes.
Deep.
Unreadable.
Dangerous.
The car slowed.
She hadn't even noticed they'd entered the city. Glass buildings towered outside. Traffic slid past. Life continued.
Inside—
Time stalled.
Ethan finally spoke.
Low.
Calm.
"Scarlett."
Her name in his voice felt like a hand closing gently around her throat.
"Yes?"
His gaze dipped briefly to her lips.
Then returned to her eyes.
"If I answer," he said quietly, "you won't be able to pretend anymore."
Her pulse slammed.
"What does that mean?" she whispered.
The car stopped.
They had arrived.
Neither moved.
Neither looked away.
Ethan's eyes held hers as he said—
"We reached."
And then—
The car door opened.