94 - Possession and Pretense
The car rolled to a smooth, controlled stop beneath the towering glass fa?ade of Blackwood Enterprises.
Scarlett didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't dare.
Her gaze drifted sideways—slow, cautious, treacherous—stealing another look at Ethan.
His profile was carved in shadow and morning light. Strong jaw. Perfectly straight nose. Eyes fixed ahead like he ruled everything in his line of sight. One hand still rested on the steering wheel, fingers relaxed yet precise, as if even stillness obeyed him.
Not a word.
Not one.
Since her confession.
Her stomach tightened, twisting slowly, painfully, like silk being wrung dry.
If silence was his answer...
...why hadn't he rejected her?
Why was she here?
Why hadn't he pushed her away the way he always did whenever she stepped too close to the invisible line he'd drawn between them?
Scarlett's fingers curled against her skirt.
No.
She refused to let silence be the end of her story.
Her resolve rose—not loud, not dramatic—but steady. Solid. Like a door locking into place.
She wouldn't let fear decide this for her.
She would push.
She would try.
—
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.
They stepped inside together.
The polished steel walls reflected them back—side by side, almost touching. Two figures bound by contract... and something far more dangerous.
The doors sealed.
The hum of machinery began.
Scarlett's pulse matched it.
Floor numbers blinked above them.
One. Two. Three.
She became hyperaware of everything.
The faint scent of his cologne.
The warmth radiating from his shoulder just inches away.
The quiet authority in the way he stood—hands at his sides, posture relaxed yet commanding, like the world naturally arranged itself around him.
Her fingers twitched.
Don't look at him.
She looked anyway.
His reflection met hers.
Her heart slammed.
She jerked her gaze forward.
Today.
Her throat tightened.
Today I'll ask him.
No more waiting.
No more wondering.
No more drowning maybe.
The elevator chimed again.
Doors opened.
Lobby.
—
They stepped out into the wide marble space, sunlight spilling across the floor in sharp geometric shapes. Staff moved quietly, respectfully, their footsteps hushed in the presence of power.
Scarlett slowed.
Just slightly.
Enough that Ethan took two steps ahead before he noticed.
Her nerves tangled with something reckless, something brave, something dangerously close to hope.
"Ethan..."
Her voice came out softer than she intended.
He stopped.
Not gradually. Not casually. Immediately.
He turned his head.
His eyes cut back to her.
And just like that—
She froze.
The weight of his attention wasn't heavy.
It was absolute.
Like gravity had shifted direction and decided she was its center.
Scarlett swallowed.
Her courage—so bold a moment ago—crumbled into a flustered rush.
"C-can we..." she started, then nearly choked on her own heartbeat. "...Have lunch together today?"
The words burst out.
The second they existed—
Her eyes widened.
Her hands flew up and slapped over her lips.
Oh. My. God.
What did I just say?!
Heat flooded her face so fast it felt like she'd stepped into sunlight after a lifetime underground.
Ethan's gaze dropped to her hands covering her mouth.
Dark.
Unreadable.
Silent.
A pause.
Then—
That smirk.
Slow.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
It curved across his mouth like a blade being unsheathed.
"If I'm not busy..." he said, voice low and even, "...we can go, Scarlett."
If.
Just one word.
But it cracked something open.
Before she could react—
He turned. Walked away.
Toward his office.
Like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn't just tilted her entire world with a single conditional sentence.
Scarlett stood there, rooted to the marble floor.
The words struck her chest seconds later.
If I'm not busy.
Half rejection.
Half promise.
Her fingers slowly slid down from her lips.
If.
Such a small word.
Such a cruel word.
Such a hopeful word.
Her chest tightened.
Not painfully.
Brightly.
She clung to it.
That tiny opening.
That fragile possibility.
Her palm lifted and pressed against her burning cheek as she let out a breath that trembled into a quiet sigh.
"Scarlett, you absolute idiot..." she murmured under her breath.
Inviting him to lunch? Blurting it like that? In the lobby? In front of employees?
Mortification crawled up her spine.
And yet—
Her feet turned.
She hurried toward her own office, heels clicking quickly against the polished floor.
Because beneath the embarrassment...
Beneath the racing pulse...
Beneath the chaos in her chest—
Her heart whispered something she could no longer deny.
This wasn't defeat.
Not even close.
Her fingers tightened around her office door handle.
This—
was only the beginning.
And somewhere down the hall, behind a closed office door—
Ethan Blackwood stood very still...staring at nothing, jaw tight, eyes dark, and the faintest trace of her voice still echoing in his mind.
–
Hours crawled, each minute dragging like molasses through her veins.
Scarlett sat at her desk, sketches splayed across the polished surface, but her pencil hovered, frozen, unwilling to trace the lines her mind could not focus on.
Designs twisted into nonsense under her unsteady hand, colors bleeding where they shouldn't, shapes bending and breaking, mirroring the chaos in her chest. Her heart wasn't in the office—it was pacing restless corridors, leaning against the walls of possibility, waiting for a single message, a single word from him.
Every ping from her phone made her chest skip a beat.
Fingers trembling, she snatched it up, hope flaring with every name that appeared.
Nothing. Every shadow passing her door yanked her eyes upward, every muffled footstep teased a flicker of anticipation.
But the silence remained, thick and cruel, pressing down on her like an unrelenting tide.
Had he forgotten?
Or worse—was she a fool for even daring to ask?
Her thumb hovered over the screen. Should I text him? Or just... go to his office and ask in person?
A sharp knock shattered her spiraling thoughts. Her heart leapt.
"Scarlett, I've got something for you," came a smooth, familiar voice, calm, deliberate, commanding in its own gentle way.
Her head snapped up. Relief softened the tension in her shoulders as she breathed, "Ah! You scared me, Andrian."
He stepped inside, his posture effortless elegance, a folder in one hand, a bundle of fabric swatches in the other.
The faintest curve of a smile brushed his lips, but it was his eyes that lingered, drinking her in.
The flush on her cheeks, the way she exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for hours—it didn't escape him.
"Did I?" His tone was light, almost teasing, but beneath it, something heavier waited.
He spread the swatches across her desk, each piece catching the light like a jewel, rich, luxurious, impossibly rare.
Scarlett's breath hitched. Fingers trembled as they brushed the fabrics. "Oh my God—this is from Milan!" Her voice carried disbelief, joy, and something dangerously close to awe.
Adrian's eyes flicked up, catching hers with a glimmer. "Do you remember? You mentioned this in Greece."
She blinked, then laughed, excitement spilling over. "Seriously, you bought this because I asked you?"
He nodded, quiet, sure, certain.
Scarlett's gaze didn't leave the fabrics. Her fingers traced the silks, pressing against them reverently. "I heard it's rare... they won't produce it in large quantities. How... How did you even get these?"
A subtle tilt of his lips, a soft glimmer of satisfaction. "Anything for you, Scarlett."
The words were casual, but the weight beneath them pulled at her chest, something unspoken, a promise.
Scarlett's joy erupted in a laugh, bright, free, spilling across the office like sunlight. She leaned closer, hair cascading over her shoulder, brushing the table as if drawn by gravity toward the swatches. "Thank you, Andrian! Let's see... I've dreamed of working with this material for months."
Scarlett leaned over the swatches, her fingers brushing across a silk so soft it seemed alive under her touch.
Her eyes sparkled, alight with genuine excitement.
"Adrian, look at this one—it catches the light differently depending on the angle.
Don't you think it would make the gown shimmer without being too showy? "
Adrian stepped closer, his hand hovering near hers—not touching, but close enough that the space between them felt electric.
His gaze lingered on her face, on the way her lashes fluttered as she examined the fabric.
"It does," he said softly, almost reverently.
"But paired with the deeper velvet here.
.." He let his fingers trace an invisible line across the desk, deliberately close to hers, ".
..it could give the dress depth. Layers that speak without saying a word. "
Scarlett's breath hitched, caught between excitement for the design and an inexplicable awareness of how near he was.
She leaned just a fraction closer, her hair brushing against his shoulder as she pointed at another swatch.
"Yes! And this tone here—imagine it cut in that flowing silhouette we discussed in Paris.
The way it moves... it could feel like water, like the dress itself is alive. "
Adrian's gaze never left her. He tilted his head slightly, studying the curve of her jaw, the way her lips parted when she talked about her dreams. "Scarlett.
.. you have a way of seeing this that makes it.
.. almost impossible not to see it the same way.
" His voice was calm, professional, but there was a thread of something unspoken running beneath it.
She paused, caught by the intensity in his eyes, the quiet attention he gave her—more than mere design interest. She swallowed, a blush rising to her cheeks, but her words tumbled out anyway.
"I just... I want this to be perfect. Every detail, every texture—I want people to feel it, not just see it. "
Adrian leaned just slightly, enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, enough to make her pulse spike.
"And they will," he said, his tone carrying an unspoken promise, a weight heavier than the silk before them.
"Because you put yourself into it. And I.
.. I want to make sure your vision is realized. "
Her heart fluttered. Not at the fabrics, not at the designs—but at the rare softness in his eyes, the way he hung on her words, the way he seemed to see her in a way few ever did. Her fingers brushed again against the fabric, then against his, by accident—or maybe not. Neither moved away.
"Andrian..." she whispered, voice trembling between excitement and hesitation. "I've dreamed of this for years, and now it feels... real."
He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile, but it was there, in the tilt of his lips, the warmth in his eyes. "I'm glad, Scarlett. I'm glad you finally get to touch it... to see it in person. You deserve this."
And yet, beneath the calm, there was tension, unspoken and electric—a pressure that tightened Scarlett's chest without her realizing why, until the shadow in the glass door finally appeared, and the world shifted.
"Scarlett, this one—the texture here—don't you think it would pair beautifully with the satin we discussed?" she asked, unaware of the silent storm gathering behind the glass door.
Adrian leaned slightly closer, murmuring ideas, yet his every move was laced with subtle reverence for her presence. "Yes... and if we layer it like this—"
"Scarlett," he murmured softly, almost under his breath. "These are... incredible. You bring them alive."
She beamed at him, unaware of the tension gathering like a storm beyond the glass pane.
And then—the air changed.
At first, just a shadow, a silhouette in the doorway, tall, immovable.
Ethan Blackwood.
He didn't need to speak. His presence hit like a gale, bending the air, weighing down the room, demanding attention. His gaze swept the scene with predatory precision: Scarlett, radiant, leaning close to another man; Andrian, calm, confident, brushing a fingertip against hers.
Ethan's jaw clenched. A muscle twitched at his temple. Too close. Too familiar. Too much.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, silent, immovable. And in that silence, the room felt suffocating, every inch thick with his control.
Scarlett didn't notice. She was caught in the light of her own excitement, reaching for a swatch, her hand brushing against Andrian's. Andrian didn't pull away.
Ethan's eyes darkened, a flicker of fire igniting, red at the edges, coiling like a predator ready to strike.
Scarlett finally straightened, clutching the swatches in one hand, and with the other, still touching Andrian's, she said, bright and unaware, "You know what, Andrian? I really love these. Can we source them customized?"
The words barely left her lips before the office door slammed open. Hard. Decisive. Absolute.
Ethan entered.
And just like that, the room froze.
Walls, air, even the very light seemed to bend around him. Commanding. Controlled. Dangerous. Every step he took echoed silently in their hearts.
And then his gaze fell on her hand still resting on Andrian's.
Scarlett's chest fluttered. Andrian's lips pressed together, calm, professional, but beneath that surface, the tension coiled, taut and ready.
He didn't move—he knew the rules. He knew the contract.
But the stance of his shoulders, the quiet defiance in his eyes, whispered clearly: I will protect her if it comes to that.
Adrian straightened, voice calm, steady. "Looks like the CEO is taking personal interest in the design team," he said smoothly. His tone was casual, but tension curled in the edges.
Scarlett's breath hitched. She finally looked up, realization ripping through her. She pulled her hand back, suddenly aware of the battlefield around her.
"I wanted to see everything myself," Ethan said, voice low and measured. "Looks like you wanted to work closely with the design team."
Adrian's eyes didn't waver. "I prefer to handle things personally. And working with Scarlett... well, it makes me more invested in the designs."
Ethan stepped closer, the air around him thickening. "Invested?" His voice sharpened. "Interesting choice of words."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "I believe in excellence. And I believe Scarlett brings excellence to my work. Nothing more. Nothing less." His stance was firm, unyielding, yet respectful of the invisible line between them.
Ethan's gaze swept over him, a dangerous smirk lifting one corner of his lips. "Excellence? Or... distraction?" His words were loaded, each syllable heavy with unspoken claims.
Adrian's eyes flicked briefly to Scarlett, who stood frozen, cheeks flushed, heart racing. "Distraction is irrelevant to results. And Scarlett's results are... undeniable."
Ethan's lips curved, slow and sharp, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. He took one measured step closer, his presence pressing into the space like gathering thunder.
"You seem very comfortable here," he said softly, voice edged with frost, "and forgetting the reason why you came here."
The words didn't rise. They didn't need to. They landed with precision—controlled, deliberate, dangerous.
Adrian's fingers flexed once at his sides, tendons tightening beneath his skin. He didn't step back. Didn't look away. When he spoke, his tone was calm, but the steel underneath it rang clear.
"I remember exactly why I'm here," he replied. "To do my job. And right now... this is part of it."
Silence snapped tight between them.
Ethan's gaze sharpened. Every muscle in his jaw locked. The air thickened. Scarlett's throat went dry. Her pulse thundered. She could feel the heat radiating off both men. She was trapped in the tension, caught between raw possession and professional pride.
"Scarlett."
Her name fell from his lips like a blade drawn from shadow. Low, commanding, edged with danger.
"Didn't you say you wanted to go to lunch with me?"
Not a question. A command.
Scarlett froze. Her pulse thundered, echoing in her ears. Her lips parted, surprise and fear and desire tangled together. And then... she nodded.
No argument. No hesitation. Only gravity pulling her into his orbit.
Ethan's arm slid around her waist—firm, possessive. Heat blazed along her skin where his hand rested.
He turned his gaze on Andrian, his voice sharp, ice cutting steel. "I need to take my wife to lunch. I believe your work can wait."
Without another word, he guided her out, as if she had always belonged beside him, as if no one else had a right to claim her space.
Behind them, Andrian's breath hitched. His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. He had witnessed the surrender—not to logic, not to reason, but to Ethan's raw command.
At the door, Ethan paused, just slightly. Lips curling into a deliberate, razor-sharp smirk. His gaze locked with Andrian's.
A silent declaration: She's mine.
Scarlett, lost in the fire of his hand and the dangerous thrill of his closeness, barely noticed. A nervous laugh escaped her lips as Ethan leaned down, his breath brushing the shell of her ear.
"Finally," he murmured, silk over steel, "you're learning to listen to me."
Her cheeks flamed. Her chest swelled with a joy so fragile, so intoxicating, it threatened to undo her entirely.
Adrian's storm erupted quietly, unseen but fierce.
His jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap.
Fury coiled inside him, sharp and serpentine, striking at every thought.
How dare Ethan claim Scarlett—her laughter, her attention, her very presence—as if she were his possession?
And yet... she moved without question, obeyed without hesitation.
Every instinct in Adrian screamed at the injustice, at the way she surrendered to Ethan's command, as if her own will had been swallowed whole.
He pulled out his phone, voice low, lethal. "I'm in Catherine. Let's separate Ethan and Scarlett."
Click.
This wasn't jealousy. This wasn't a simple rivalry. This was war.