96 - Between Hands and Hearts
The car door sealed shut with a muted click.
Not silence.
Presence.
It filled the space like breath held too long.
The engine awakened beneath Ethan Blackwood's touch, the low hum smooth, controlled, obedient—just like everything else in his world. His long fingers rested loosely on the steering wheel, relaxed yet precise, as if even stillness answered to him.
Beside him, Scarlett Landon didn't move.
The photograph lay across her lap.
She hadn't folded it.
Hadn't tucked it away.
Hadn't stopped looking at it.
Streetlight streamed through the windshield as the car eased forward, bands of gold sliding across Ethan's jawline, tracing his collarbone, catching along the sharp ridge of his nose. He didn't turn his head.
Didn't ask.
But he noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Her thumb drifted across the glossy surface.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
His gaze flicked once—swift, silent, measuring—then returned to the road.
"You're staring at it like it's evidence."
His tone was calm. Almost idle.
Scarlett's breath snagged.
She hadn't realized he'd been watching.
Scarlett's breath snagged. She blinked, startled. "You're watching me?"
"I'm driving," he replied evenly. "I can do both."
She swallowed.
Her eyes stayed on the photo. "Maybe it is."
A beat.
"What kind of evidence?"
Same voice.
Same calm.
But something beneath it tightened.
She tilted the picture, watching the light move across their captured image. Her smile there looked soft. Real. Unfiltered.
His expression looked exactly as it always did.
Controlled.
Untouched.
Except—
Her fingers pressed faintly into the edge.
"Evidence," she said quietly, "that you're not as unaffected as you pretend to be."
The wheel turned smoothly under Ethan's hands as he took a curve. His eyes never left the road.
"And what exactly," he asked, "gave you that impression?"
She swallowed.
Her shoulder shifted slightly toward him without her permission, drawn closer by something invisible, something she didn't dare name.
"You held my hand."
Simple.
Soft.
Accusing.
He didn't respond.
The engine purred.
City lights slid across the glass like passing thoughts.
Finally—
"You asked me to pose."
"I didn't ask you to hold it like that."
Another pause.
His jaw flexed once.
Barely.
But she saw it.
Scarlett's gaze lifted slowly from the photograph... to him.
"And you didn't let go right away."
Silence.
The kind that presses against your ribs from the inside.
Ethan exhaled softly through his nose.
Measured.
"You're analyzing a photograph," he said. "Not reality."
She tilted her head.
"Photographs are reality," she murmured. "They just capture the parts people forget to hide."
That—
That made his eyes shift.
Not to her.
To the photo.
Still in her hands.
For the first time since entering the car, he looked at it openly.
The traffic light turned red.
Crimson washed the interior.
Slowly, deliberately, he extended one hand.
"Let me see it."
Scarlett hesitated.
Only for a second.
Not because she didn't want to give it to him—
Because his voice made it feel like she was handing him more than paper.
Still...
She placed it in his palm.
His fingers brushed hers.
Warm.
Firm.
Intentional.
He studied the photograph.
Closely.
Silently.
Scarlett watched him instead of the road, watched the way his eyes traced every detail, the way his thumb rested near the edge where her fingers had been seconds ago.
Seconds stretched.
The light turned green.
Cars behind them honked once.
Twice.
Ethan didn't move.
Didn't look up.
Didn't drive.
Scarlett glanced toward the windshield, then back at him. "Mr. Blackwood," she said gently, "the world is waiting."
No reaction.
Her voice softened. "What do you see?"
His eyes lifted.
Not to the road.
To her.
For a moment—
Neither of them breathed.
Then quietly—
"A risk."
Her heart skipped.
"A risk?"
He handed the photograph back, his fingers releasing it slowly enough to brush hers again.
"Yes."
The car began to move.
His gaze returned to the road.
"You," he added calmly, "are starting to believe something that doesn't exist."
Her grip tightened around the photo.
"And what is that?"
Silence filled the car again. Streetlights passed. Shadows shifted. The city blurred.
His voice came low.
Controlled.
Dangerously steady.
"That this... is anything more than a contract."
The words settled between them.
Heavy.
Final.
Scarlett looked down.
At their hands intertwined in the picture.
At the way she leaned into him.
At the way he held her like letting go had never been an option.
Her fingers traced the image.
"Then why," she whispered, almost too soft to hear, "does it look real?"
He didn't answer.
But his grip on the steering wheel tightened.
For the first time—
His calm didn't look effortless.
She turned her head slowly, studying him.
Are you saying that to me... or to yourself, Ethan?
I can feel it. You've started believing in this too.
So why hide it? What's stopping you?
Her lips curved.
A quiet, secret smile meant only for herself.
Don't worry, she thought. I'll make you accept it. On your own.
–
Afternoon sunlight spilled across Scarlett's worktable, gilding sketches and fabric swatches in warm gold. The studio smelled faintly of paper, silk, and fresh ink.
She still carried the lightness from lunch.
It lingered in the way her shoulders sat looser.
In the faint blush warming her cheeks.
In the softness that hadn't left her lips.
Linda noticed immediately.
"You're awfully cheerful," she teased, tapping her pen against her notepad. "Did someone win the lottery... or just your heart?"
Scarlett's fingers stilled on the paper. Heat rose into her face before she could stop it. "Am I?" she murmured.
Linda leaned forward. "Oh, you definitely are. Should I be concerned?"
Scarlett quickly covered her cheeks with both hands. "Stop looking at me like that."
Linda squinted playfully. "Do you think you can hide it like this? It's written all over your face."
Scarlett laughed under her breath, lowering her hands. "Fine. Don't blame me if you faint from shock."
Linda straightened dramatically. "I'm ready."
Scarlett told her.
About lunch.
About Ethan.
About the photograph.
She pulled it from her wallet and showed her.
Linda's eyes widened. "No. Way."
"Ohhh," she dragged out, grinning. "Looks like our cold CEO has started melting. And there is an office romance happening."
Scarlett nudged her shoulder. "There is no romance."
"Mhm," Linda hummed skeptically. "And I'm the Queen of England."
Scarlett bit back a smile.
Linda's expression softened. "I'm really happy for you, Scarlett... really. You deserve something that makes you look like this."
Scarlett's chest warmed. She stepped forward and hugged her. Linda hugged back tightly.
"Thank you," Scarlett whispered.
"Just promise me something," Linda murmured.
"What?"
"If he ever makes you cry... I'll personally fire him."
Scarlett laughed softly. "Deal."
They lingered there, whispering, laughing, trading small girlish confessions like secrets stitched in silk.
–
The cabin buzzed gently with activity.
Fabric rustled.
Pencils scratched.
Linda's pen clicked.
Scarlett leaned over the desk, tracing a neckline with careful precision. Her pencil tapped lightly as she studied the curve, eyes narrowed in thought.
Scarlett leaned over the desk, tracing a neckline with careful precision. Her pencil tapped lightly as she studied the curve, eyes narrowed in thought.
"The neckline needs to be softened," she said finally. "It's too sharp. It should fall into elegance, not edge."
Andrian bent closer, his shoulder hovering just shy of hers. "You always say that about harsh lines," he murmured. "You hate anything that looks like it could hurt someone."
She didn't look at him. "Clothes shouldn't feel aggressive."
"If we ease the curve here..." His hand moved across the page, gliding close enough that she felt the warmth of his skin without contact. "It'll balance the line you want."
Scarlett's pulse jumped.
She forced her eyes onto the paper. "Yes. Exactly there."
Linda adjusted her glasses. "Got it. Lace embroidery will follow the softened neckline."
They worked in rhythm—professional, seamless, efficient.
Yet beneath the calm—
Static.
Scarlett slipped the photo from her wallet again and glanced at it.
A smile touched her lips before she could stop it.
Linda giggled. "You're looking at it again."
"I am not."
"You are."
"I'm just checking something."
"Checking his face?" Linda whispered.
Scarlett elbowed her lightly.
Across the table, Andrian watched.
His gaze lingered.
Steady.
Heavy with words he never said.
He didn't miss the brightness in her expression.
Didn't miss how refreshed she looked.
"What happened at lunch?" he asked quietly.
Scarlett froze for half a second. "Nothing special."
Linda coughed. "Define nothing."
Scarlett shot her a look.
Andrian's voice softened. "You seem... different."
"Is that a bad thing?" she asked.
He shook his head slowly. "No. Just new."
.--
By evening, the designs were nearly complete.
A rare sense of accomplishment settled over the trio.
"Coffee?" Linda suggested, stretching her arms.
"Yes, please," Scarlett said.
Andrian nodded. "I'll need it if I'm going to survive your perfectionism tomorrow."
Scarlett smirked. "You should be grateful you get to witness it."
Scarlett nodded, tucking her notebook against her chest as they stepped into the elevator lobby. Employees moved in hurried currents around them, conversations blending into a low hum.
Then—
Impact.
A man brushed past too sharply.
His shoulder slammed into hers.
Scarlett gasped.
Her heel twisted.
Balance slipped—
The world tilted.
—and she fell.
"Scarlett!"
Linda and Andrian dropped instantly.
His arms reached her first. Strong hands braced her before she hit the ground, catching her with steady urgency. His grip was firm, protective, his eyes narrowed with concern.
"Easy," he murmured. "I've got you."
Her ankle throbbed. Sharp. Hot.
She tried to pull away. "Andrian, it's nothing. I'm fine. Really, I'm fine."
She pushed herself upright—
—and pain shot through her.
"Ahhh—!"
Her limp betrayed her.
Andrian's jaw tightened. "That's not nothing."
"It is," she insisted weakly. "I just twisted it."
"You can barely stand."
"I said I'm fine."
"Scarlett," he said quietly, "stop trying to be strong for five seconds."
Before she could argue—
He bent down and lifted her into his arms.
Scarlett's eyes flew wide. A soft gasp slipped from her lips. "Andrian! Put me down—I can walk!"
"No," he said simply, already striding forward. "You can't."
Whispers erupted. Employees paused mid-step. Heads turned. Eyes widened.
"Is that—"
"Why is he carrying her—"
"Are they—"
Scarlett's face burned. "Everyone's staring!"
"Let them," Andrian replied calmly. "You're hurt."
"And that means you kidnap me?"
"If that's what it takes."
"Leave me Andr—", she wiggled.
"Andrian," he corrected gently. "If you're going to protest, at least say my name right."
Despite herself, she let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
And then—
The elevator doors slid open.
Standing inside—
Ethan.
Still.
Silent.
Watching.
His eyes moved first to Scarlett—
In another man's arms.
Then slowly—
To Andrian.
The air tightened. No one spoke.
Not Scarlett. Not Andrian. Not Ethan.
Something invisible—
Sharp.
Possessive.
Dangerous—
Snapped into place between them.
And suddenly—
The elevator felt far too small. And the air between the three of them tightened like a wire about to snap.