97 - Carried Away by a King
The elevator doors slid open with a soft, polished chime.
And time stopped.
Ethan stepped out—
—and froze.
For the briefest fraction of a second, his entire frame locked, tall and immovable, like a monument sculpted from ice and authority. His gaze sharpened slowly, deliberately, slicing through the air—
—and landed on Scarlett.
In Andrian's arms.
Something dark flickered across Ethan's expression.
Not loud.
Not explosive.
Worse.
Silent. Dangerous. Gathering.
His jaw tightened.
His voice, when it came, was low. "Let her go."
Andrian barely had time to process the command.
Because Ethan moved.
Each step toward them was controlled, precise, lethal in its calm. The lobby seemed to shrink around him. Conversations faltered. Laughter died. Even the air tightened, as though the building itself recognized its ruler had entered and bowed.
Andrian straightened instinctively, defensive. "She twisted her ankle. I was just—"
"I said," Ethan cut in softly, "let her go."
The softness was what made it terrifying.
Andrian's arms loosened.
Not willingly.
Instinctively.
Ethan reached them—
—and in one swift motion shoved Andrian's arms aside, claiming Scarlett as if retrieving something stolen. His hands closed around her waist and lifted her effortlessly against his chest.
Like she weighed nothing.
Like she belonged there.
"Ethan—" Scarlett gasped, startled, fingers instinctively clutching his lapel. "What are you doing?"
His eyes burned into hers.
"You shouldn't let other men hold you."
Her breath caught. "I was hurt, not flirting. And he helped me"
"Mm." His grip tightened slightly. "I don't care which one it was."
A ripple of gasps spread through the lobby.
"The CEO's carrying her!"
"They look like a movie couple—"
"Did you see that? He didn't even let Andrian near her—so protective!"
Scarlett's face flamed. Mortified heat rushed up her neck. She buried her face against Ethan's shoulder, hiding from the whispers, from the eyes, from the chaos.
"Ethan, put me down," she hissed against his collar.
"Not a chance."
Low.
Sharp.
Absolute.
Her fingers tightened slightly in his jacket. "Everyone's staring."
"Let them," he said calmly. "They should."
His stride never slowed. Never faltered. He walked straight across the office floor as if carrying her in front of the entire company were the most natural thing in the world.
No one dared step into his path.
Behind them, Andrian stood frozen, fury simmering in his eyes.
Across the hall—
Catherine watched.
Still. Silent. Unreadable.
Her gaze tracked every second, every movement, every shift of Ethan's hold on Scarlett, as if committing it all to memory.
The moment Ethan's office door shut behind them—
Silence swallowed the noise whole.
He crossed to the leather couch and set Scarlett down carefully.
Then—
He knelt before her and looked at her injured foot.
Scarlett's eyes widened. "Ethan—don't. Leave it."
"Stop moving."
His voice was rough—but quiet.
His fingers closed around her ankle before she could pull away. He slipped off her shoe with slow precision.
The swelling was already visible.
His jaw flexed.
"It might be twisted." His thumb brushed lightly along her skin. "Hold still."
Scarlett swallowed. "You sound like you know what you're doing."
"I do."
He shrugged off his jacket in one fluid motion and rolled his sleeves back, exposing strong forearms lined with tension.
Her breath hitched.
Not from pain.
From him.
His fingers pressed along her ankle.
Firm.
Exact.
The pressure sent a sharp jolt through her leg.
"Ethan!.. ahhh—"
His eyes lifted instantly to her face. "Look at me."
She did.
"Breathe," he murmured.
She inhaled shakily.
Then—
A sharp, decisive turn.
Scarlett cried out—
—and then blinked.
The pain dulled.
Relief spread through her body in warm waves.
Her lips parted. "It... doesn't hurt as much."
"I know."
The door opened. His secretary hurried in with an ice pack. Ethan took it without looking away from Scarlett.
"Thank you," he said absently.
He cradled her foot carefully and pressed the cold against her ankle.
Focused.
Protective.
Scarlett stared at him, searching his face like she was trying to understand a language she'd never studied.
"You've done this before," she whispered.
His gaze lifted.
A faint smile touched his lips. "Many times."
"The swelling will ease in two days," he said quietly. "But I've already called the doctor. Until then, you rest."
He started to stand.
Her hand moved before she realized it.
Her fingers wrapped around his wrist.
He stilled.
Eyes narrowing slightly. "What?"
Scarlett swallowed. "How did you do that? You're not... a doctor."
For the first time—
He smiled.
Not a smirk.
Not mockery.
Real.
He lowered himself beside her. "I used to be a sportsman. When you play hard, you learn fast. Injuries don't wait for hospitals."
Her thumb shifted unconsciously against his wrist.
"You treated your teammates too?" she asked softly.
"Yes."
"And yourself?"
"Yes."
Her voice dropped. "You must've gotten hurt a lot."
A knock sounded at the door.
Not loud. Careful. Respectful.
Ethan's eyes shifted toward it, irritation flickering for the briefest second at the interruption.
The door opened slightly, and John, his secretary, stepped in with quiet efficiency. Behind him stood a middle-aged doctor carrying a compact medical case, his posture professional but subtly tense under Ethan's presence.
"Sir," John said softly, "the doctor."
Ethan gave a single nod.
The doctor stepped forward, offering a polite incline of his head before kneeling near Scarlett. "May I?"
Scarlett glanced at Ethan instinctively.
He didn't speak.
But the slight tilt of his chin was permission.
She extended her foot.
The doctor examined her ankle carefully, fingers pressing gently along the joint, rotating it with cautious precision. Scarlett's lashes fluttered at the touch, her hand tightening unconsciously against Ethan's wrist.
Ethan noticed.
His thumb shifted slightly beneath her fingers.
Grounding.
Silent reassurance.
The doctor paused, brows lifting faintly. His fingers pressed once more, testing the joint's response. Then he leaned back, relief settling into his expression.
"There's no need to worry," he said calmly. "The twist has already been corrected."
Scarlett blinked. "Corrected?"
His eyes flicked briefly toward Ethan.
"Yes. Whoever adjusted it knew exactly what they were doing."
Silence.
Scarlett slowly turned her gaze toward Ethan.
He didn't react.
Didn't look at her.
Didn't acknowledge the praise.
As if it were nothing.
The doctor opened his case, took out a small tube and a strip of medical wrap, and applied the medicine gently around her ankle before securing it with careful, practiced movements.
"This will reduce the swelling," he continued. He handed over a painkiller tablet.
Scarlett let out a quiet breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"But," the doctor added, voice firming slightly, "you must rest. No strain. No unnecessary walking. The joint is stable now, but it still needs time."
His gaze lifted to hers with gentle insistence.
"If you push it, you'll delay healing."
Before Scarlett could respond—
"I'll make sure she rests."
Ethan's voice was calm.
Absolute.
The doctor nodded immediately. "Then she'll recover quickly."
He packed his tools, stood, and gave a respectful nod. "I'll take my leave."
John escorted him out, closing the door softly behind them.
Silence returned.
Scarlett slowly looked up at Ethan again.
Her fingers were still wrapped around his wrist.
Neither of them had noticed when she forgot to let go.
Her ankle still ached faintly—but it felt distant now, drowned beneath the thunder of her heartbeat.
She tried to stand.
His reaction was instant. "What are you doing?"
"I'm fine, Ethan. I can walk." She pushed herself up, limping slightly.
He was beside her in a second, hand steadying her elbow. "Like this?"
"It doesn't hurt much. I can still work. Andrian and Linda are waiting for me."
"Work?" His tone flattened. "In this condition?"
She gave a small laugh. "I hurt my leg, not my hands. I can still guide them."
Two steps.
That was all.
He lifted her again.
She let out a startled breath. "Ethan!"
Back onto the couch she went.
A finger pressed gently to her lips.
"Shh. Didn't you hear what the doctor said?"
His voice dropped to a quiet command.
"I'm the CEO. I order you to rest."
Her protest died against his fingertip.
He pulled away, grabbed his laptop, and sat beside her.
"I'll finish what I need to," he said. "Then I'll take you home."
Scarlett sank into the cushions, torn between irritation and something warm and unfamiliar blooming beneath her ribs.
She watched him from the corner of her eye.
His profile.
His focus.
The quiet authority in every movement.
Her gaze lingered.
He noticed.
Paused.
Without looking at her, he said softly, "If you keep staring like that, I'll start thinking you like me."
Her cheeks heated. "You wish."
A faint huff of amusement left him. "Mm."
Slowly, she leaned her temple against his shoulder.
He went still.
She felt it.
Every muscle locking.
For a moment, he didn't breathe.
Then—
He relaxed.
Her lashes lowered.
Her breathing softened.
And she drifted to sleep.
Trusting him.
Ethan looked down.
The sharp lines of his face softened despite himself.
His voice barely existed when he murmured, "You're reckless... and exhausting."
A pause.
"...and mine."
The mask he had worn for years cracked—
just enough—
to reveal something dangerous.
Something real.
The office fell into deep silence.
The air vent hummed faintly.
Nothing else.
He closed the final file on his laptop.
But he didn't move.
His gaze shifted.
Scarlett was asleep.
–
Ethan sat beside her, laptop open, screen glowing with graphs, numbers, and voices murmuring through his earpiece.
A boardroom meeting.
Important.
Urgent.
Necessary.
And completely losing.
Because Scarlett was breathing beside him.
Soft. Slow. Warm.
Each quiet inhale brushed against the air near his shoulder, distracting in a way no market crash or corporate threat ever had. The faint scent of her shampoo lingered between them, light and clean, threading through his senses like a silent invasion he didn't want to stop.
Her head had tilted against the armrest now, lashes casting delicate shadows across her cheeks. The steady rise and fall of her chest softened the steel-cold office simply by existing inside it.
Ethan's eyes flicked to the screen.
Back to her.
Screen.
Her.
He forced himself to focus.
"Mr. Blackwood, regarding the Singapore acquisition—"
His gaze remained on Scarlett.
Her face suddenly tightened.
A faint crease formed between her brows. Even asleep, pain found her. Her lips parted slightly as she shifted, trying to adjust her injured leg.
The movement was clumsy, unconscious.
Her foot slid—
—and bumped against his thigh.
Ethan didn't hesitate.
Not even a second.
His hand moved instinctively, gently lifting her leg and settling it across his lap, adjusting the angle so her ankle rested comfortably, supported by the warmth of him instead of the hard couch.
On the laptop screen, executives were still talking.
He didn't look at them.
His thumb brushed lightly along her calf once.
Twice.
Testing.
Soothing.
Her expression smoothed almost immediately. The tension melted from her brow. Her breathing deepened again.
Only then did Ethan return his gaze to the meeting.
"Yes," he said calmly, voice steady and controlled as if he weren't cradling his sleeping wife's leg across his lap. "Proceed."
Minutes passed.
The meeting ended.
The call disconnected.
The screen dimmed.
He didn't move her.
Didn't remove her leg.
Instead—
his fingers began tracing slow, absent patterns along her skin, gentle strokes meant only for her... though she wasn't awake to feel them consciously.
Or maybe she was.
He stared at her.
The Ethan Blackwood the world knew would never allow this.
Would never sit still just to watch someone sleep.
Would never let work wait.
Would never soften.
And yet—
He couldn't look away.
The door opened quietly.
John stepped in.
He froze.
His gaze dropped immediately to the sight before him:
Scarlett asleep.
Her leg resting possessively across Ethan's lap.
Ethan's hand still lightly holding her ankle.
John's brows lifted.
A grin tugged at his mouth.
He winked.
Ethan's eyes snapped up.
The look he shot him could have frozen fire.
Sharp. Warning. Deadly.
Be. Quiet.
John's grin vanished instantly. He nodded fast, lips sealing shut. Then he pointed discreetly toward the hallway and mimed steering a wheel.
Car ready.
Ethan gave a barely perceptible nod.
John slipped out without another sound.
Silence returned.
Ethan looked back down at Scarlett.
For a moment—
he just watched her.
Memorizing.
The curve of her cheek.
The softness of her mouth.
The way she leaned toward him even in sleep, as if some part of her trusted him more than she trusted gravity.
Then, slowly—
he slid one arm beneath her back.
The other beneath her knees.
And lifted her.
Carefully.
As if she might shatter.
She stirred faintly, a soft sound escaping her lips—but she didn't wake. Instead, her face nestled instinctively against his chest, burrowing closer, seeking warmth without knowing it.
His arms tightened around her.
His jaw flexed once.
Then he walked out.
–
The lobby buzzed with after-hours laughter.
The sound grated.
His gaze swept across the room.
Cold.
Cutting.
Instant silence.
Voices died. Heads lowered. People scattered like birds startled by a predator.
Inside the elevator, Scarlett stirred.
Her lashes fluttered open. "E... Ethan?"
She tried to push against his chest, embarrassed. "You're still carrying me..."
"Stay still."
Low.
Final.
Her cheeks burned. "People will see."
"They already have."
"That's not helping."
"It is," he replied calmly.
Her fingers curled into his shirt. "You're impossible."
"And you're injured."
The elevator descended.
Only the steady thud of his heart beneath her ear filled the quiet.
The doors opened.
He carried her to the car.
Employees lowered their heads respectfully as he passed.
He placed her gently into the passenger seat.
Adjusted a small footrest beneath her ankle himself.
Her throat tightened.
She watched his hands.
Watched the careful way he positioned her foot.
Watched the man who could silence a room with a glance—
...and tuck her in like she mattered more than his empire.
Her voice came out barely audible.
"Why are you being like this?"
He stilled.
Slowly, he looked up.
Their eyes met.
And something unreadable moved behind his gaze.
"Because," he said quietly, "you're my wife."
The door shut.
Leaving the words vibrating in the air—
—and Scarlett suddenly unsure which version of Ethan Blackwood was more dangerous.
–