100 - Before the Confession
Ethan's lips had brushed hers before he even realized he'd moved.
The kiss wasn't planned.
It wasn't conscious.
It wasn't allowed.
It was instinct.
Warm.
Soft.
Forbidden.
For one reckless second his control shattered—every wall he'd spent years building cracking under the quiet pull of her breathing, her warmth, the way she fit against him like she had always belonged there.
Then—
he tore himself back.
Hard.
Like dragging his own body away from a cliff edge.
His lips parted from hers in a sharp breath he didn't let escape.
And he froze.
His eyes opened slowly in the dark.
For a long moment—
he didn't breathe.
Scarlett.
His name.
On her lips.
Soft.
Barely there.
Fragile as mist.
Something deep inside his chest shifted.
Quiet.
Dangerous.
Irreversible.
His arm remained locked around her waist.
He didn't loosen it.
Didn't dare.
Because if he did—
he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from pulling her closer again.
What am I doing to her?
The truth struck hard.
Not irritation.
Not curiosity.
Recognition.
His gaze lowered to the crown of her head beneath his chin. A faint strand of her hair brushed his jaw with each slow breath she took.
Even.
Peaceful.
Trusting.
Trusting him.
That realization hit harder than any betrayal he'd ever faced across a boardroom table.
You shouldn't trust me.
And yet—
she did.
He remembered the first time he saw her.
Not the official introduction.
Not the contract.
Not the signatures.
No.
He remembered her eyes.
The night she hit him at the ball.
Defiant.
Sharp.
Locked on his like she hadn't just struck a man half the city feared. Like he wasn't the man who made executives stumble over their words. Like his name carried no weight. Like his power meant less than nothing.
Most people looked at him with calculation.
Fear.
Ambition.
She'd looked at him with a challenge.
He'd noticed immediately.
Of course he had.
Ethan Blackwood noticed everything.
Especially her.
He remembered the day she stormed into his office.
No appointment.
No hesitation.
Demanding answers about the building he'd purchased—the one where her boutique was supposed to open.
Not asking.
Demanding.
Her palms flat on his desk.
Her chin lifted.
Her voice steady.
"You don't get to buy my future without explaining why."
No one spoke to him like that.
No one.
Not investors.
Not rivals.
Not board members.
But she had.
And instead of fury—
he'd felt something sharp and electric settle under his skin.
Interest.
At first, he told himself she was a problem.
An unpredictable variable.
Someone he needed to control.
Contain.
Manage.
Management.
A silent scoff echoed in his chest.
Liar.
He hadn't been managing her.
He'd been watching her.
Long before tonight.
Watching how she handled business meetings without flinching.
Watching how she argued with him differently in private than in public.
Watching how she somehow made his office feel less like a battlefield and more like—
something else.
She had changed his life the moment she stepped into it.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Dangerously.
She made him comfortable in conversations he usually ended in seconds.
She spoke to him in ways no one dared.
She treated him like a man in private—
and like an equal in public.
No one had ever balanced that line with him.
No one except her.
His hold around her tightened a fraction.
Not enough to wake her.
Just enough to feel her warmth press more firmly into him.
His chest rose slowly.
Carefully.
He'd built empires from instinct.
From calculation.
From control.
He understood acquisitions.
Negotiations.
Takeovers.
But this—
this quiet, relentless pull toward the woman sleeping in his arms—
he didn't understand it.
And that unsettled him more than any rival ever had.
Then came Adrian.
The day that name entered his world—
everything shifted.
He hadn't noticed it immediately.
Not until he saw them standing too close.
Not until he saw her smile at another man.
Not until—
he saw her in Adrian's arms.
Something inside him had gone cold.
Not anger.
Not rage.
Fear.
Sharp.
Instant.
Terrifying.
Because that was the moment he realized the truth he hadn't wanted to name.
He was possessive over Scarlett.
Not as a husband on paper.
Not as a business partner.
But as a man.
And the worst part?
He hadn't been able to step back.
Hadn't been able to detach.
Hadn't been able to pretend it didn't matter.
That was the moment he knew—
there was no turning away from her anymore.
No retreat.
No safe distance.
If she slipped from his reach—
he would feel it.
Scarlett shifted slightly in her sleep.
Her fingers curled loosely against his arm like she'd claimed him without asking.
His pulse stuttered once.
Slow.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
He didn't move her hand.
Didn't remove it.
Didn't want to.
I fell for you long ago.
The thought came without warning.
Without defense.
Without denial.
Not love.
Not yet.
But something just as lethal.
Something that had already slipped past every wall he'd built.
He'd known it the night she struck him and didn't apologize.
He'd known it the moment she demanded answers in his office instead of permission.
He'd known it when she started changing the way his world felt just by existing inside it.
And he'd accepted it—
the second he realized he didn't want anyone else holding her.
His fingers flexed lightly against her waist.
Careful.
Reverent.
Possessive.
You're trouble, Scarlett.
His gaze darkened in the shadows.
And I don't walk away from trouble.
Her breathing stayed steady.
Trusting.
Unaware.
His arm remained locked around her.
Not because she needed it.
Because he did.
And in the silence of the night, with her body warm against his, with the ghost of her name still lingering in his mind like a vow he hadn't meant to make—
Ethan Blackwood understood something that should have terrified him.
And in the silence of the night, with her warmth pressed into him, with the memory of her whispering his name still echoing through his chest like a vow he hadn't meant to make—
Ethan Blackwood realized something that should have terrified him.
He wasn't falling for Scarlett Landon.
He already had.
And the most dangerous part?
He didn't want to stop.
His gaze lowered to her sleeping face.
Soft.
Unprotected.
His.
A thought formed.
Slow.
Certain.
Inevitable.
Soon...
His thumb brushed lightly against her waist, almost unconsciously, like sealing a promise only he knew existed.
Soon I'll tell you.
Not in anger.
Not in impulse.
Not in weakness.
But deliberately.
The way he did everything that mattered.
He would confess.
And when he did—
there would be no going back for either of them.
Because Ethan Blackwood didn't say I love you unless he meant
forever.
–
Morning unfolded slowly inside Blackwood Mansion, sunlight spilling across the silk sheets in pale gold ribbons.
Ethan woke first.
Not abruptly. Not groggily.
He surfaced from sleep the way he did everything else—controlled, deliberate, aware.
The first thing he registered was warmth.
The second was her.
Scarlett lay curled against him, her breathing soft, even, her hair a spill of dark silk across his arm. His hand was still resting over her waist, exactly where it had settled hours ago, as if sometime during the night his body had made a decision his mind hadn't questioned.
He didn't move.
For a long moment, he simply watched her.
Her lashes rested against her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted. One hand lay loosely near his wrist, fingers relaxed, trusting.
Trusting.
Something unfamiliar pressed quietly against his ribs.
Carefully—carefully—he slipped his arm from around her and slid out of bed. The mattress dipped, but she didn't wake. She only shifted faintly, her brows knitting for a second before smoothing again.
Ethan adjusted the pillow under her injured leg before standing.
His gaze lingered.
"...Stay," he murmured quietly, though she couldn't hear him.
Then he turned and left.
---
The kitchen was silent when he entered, the early morning light catching against steel and marble. Ethan rolled up his sleeves and began moving with the same precision he used in boardrooms—measured, efficient, exact.
Eggs. Toast. Fruit. Coffee.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
If anyone from the corporate world saw him now, they wouldn't recognize him.
The feared CEO.
Standing barefoot in his own kitchen.
Cooking breakfast.
For his wife.
---
Upstairs, Scarlett stirred.
The bed was warm—but empty.
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, confusion softening her expression. Her hand slid across the sheets, fingertips brushing the place where he'd been.
Gone.
Her chest tightened before she could stop it.
Why am I disappointed?
She pushed herself up slightly and winced as her ankle reminded her it still existed.
"Good morning."
Her head snapped toward the door.
Ethan stood there, leaning lightly against the frame, sleeves rolled, expression calm... and holding a tray.
Scarlett blinked and was calm when see him. "...Did you already wake up?"
"Ya," he replied evenly, walking in.
She narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing this early?"
"Prepared something for you"
He set the tray down on the bedside table.
She stared at it.
Breakfast.
Prepared. Arranged. Perfect.
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
"You... cooked?"
"Yes."
"...Again?"
"Yes."
"...You seem like some rich CEO coming from an Asian drama?", she said looking at the way he behaved like an ideal husband.
"Is it?" He folded his arms. "So you mean that I lookp like the perfect husband from those dramas?"
Scarlett's lips parted slightly but stopped.
How did he find what I am thinking? Is he reading my mind?
He picked up a glass of water and held it toward her. "Drink."
She accepted it automatically, their fingers brushing. Her pulse skipped.
After she drank, he set the glass aside and put her legs down.
The moment she got up, intense pain stricked throughout her body and with a light whine she sat again in the bed.
Ethan reached her side and asked "What are you doing?"
She responded by saying, "Bathroom."
He looks like what
"...Bathroom?" she repeated.
"Oh ya. Let me take you."
She stared. "What did you say?"
He looked at her seriously.
Her brows lifted. "...You're serious?"
"You need to brush your teeth. Wash your face. And you can't walk properly." His tone stayed calm. Matter-of-fact. "Therefore, I'm assisting."
Scarlett stared at him for three full seconds.
"...You're unbelievable."
"I've been told many times, Scarlett".
She exhaled. "...Ethan, I can manage. I'll call Linda if I need help. Or I'll take care of it slowly. I mean You don't have to—"
"I can."
One word. Quiet. Final.
She blinked. She shook her head as no.
Without any delay his hands slid beneath her before she could protest again. He lifted her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing.
Her hands instinctively caught his shoulders.
"...You're not even going to pretend to ask?"
"No."
"That's rude."
"That's how I am."
She tried not to smile. Failed.
---
In the bathroom, he set her gently on the counter.
Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Water.
All handed to her before she could reach.
She stared at him through the mirror while brushing.
"You're hovering."
"No, I'm supervising."
"That's worse. You need to leave Ethan".
Silence. He didn't move an inch. She knows how difficult it is to change his decision.
She rinsed.
He handed her a towel.
She washed her face.
He passed her moisturizer.
She blinked. "...Did you know my skincare routine?"
He didn't respond and instead left a smile.
Scarlett stared at him.
Why is he so attractive...
He didn't look smug. Didn't look proud.
Just... attentive.
Careful.
Present.
Her chest felt strangely warm.
---
Back in the bedroom, he put her near the bed.
"You'll be hungry," he said quietly.
"I'm observing," she replied.
His brow lifted faintly. "Is that so?"
"Yes," she said. "...You're very... precise."
"That's called competence."
She smiled faintly. "You call it competence. I call it an unfair advantage."
After breakfast, she straightened slightly. "Alright. I need my laptop."
"No."
She looked at him. "No?"
"You're resting today."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"I have urgent work."
"It can wait."
"It can't."
Silence stretched between them.
Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Scarlett—"
"I said it's urgent." Her tone didn't rise. But it held steel. "Deadlines don't care about injuries."
His jaw flexed.
She met his gaze evenly.
Neither blinked.
"...You're stubborn," he said at last.
"Like my husband", she winked at him.
A pause.
Then—
"Fine."
Her brows lifted.
He pulled out his phone. "One condition."
She crossed her arms. "Let's hear it."
"You work from my office. With me."
She hesitated.
"...with you?"
"Yes."
"Why?".
"Are you planning to work at this stage at your desk alone?", he pointed at her legs.
She also looked at her foot and said " Linda and Andrian will be there with me. They will help me... So I can manage there..."
Why does she always rely on Andrian, when I am her husband.
"If you are not obeying then you are not coming to office".
She studied his face.
Not controlling.
Not angry.
But something different that she couldn't interpret.
"...Fine," she said.
He nodded once and dialed.
"Yes," he said into the phone. "Prepare an additional workstation in my office. Immediately. Yes. Today."
He hung up.
Scarlett blinked. "...That was so fast."
"I don't waste time. Let's go".
She looked at him and pointed at her nightdress and asked him "Do you want me to come like this?".
—
He set her on the chair near the vanity while he brought her clothes.
She watched him the entire time.
The way he folded fabric.
The way he adjusted the sleeves.
The way his fingers brushed her hair back so it wouldn't catch in the collar.
He stood behind her and gently gathered her hair, tying it back neatly.
Her breath slowed.
He's so careful...
Not rushed. Not careless.
Careful.
Scarlett swallowed.
Why does it feel like I'm the fragile thing he's afraid to break?
Minutes later, he picked up her bag, slung it over his shoulder, then turned toward her.
"...What?" she asked cautiously.
Instead of answering, he bent and lifted her again.
"I know," he said calmly. "I prefer not to watch you attempt it."
"That's insulting."
"That's accurate."
She huffed. "...You're impossible."
"And yet," he said quietly, walking toward the door, "you're coming with me anyway."
Her heart skipped.
She looked at him.
But still he has an unsatisfied look in his face. Scarlett looked at mirror but for her it felt nice and she told she is fine and we can go.
Finally he identified the missing piece from her, and took the eyeliner from her desk and showed it to her.
"Eyeliner or breakfast?", he asked her.
She burst out into laugh on seeing him holding eyeliner pen for her. He then finished her look with the eyeliner and now he is satisfied.
At the steady way he held her.
At the calm strength in his arms.
At the quiet certainty in his eyes.
And suddenly one thought echoed softly in her mind—
When did being carried by him start to feel like the safest place in the world?
Outside, the morning sun gleamed against the car waiting at the front steps.
Ethan walked toward it without slowing.
Without hesitating.
Without letting her go.
-