102 - Before the Storm
Catherine's drawing room always smelled faintly of lilies.
Not the fresh kind. The heavy kind—sweet to the point of decay.
She stood by the window with her wineglass, watching the dark garden beyond the glass. The curtains were half drawn. Firelight moved across the walls in soft waves.
Adrian didn't sit. He rarely did in her presence. He stood near the mantel, jaw set, fingers loosely clasped behind his back like he was already preparing for something.
Catherine swirled her wine once. Slowly.
"If Ethan pulls away," she said, not looking at him, "Scarlett will finally have to look at him without the illusion."
Adrian's eyes shifted toward her. "Illusion."
"The perfect husband." She smiled faintly. "The controlled one. The untouchable one."
She turned then, resting her hip against the console table. The glass made a small sound when her nails tapped it. Not dramatic. Just steady.
"No armor," she added. "No performance."
Adrian let out a breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh.
"And while he's gone," he said after a moment, "I can talk to her. Properly."
Catherine tilted her head, studying him. "Talk."
He ignored the slight mockery in her tone. "She doesn't belong in that cold house. She needs someone who... stays."
"Mm." Catherine's lips curved. "A love that warms."
He didn't answer. That was answer enough.
Instead, he took out his phone. His voice when he spoke into it was level. Professional. Clean.
"Proceed as discussed," he said. "Escalate immediately. Direct to him."
He ended the call without flourish.
Catherine took a slow sip of wine.
Outside, somewhere far beyond the garden and the city and the quiet stretch of night—
the first cracks began to form in Ethan Blackwood's empire.
Now I will begin my game Andrian. She will be invisible soon.
--
The office door clicked shut behind Linda.
Scarlett didn't realize how much she'd been bracing herself until the silence hit.
It wasn't dramatic. Just... full.
Ethan's hand was still at her waist. Warm. Steady. Too steady.
She could feel the exact outline of his fingers through the thin fabric of her dress. She became irrationally aware of the small crease in her sleeve where she'd folded it earlier. Of the faint scent of ink and leather in the room. Of the fact that her heel was slightly crooked on the carpet.
"Why did you do that?" she asked.
Her voice didn't come out sharp like she'd intended. It came out tired.
"Do what?"
He sounded calm. Almost mildly curious.
"You know what."
Her palms rested against his chest. Not pushing. Just there. She could feel his heartbeat. Slow. Annoyingly steady.
"In front of them," she said. "Why act like that?"
"Like what?"
She exhaled, frustrated. "Like we're... perfect."
His gaze sharpened slightly. Not angry. Just attentive.
"Scarlett," he said, "we are married."
"That's not what I meant."
His hand slipped from her waist. The absence startled her more than the contact had.
Before she could step back, his fingers caught her chin. Not rough. Just firm enough that she couldn't look away.
"Say it clearly," he said quietly.
Her throat tightened. She hated that he could do that—make her feel sixteen and unprepared.
"Why pretend you care?" she asked.
There it was. Messy. Not eloquent. Too direct.
For a second, something shifted in his eyes. Not hurt. Not quite.
"I don't pretend," he said.
"That's convenient."
He almost smiled at that, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"You think I did that for Catherine?"
"Yes."
"And Adrian?"
"Yes."
"And not for you?"
She hesitated.
That half-second betrayed her.
He noticed.
Ethan stepped closer. Their knees brushed. It wasn't dramatic, but it grounded her—reminded her how close they actually were.
"You assume it's performance," he said. "Because if it isn't... then you'd have to deal with that."
"With what?"
"With me."
Her breath caught, but she rolled her eyes instead. "You're not that terrifying."
"No?" His brow lifted faintly.
"No. You're just... complicated."
"That's generous."
"Don't fish for compliments."
A beat.
Then, softer, "Scarlett."
Her name didn't sound like a claim. It sounded almost... careful.
He lifted her onto the edge of the table. It wasn't aggressive. It wasn't tender. It was simply decisive, like he'd chosen the closest surface and acted.
She steadied herself with her palms against the polished wood. It was cool. Grounding.
"What part looked fake?" he asked.
She looked at him directly this time.
"The part where you looked at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I matter."
Silence.
Not heavy. Just present.
"You do," he said.
Her stomach tightened unexpectedly. That wasn't the direction she'd prepared for.
"You say that now," she replied. "But when this contract ends—"
"It's not ending."
She frowned. "You don't get to just decide that."
"I already did."
That annoyed her. "You can't control everything."
"I'm not trying to control everything."
"Really?"
He paused. Considered that.
"Not everything," he amended.
That almost made her laugh. Almost.
He stepped closer again. Their foreheads nearly aligned.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
"I'm not."
"You are."
"It's because you're too close."
"Then tell me to move."
She opened her mouth.
"Move."
He didn't.
It wasn't dramatic defiance. It was simply a refusal.
He leaned in.
She closed her eyes.
And then—
Knock. Knock.
Scarlett exhaled so sharply it almost embarrassed her.
John stepped in, efficient as always. "Sir. There's a situation in Italy."
The shift in Ethan was immediate.
He didn't look annoyed. He didn't look frustrated.
He looked focused.
He stepped back from her. The space felt larger than it actually was.
"I'm coming," he said.
The next few hours blurred into murmurs through walls and the sound of shoes on marble.
Scarlett sat on the small sofa in his office at one point, staring at a decorative paperweight shaped like a globe. She turned it slightly with her finger. Italy caught the light.
When Ethan returned, he was on the phone.
"Yes," he said, pacing. "That's interference."
His tone wasn't loud. It was restrained. Which somehow made it worse.
Scarlett stood by the window, arms folded loosely. She wasn't trying to eavesdrop. It just carried.
"Three shipments contaminated," he continued. "One held at customs. And no one noticed?"
A pause.
"No. I don't want assumptions. I want names."
He stopped walking. His shoulders tightened slightly—not exaggerated, just visible.
"How long?"
Another pause.
Scarlett's stomach sank.
"Lock it down," he said. "No one leaves. Internal investigation first. I'll be there in the morning."
He ended the call.
For a moment, he just stood there with the phone still in his hand.
She approached carefully.
"Is it bad?" she asked.
He let out a breath. "Yes."
That was it. No elaboration.
She reached up and touched his forehead lightly. It wasn't romantic. It was instinct. Checking for fever almost.
His eyes closed.
Then he caught her wrist—not harshly. Just holding it there.
She didn't pull away.
After a second, he guided her into his lap.
The movement surprised her enough that she let out a small, awkward, "Oh—"
He wrapped his arms around her.
It wasn't possessive. It wasn't heated.
It felt like someone setting down a weight for a moment.
She hesitated, then rested her chin against his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was slightly wrinkled near the collar. She noticed that for no reason at all.
They stayed like that.
No declarations. No urgency.
Just breathing.
After a while, he leaned back enough to look at her.
"I have a lot to explain," he said. "And I know you have a lot to ask me. But not tonight."
She nodded. "Okay."
"I have to go to Italy."
"When?"
"Now."
Her chest tightened, but she kept her voice steady. "Then go."
He studied her like he expected resistance.
"You should come with me."
She blinked. "With my leg?" She tapped it lightly. "I'd slow you down."
His jaw flexed.
"It's not just about Italy," he said. "If someone can breach my operation, they can try other routes."
"Other routes," she repeated.
"You."
The word landed quietly between them.
She straightened slightly. "I'm not fragile."
"I know."
"But?"
"But I won't forgive myself if something happens while I'm gone."
She looked at him carefully then.
This wasn't ego.
This was fear.
"You're assuming the worst," she said.
"That's my job."
She almost smiled at that. "It's exhausting, isn't it?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he said, more quietly than before, "Don't trust anyone too easily while I'm gone."
"That's vague."
"Scarlett."
She sighed softly. "I won't be reckless."
"That's not what I asked."
There it was—control, creeping back in.
She tilted her head. "You don't get to isolate me because you're worried."
His eyes darkened slightly. "I'm not isolating you."
"It sounds like it."
A small silence stretched between them.
He exhaled. "I'm asking you to be careful."
"That I can do."
Another pause. Her chest tightened at the sudden intensity in his tone. She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell him she was capable, that she wasn't helpless. But the sharp edge in his eyes made her swallow hard.
He isn't overreacting, she realized, heart hammering. He's seeing something I can't... something I can't protect myself from.
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Not slow. Not intense. Just absentminded.
"When I come back," he said, "we'll talk properly."
"About what?"
"Everything."
She swallowed.
He stood then, setting her gently on her feet.
The room felt different already.
He looked at her for a long moment, like he was trying to memorize something.
She hated that it made her want to reach for him.
Instead, she said, lightly, "Don't get arrested."
He huffed a faint breath that might've been a laugh. "That's the plan."
Silence stretched, heavy, charged, the kind of silence that carries unspoken promises—and unspoken dangers.
Her heartbeat raced, thundering in her ears, and she realized, with both dread and a strange ache of longing, that she had never felt so aware of him. So dependent on him. So... tethered to him.
And in that moment, Scarlett knew: when Ethan was gone, a piece of her would leave with him.
Silence stretched.
He looked at her as though memorizing every detail. The curve of her lips. The shadows beneath her lashes. The way her breathing shifted when he watched too closely.
Inside his mind, a promise formed.
When I come back... I'll tell her everything. No more hiding. No more silence. We'll reclaim everything we missed.
Even our honeymoon.
Scarlett couldn't hear that promise.
All she felt—
was the ache already forming in her chest.