103 - The Cost of Loving Him
The Goodbye
Night draped the mansion in a cloak of velvet darkness. The kind that swallowed the edges of everything, leaving only silhouettes and heartbeats. Outside, the car door clicked shut with a hollow finality, a sound that echoed like a verdict.
Inside, Ethan sat rigid, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The leather seat beneath him offered no comfort, no escape from the tension coiling in his chest. Scarlett stood just beyond reach, the soft glow of the porch light casting her in gold, yet her presence felt painfully distant.
For a heartbeat, they only stared at each other. Time slowed. The world shrank to the space between them—the barely-there distance, the unspoken truths hovering like sparks over dry wood.
Then, suddenly, as though the universe bent against his control, she leaned in through the open window. Her arms wound around him tightly, a desperate tether to a reality he couldn't—wouldn't—leave behind. Her voice trembled against his shoulder, soft and fragile:
"Goodbye, Ethan."
For a moment—just a fraction of a moment—he almost surrendered.
His hand hovered over the door handle, every muscle screaming at him to fling open the car door, to pull her into his arms properly, to promise her he would return.
Every instinct, every fragment of himself, howled at him to defy reason.
But duty, cold and unyielding, chained him to the seat.
The car rolled forward.
Her figure blurred behind the tinted glass, and Ethan's knuckles whitened as they gripped the leather armrest. The world outside became a smear of shadows, yet his heart stayed trapped in the space she had just vacated.
Every cell in him screamed—Turn back.
He didn't.
Left Behind
The mansion had never felt colder. The kind of cold that sinks into bones and memories alike.
Scarlett wandered its silent halls, her footsteps echoing faintly against marble floors, the absence of his presence pressing in like a merciless winter wind.
Every corner whispered him. Every shadow seemed to carry his shape.
She replayed the day in her mind like a cruel film—his hand brushing her chin, his voice so close it left goosebumps along her neck, the almost-kiss that had burned in memory, the hug that had left her trembling. And the goodbye—the goodbye that had never been enough.
The house stretched wide and empty around her, too large, too quiet, too hollow. She curled up on the couch, knees drawn close, a fragile shield against the ache inside her.
Then her phone vibrated sharply, slicing through her thoughts like a knife. She flinched, eyes snapping to the screen, stomach twisting.
"Scarlett," Catherine's voice slithered through the line—sugar-sweet, poisonous, venom wrapped in silk. "We need to talk. It's about Ethan. About you."
Scarlett's grip tightened around the phone. "I don't have time for your games, Catherine."
"Oh, but this isn't a game," the other woman replied. The sweetness vanished, replaced with a tone sharp enough to cut glass. "You wouldn't want me to bring up... the contract, would you?"
Scarlett froze. Breath caught. A cold dread slid down her spine like ice through veins.
"...I don't understand what you're talking about," she lied, voice trembling despite her pride.
Catherine laughed, cruel and knowing. "Do you think I don't know about the contract you signed with Ethan... the marriage?"
The word alone wrapped around Scarlett's throat like a chain. She had no choice. "...Where?" she whispered.
On the other end, Catherine smiled. And in that silent, triumphant smile, Scarlett knew the battle was already lost.
--
The Trap
The café was all glass and shadow, the kind of place where secrets had nowhere to hide and whispers carried like bullets. Scarlett sat across from Catherine, hands curled tight around a mug that no longer held warmth, steam long vanished. Her chest burned with unease.
Catherine, radiant and untouchable, smiled with precision—the silk blouse, diamond studs, the effortless curve of dominance in her posture. And in her manicured fingers, she held a single weapon: the contract.
It hit the table with a soft slap, but the weight of it crushed Scarlett's lungs.
"So," Catherine purred, tilting her head like a cat savoring the terror in her prey, "this is why Ethan keeps you by his side. Not love. Not loyalty. Just business."
Scarlett's throat closed. She forced herself not to flinch, though her pulse was a drum in her ears. Her fingers tightened until her knuckles went white.
"How did you get that?" she demanded, voice low and trembling.
Catherine's cruel smile widened. "I have my sources. Let's just say Ethan isn't the only one who knows how to pull strings."
Scarlett lifted her gaze, meeting Catherine's sharp, gleaming eyes. "What do you want?"
The other woman leaned back, legs crossing with lethal elegance. "Simple. Leave Ethan."
Her heart thudded violently, a drumbeat of defiance and fear. For a moment, she imagined silence, refusing to give Catherine the satisfaction. But truth slipped from her lips, raw and unguarded:
"I can't, Catherine. I love Ethan."
"But he is not loving you," Catherine replied, voice cold as ice.
"But... I know one day he'll love me too. So no. I will not leave him."
The smile vanished from Catherine's face, replaced by a blade of cruelty. "Who said Ethan will love you?" Her fingernail tapped the contract sharply. "To him, you are... nothing but business."
The words struck deeper than Scarlett wanted to admit. She parted her lips, silent, the world tilting around her.
Catherine leaned forward, a velvet snare tightening. "Scarlett, think carefully. If this contract goes public, Ethan's empire collapses. Investors flee. His name turns to ash. Do you really think he'll choose you over everything he's built?"
Scarlett's body quaked, every instinct screaming that he would protect her, that their connection was real. And yet... doubt crept in like a poison.
Catherine's hand slid the contract closer, nails whispering across the surface. "So do us all a favor. Before he returns... go. Leave him. Spare him the ruin. Spare yourself the humiliation."
Scarlett's breath came in shallow bursts. She wanted to deny it, to shout that what they had was real—but silence answered her.
Catherine rose, the scrape of metal against marble echoing like a verdict. Her perfume suffocated, a final whisper at Scarlett's ear:
"You have until he returns. Choose wisely."
And then—she was gone.
Scarlett stared at the contract, black letters blurring through tears. Her hand pressed to her chest. "Ethan... what am I to you, really?"
In Italy
The jet touched down in Milan under bruised skies streaked with violet and steel. Ethan strode across the tarmac, every step a storm of authority. Men flanked him, reports and calls colliding around him, but his mind remained tethered to one absence: Scarlett.
In meetings, his voice sliced through boardrooms, commands cutting like glass. "Fix it. I don't care how. If I wanted to be incompetent, I would've hired children." The assistants trembled, papers shaking in submission.
Yet when night fell, and the office emptied, he found himself staring at his phone, thumb hovering over her name, desperate for one word to steady the storm inside him.
One call. One word.
But only silence answered.
"Scarlett..." The whisper escaped him, raw and unguarded. He gripped the phone as if it could pull her from miles away. "I'll fix this... I'll go back to you. Whatever it takes."
Yet unease gnawed at him. Something was wrong.
--
Back Home
Scarlett pressed trembling fingers against the hidden contract. Catherine's words replayed in her mind: For Ethan, you are always business.
She tried to bury herself in work, drafts scattered across the desk, pen scratching in vain. Her eyes, inevitably, kept drifting toward the door, imagining him walking in, commanding and impossibly present.
She thought about calling and telling Ethan about it, but Catherine's words flashed into her mind continuously made her stop the decision.
"If you tell this to Ethan, then in a second the contract will be published to the public".
Instead, a soft knock. Hesitant.
–
A knock sounded again, softer this time.
"Scarlett?"
"You said you were bored last week," he said awkwardly. "I found some books you might like."
The timing was almost funny.
"That's... thoughtful," she said softly. "But I don't think I can focus on reading right now."
He stepped inside anyway, setting the bag down on the desk.
"You haven't slept for days," he said.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
She exhaled, already tired of defending herself. "If you came to check on me, I appreciate it. Really. But I just need some space."
Instead of leaving, he stepped further into the room. Not aggressive. Just determined.
"Scarlett... how long are you going to live like this?"
She frowned. "Like what?"
"Waiting for scraps. Waiting for him to choose you. Waiting for him to love you."
The words stung because they were too close to Catherine's.
"That's not what this is."
"Then what is it?" His voice wasn't cruel. It was frustrated. "He leaves, you fall apart. He comes back, you breathe again. That's not love. That's dependency."
Her jaw tightened. "You don't understand."
"Then make me understand."
He moved closer, but kept his distance this time. No touching. Just looking at her like he was trying to solve something.
"You should leave him," he said quietly. "You could start over. Somewhere he doesn't own half the city. You're talented. You're strong. You'd be happy, Scarlett. Actually happy."
The word lingered.
Happy.
It sounded simple in his mouth. Clean.
She looked down at her hands. There was ink smudged along her thumb from the drafts she'd been trying to write. Mundane. Human. Real.
"You think I can?" she asked softly.
His expression flickered. "Why not?"
She lifted her gaze to him, and for once there was no pride, no performance.
"Because it wouldn't be real."
He frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means I could move somewhere quiet. I could build something small and peaceful. I could even learn to smile again without checking who's watching." Her voice wavered for the first time. "But waking up every single morning, without him, I cant imagine."
She swallowed.
"And that would break me in ways it can't fix."
Andrian's breath stilled.He pressed, desperate. "Do you think Ethan truly cares for you? For him, you are just business."
She bristled, words flying: "Andrian, please... my mind is about to explode. Enough please. I dont want to talk about it."
He knelt closer, eyes locking hers. "Scarlett, do you know how much I love you?"
She froze. ""What are you talking about, Andrian!...I am married" she interrupted, panicking in her voice.
"I know Scarlett... everything. Your marriage is not based on love. And you don't love each other?"
"I don't want to give you to him... instead of suffering like this... come with me."
Her refusal was instant.
She stepped closer now, not to him—but toward the truth.
"But I love him," she said. Not dramatic.
Not loud. Just steady. "Not the empire. Not the power.
Not the version of him that terrifies boardrooms. I love the man who forgets to eat when he's stressed.
The man who pretends he doesn't care but always makes sure I get home safely.
The man who almost—" She stopped herself, shook her head. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters," Andrian insisted, though his voice had softened.
"I love him enough that leaving would feel like tearing out something vital." Her fingers pressed lightly against her sternum. "I wouldn't survive that intact. I know myself."
The room went very quiet.
Andrian searched her face, maybe looking for doubt. For hesitation. For something he could work with.
There wasn't any.
"What if he never loves you back?" he asked carefully.
She gave a small, sad smile. "But I know him, I can see the love in his eyes. One day he will tell me Andrian." her voice trembled.
That did it.
Something shifted in him—not anger, not jealousy.
Understanding.
If she left Ethan because of pressure, fear, or manipulation... it wouldn't save her. It would hollow her out. Slowly. Completely.
And suddenly the plan he'd been circling with Catherine—the quiet leverage, the exposure, the push—didn't feel strategic anymore.
It felt dangerous.
Not to Ethan.
To her.
He looked away first.
"I just... don't want to see you destroyed," he said, more to himself than to her.
She nodded faintly.
Silence stretched between them. Not hostile. Just heavy with what couldn't be undone.
Finally, Andrian stepped back.
"I need to think," he muttered.
Scarlett didn't ask about what.
Her phone blinked with Catherine's name..
"Still not decided... Only 1 day left...".
"Run away...Run away from everything...Tell me Yes...I will tell you where you should go..."
On seeing the message she dropped on the floor and wimped out. Her back rested against the wall but tears kept on rolling from her eyes.
"What should I do?"
When he left the room, closing the door gently behind him, his mind wasn't on winning anymore.
It had consequences.
–
Andrian didn't go far.
He walked past the library, past the long corridor lined with portraits he'd never liked, and stepped out onto the terrace. The night air felt thinner than usual. Or maybe that was just him.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at Catherine's name for a long moment.
Then he called.
She answered on the second ring. "That was quick."
"We need to stop this."
A soft clink echoed through the line—ice against glass. She was drinking. Relaxed.
"Stop what?"
"You know what," he said, sharper than he intended. "The contract. The pressure. All of it."
There was a pause. Not surprised. Just assessing.
"Did she cry?" Catherine asked.
"That's not the point."
"It usually is."
Andrian exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "She loves him."
"I'm aware."
"No—you don't understand. She doesn't just... want him. If she leaves him because of this, it'll break her. Completely."
Catherine's voice cooled. "And whose fault is that? Yours? Mine?"
"I thought we were helping her."
"We are."
He almost laughed at that. "By cornering her?"
"By forcing her to see reality."
Andrian leaned against the stone railing, staring into the dark gardens below. "Reality isn't always kind, Catherine."
"No," she agreed. "But it's useful."
Silence stretched between them.
"She said leaving him would destroy her," he added quietly. "And I believe her."
"And staying won't?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Catherine continued, voice smooth as silk drawn over a blade. "You've watched her shrink around him for months. You've watched her wait for crumbs of attention while he flies across continents. You've watched her pretend she's content with a contract."
"That's not the whole story."
"It's enough of it."
Andrian closed his eyes. He hated that part of him knew Catherine wasn't entirely wrong.
"She still chooses him," he said. "Even knowing what it might cost."
"Exactly." Catherine's tone sharpened. "She will never walk away on her own. So someone has to tilt the scale."
He straightened. "By threatening his empire?"
"If that's what it takes."
"That's not tilting a scale. That's setting fire to the table."
Catherine sighed softly, as if he were being dramatic.
"Listen to me," she said. "This is the only moment we have leverage. He's abroad. She's vulnerable. If we hesitate now, he returns, wraps her in whatever version of charm he decides to use, and she'll forget all her doubts."
"She doesn't doubt him," Andrian muttered.
"She should."
He rubbed his jaw, frustration building. "This isn't about you winning, Catherine."
Her voice dropped, losing its polished warmth. "And this isn't about you suddenly growing a conscience."
The accusation landed.
"I just don't want her hurt."
"And you think doing nothing protects her?" Catherine pressed. "You think Ethan Blackwood will wake up one morning and choose love over power?"
Andrian didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
Catherine seized the silence.
"This is your opportunity," she said, quieter now. Persuasive. "You love her. You've said it yourself. When this collapses, she'll need someone steady. Someone who didn't lie to her. Someone who didn't treat her like a merger."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?"
He thought of Scarlett's face when she said I love him. Not desperate. Not naive. Just certain.
"If she finds out we orchestrated this—"
"She won't," Catherine cut in smoothly. "And even if she suspects, time will blur it. Pain fades. People adjust."
He hated how confident she sounded.
"You're asking me to gamble her trust," he said.
"I'm asking you not to waste your chance."
The word chance lingered.
Below him, a fountain clicked on automatically, water spilling into the basin with mechanical precision. The world moving on schedule. Ruthless. Efficient.
"You said yourself," Catherine continued, softer now, "you can't watch her suffer. This ends one way or another. Either she stays trapped in a marriage built on business... or the illusion shatters."
"And you're certain shattering it won't ruin her?"
"No," Catherine said honestly. "But at least then she'll be free."
Free.
Or broken.
Andrian stared into the dark garden, jaw tight.
"Don't miss this," Catherine murmured. "You won't get another opening like this."
He didn't agree.
He didn't refuse.
When he finally ended the call, the night felt colder.
For the first time, he wasn't sure whether he was trying to save Scarlett—
or simply reposition himself in the fallout.
--
Two Worlds Apart
Ethan stood in his Milan penthouse, gaze locked on the glittering skyline. His reflection in the glass—powerful, untouchable—mocked the vulnerability he refused to admit.
Scarlett sat alone in her room, fingers brushing the hidden contract like it was a wound that would never heal.
Two worlds apart, two hearts tethered by invisible chains. Neither knew the other fought the same storm.
Neither knew that Catherine's trap had already begun to close.