Chapter 5
Lena's POV
I barely slept.
Not a real sleep, just small pockets of unconsciousness that kept collapsing under the weight of fear. Every time I drifted off, I saw Jayden's face, that look he gave me before he left. The threat in his voice.
I know where you live.
I'll find you.
By the time morning light crawled through the curtains of Ethan's house, my hands were cold and stiff from clenching the blanket all night.
Ethan had insisted I take the guest room.
The space was so clean, so quiet, so painfully safe that I almost didn't belong in it.
When I entered the kitchen, I found him already there, dress shirt on, sleeves rolled up, coffee mug in hand.
He didn't look at me immediately.
Or maybe he was looking too hard without turning.
"Morning," I whispered.
His fingers tightened around the mug. "Did you sleep?"
"A little."
He finally looked at me then. And it was strange, the expression he wore. Not anger. Not indifference. Something else. Something he was trying to hide behind his usual blank armor.
"You don't have to go in today," he said. "I can approve leave for you."
"I can't." My voice was softer than I wanted. "Everyone will notice. And if I stay away, Jayden wins."
He didn't like that.
His jaw twitched. His eyes cooled.
"You're not going to walk into danger just because of pride, Lena."
"It's not pride," I whispered. "It's… trying to stay normal."
He exhaled sharply, frustration, not at me, but at the world.
"Fine," he said. "But I'm driving you."
"What? No, I can take..."
"Lena." My name came out firm, commanding. "I am driving you."
I didn't argue again.
Because a part of me, the terrified part, relievedly wanted him to.
---
When we arrived at Cole Industries, people stared. It wasn't normal for employees to step out of Ethan's personal car.
Rumors would start.
I would be whispered about.
But for once, I didn't care.
Inside the elevator, I tried to stay on the opposite side, keeping space between us. Not because I wanted distance, but because closeness to Ethan burned too intensely. I already felt too exposed around him.
"Your hands," he said suddenly, quietly.
I looked down.
They were shaking.
I hid them behind my back. "I'm fine."
"You're not." His voice went low. Controlled. "And you don't have to pretend to be."
Something inside me pushed back, the exhaustion, the humiliation, the fear that still clung to my ribs.
"If I break down, everyone will know," I said. "They'll whisper about how pathetic I am. How I brought this on myself."
"They'll whisper nothing," Ethan snapped. "I'll make sure of it."
I blinked, startled by the fierceness in his tone.
The elevator dinged.
He stepped out first but stopped, holding the door open without looking at me.
Almost like he couldn't walk away until I followed.
---
At my desk, the normal office noise felt foreign, too bright, too loud, too fast. My heart couldn't keep up with it.
People passed by with files. Phones rang. My keyboard clacked. But beneath it all was something else.
Fear.
A constant hum under my skin.
I tried to work. I tried to breathe. I tried to pretend last night hadn't happened.
But every time a man walked past, my body tensed.
Every time the elevator chimed, I flinched.
Every time someone said my name, my pulse jumped.
And every time I accidentally looked through the glass wall of Ethan's office…
He was watching me.
Not constantly, but often enough that I couldn't pretend it was coincidence.
His gaze wasn't warm.
It wasn't kind.
It was sharp, evaluating, tracking, protective in the most un-Ethan-like way.
But each time our eyes met, he jerked his gaze away like he'd been caught doing something forbidden.
At lunch, I barely ate half my sandwich.
My coworkers talked around me; I nodded when required, smiled when needed. But the truth was simple:
I was terrified.
And Ethan knew it.
He sensed it like a sound only he could hear.
That scared me too.
Because if Ethan Cole decided to intervene in my life…
he would not do it halfway.
---
Ethan's POV
I wasn't working.
At least, not in the way anyone assumed.
My paperwork blurred. My meetings were noise. Every small talk from department heads sounded like static.
Because all morning, all I could focus on was her.
Lena.
Trying to pretend she wasn't trembling.
Trying to keep her head high even though she was barely holding herself together.
I watched her from my office, discreetly at first, then not so discreetly.
Every time she flinched, something in my chest tightened painfully, like someone was twisting a knife there.
I hated it.
I hated that I noticed.
I hated that I cared.
And I hated most of all the anger inside me, pure, unfiltered, every time I replayed last night.
Jayden's hands on her.
Her voice breaking.
Her fear.
The rage that filled me then wasn't professional. It wasn't rational.
It was personal.
And I didn't want it to be.
Because Lena was the last person I should feel anything toward.
She was a reminder of the past I wanted to bury, her mother's cruelty, the years I spent being treated like I was nothing.
Yet now…
now I couldn't ignore her.
I stood abruptly, ignoring the startled look from my assistant. I stepped out of my office and walked toward her department.
Two employees moved out of the hallway just in time. I didn't slow.
When I reached her desk, she looked up fast, too fast, the reaction of someone who'd been bracing for something all day.
"Ethan?" she whispered, voice small.
My name on her lips did something to me. Something I wished it didn't.
"Come with me," I said.
Confusion flickered across her face. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No," I said sharply. "Just come."
She stood slowly, gathering her tablet.
Her coworkers stared as we walked to the small design reviewing studio, a private office used only for confidential clients.
Once inside, I shut the door.
The sound was too loud, like a heartbeat slamming into my skull.
She crossed her arms. "Why are we here?"
I didn't know how to answer.
Because I needed to see you up close.
Because your shaking is driving me insane.
Because I don't like not knowing if you're okay.
But I said none of that.
Instead:
"You need to be more careful."
"Careful?" she repeated, eyebrows pulling together.
"About everything," I said. "Walking alone. Staying late. Going home without someone you trust."
"You?" she asked quietly.
The word hit me harder than it should've.
I cleared my throat. "I didn't say that."
Her eyes softened for a moment, and it made my chest feel unstable.
"I don't want to be a problem," she whispered. "I don't want you to feel responsible for me."
I stepped closer. Too close.
Her breath hitched.
Mine did too.
"This isn't about responsibility."
She looked up at me, right into me, and I felt myself unravel a little.
Then her phone buzzed.
She flinched like she'd been struck. Her hands shook as she reached for it.
I grabbed it before she could.
A message flashed on the screen.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
"You thought last night was the end?"
Lena gasped, stepping back.
My blood turned to fire.
I read the message twice, then once more, slower, letting the fury sharpen until it felt like ice.
"Ethan…" she whispered, voice cracking. "He's still out there."
I raised my head, and when she saw my face, she froze.
Because whatever emotion I was hiding before…
I wasn't hiding it now.
"He won't touch you again," I said. Quiet. Dangerous. Certain.
"How do you know?" she asked.
I stepped closer, my voice barely above a breath.
"Because I'm not letting him."
---
Lena's POV
The way he said it,
Not soft.
Not gentle.
Not comforting.
But absolute.
Suddenly it was hard to breathe in the small room. The air felt charged, thick, like something between us had crossed a line we could never uncross.
"Ethan…" I whispered. "This isn't your problem."
"It is now."
My heart thudded painfully. "Why? Why are you doing this?"
His jaw tightened. "Because you deserve to feel safe."
Safe.
He said it like a promise.
But before I could say anything else, the studio door handle clicked.
We both turned sharply.
Someone was trying to come in.
Ethan placed one hand on my shoulder, protective, instinctive.
And when the handle turned a second time, harder, I felt my heartbeat stop completely.
Because I had a feeling, without seeing the face behind that door,
This wasn't just another workday anymore or maybe ibwas overthinking.
The danger was here maybe.
It had followed me maybe not.
And this time…
it wasn't knocking politely.