Chapter 9
Lena POV
I arrived at the office the next morning with a pit in my stomach, the sting of yesterday still alive in every nerve. The memory of Ethan's hands, the way he'd claimed me, the softness and heat, and then the harshness that followed, it lingered like smoke in the air.
He didn't look at me. Not once. His gaze remained locked on his computer screen, sharp and cold. It wasn't just avoidance; it was warning. Stay in your corner. Don't test me.
I hesitated at my desk, fingers twisting the edge of my notebook. I wanted to crawl into the floor, disappear, escape the tension radiating from him like static electricity. Finally, I swallowed, voice trembling.
"Mr. Cole… I… I'm sorry for leaving yesterday. I… I had something important to take care of."
He didn't even glance at me, but his voice cut through the air, low, precise, unnervingly calm.
"I know exactly what you did, Lena," he said.
Heat flooded my cheeks. My chest tightened. I wanted to hide, to explain, but there was nothing I could say that would satisfy him. I'd thought my excuse, something about urgent errands, would be enough. Clearly, it wasn't.
"Come with me after work," he added quietly, almost a command, though his eyes were still fixed on the screen.
My pulse spiked. Hesitation coiled tight in my stomach. "I… I'm not sure—"
"Yes, you will," he interrupted, sharp but controlled. No room for argument, no escape.
I nodded reluctantly. My stomach churned with fear, anticipation, and something I couldn't name, yet recognized.
---
The workday dragged endlessly, every glance at him sending a jolt through my chest. I avoided his office entirely, tried to disappear in my tasks, but the knowledge of what awaited me after work hovered like a storm cloud.
Finally, the clock struck the hour, signaling the end of the day. I gathered my things, hands trembling, and followed him silently to the car. My stomach twisted.
The driver waited, silent, hands on the wheel. I noticed something new: an ear pod fitted discreetly in the driver's ear. Music played softly, masking everything, and his eyes remained glued to the road.
Ethan's hand signaled the driver, a subtle movement, and I realized immediately. The driver wouldn't hear a single word of what we said. Not a word. My pulse quickened, a mix of relief and dread.
We settled in the back seat. I avoided his gaze at first, staring out the window at the streetlights passing like soft stars. The silence stretched, unbearable, until he finally spoke, low, commanding.
"You're quiet," he said.
I swallowed. "I… I'm just… thinking."
"About what?" His voice was even, but there was an edge, a sharpness that made me flinch.
I turned to him. "…About what happened. About… everything."
His eyes darkened, intense, dangerous. "Everything?"
"Yes! Everything! How… how intimate it was… and then how harsh you were afterward. You—"
"Stop," he interrupted sharply, his hand rising slightly, not to touch me, but as if to physically halt my words. "Do not tell me what I should or should not feel, or what is right or wrong. You don't get that authority over me, Lena."
My chest tightened, frustration and indignation coiling tight. "I don't want authority over you! I'm just… I'm mad! You—"
"I know you're mad," he cut in, voice low but dangerous, "and you have every right to be. But do not mistake my harshness for cruelty, or my protection for weakness. I did not ask for your approval. You will not like everything I do."
I let out a sharp breath, leaning back against the seat, trying to steady myself. "You think I'm overreacting? I'm not! You… you invaded me, my space, my body, and then you… then you scold me like I'm a child! Do you even realize what you did?"
His jaw tightened. Eyes blazing, he leaned slightly toward me, the tension in the car crackling like lightning. "Do you realize what I did? I protected you. I claimed what's mine. I warned you. And if you think you have the right to challenge me, to argue with me, you are wrong."
The argument stretched on, sharp words, raised voices masked by the music. Every pulse of the bass seemed to echo the tension in my chest. I was furious, my hands trembling on my lap. I'd never been this angry at him before, not even when he scolded me in the office. This… this was personal.
Finally, unable to take it, I asked the driver to stop and yanked the door handle. "I'm leaving!" I shouted.
He froze, hands gripping the seat edge, voice tight. "Lena—"
I didn't wait. I opened the door, letting the night air hit me in a wave. My heels clicked against the pavement as I stormed away. I didn't look back. The bass of the music followed me, Ethan's presence like a shadow pressing down, but I forced myself to move, to breathe, to regain control.
---
The next day, my day off, I stayed home, trying to calm the storm that raged inside me. I avoided the office, my phone, anything that could remind me of him. But I knew he was thinking of me. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, in the tight ache behind my ribs, in the lingering heat of last night's argument and… intimacy.
I imagined him pacing in his office, fists clenched, jaw tight, every nerve on edge. I knew because I had felt it too, his obsession, his need, his control. And despite my anger, despite my independence, I wanted it. I wanted him. But I would never admit it aloud.
I tried to distract myself, to focus on anything else. The day passed slowly, the hours stretching like taffy. And yet, every so often, my mind drifted to the car, to the argument, to the storm that burned between us.
By the time Monday arrived, I was nervous again. The office loomed like a stage I wasn't ready to step onto. My palms were sweaty, my chest tight. I walked in cautiously, scanning the room, waiting for him to appear.
And he did.
Watching. Calculating. The faintest shadow of a smirk playing at his lips. The same sharp eyes that could cut through steel fixed on me, reading me, knowing me, daring me to speak.
We didn't speak. Not yet. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, like a taut string ready to snap. My heart hammered, my pulse racing with a mixture of fear, desire, and anticipation.
I knew what Monday meant. I knew the storm wasn't over. I could feel it in my bones, in the way the air seemed charged whenever he was near.
And deep down, I knew… whatever came next would change everything.