The day hadn't ended; it had simply worn out. After Julian Vance's interruption, Lila and Ethan hadn't spoken another personal word. They worked until the lines on the monitor blurred, both furiously editing documents, pretending the space between their desks wasn't vibrating with three years of unresolved grief and the explosive secret Julian had just exposed.
Lila finally pushed back from her desk, the harsh ceiling light glinting off the empty coffee cups. She had to leave, not because the work was done, but because if she stayed another minute, she was going to scream. Or cry. Or kiss him. She didn't know which, and that lack of control terrified her.
She snatched her briefcase and headed for the door, not looking back.
"Lila."
The voice was rough, tight with exhaustion and something heavier. She froze with her hand on the handle.
"I need you to take the service elevator," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a low command. "The main ones are being cleaned."
Lila didn't argue. She knew the service elevator route: a narrow, utilitarian shaft that opened near the deserted loading dock in the lower garage—a route used by janitorial staff and desperate escape artists.
She reached the loading dock first. The space was cavernous and cold, illuminated by harsh fluorescent bulbs. She heard the rumble of the elevator descending and prepared to wait alone. But when the doors hissed open, Ethan was standing there, his face shadowed, his tie loosened, holding both his briefcase and hers.
"I decided to walk you to your car," he stated, stepping out. "The lower level isn't monitored as closely."
"I can manage, Ethan," she said, tiredly rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"No, you can't," he countered, stopping her with a soft touch on her elbow. His thumb brushed the soft, inner skin of her arm—the first deliberate, non-aggressive touch he had made since she returned. "You're running on fumes, and you're shaking."
He didn't wait for her denial. He guided her through the quiet garage, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the concrete.
"About Julian," Lila finally said, keeping her voice low. "You can't do that again. You can't call me your partner or drag our history into a professional negotiation. It compromises my firm's integrity."
Ethan stopped by her car, a small, practical sedan that was the antithesis of the luxury vehicles surrounding it. He leaned against the passenger door, forcing her to look at him.
"You think I enjoyed telling him we were engaged?" Ethan asked, the question laced with genuine pain. "He was trying to make the board question your commitment. I had to prove that our history wasn't a liability, but an unbreakable bond. We were building a united front, Lila. That is what partners do."
"We're not partners, Ethan! We're two people who destroyed everything we touched!" she burst out, the controlled exhaustion finally snapping. She was furious, devastated, and exposed.
She felt a wave of dizziness and leaned back against her own car door, pressing her head into the cool metal.
Before she could sink further, Ethan stepped close. He didn't speak. He simply placed his hand gently on the back of her head, his fingers tangling lightly in her hair, holding her steady against the car. It was an act of profound, protective intimacy.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice now nothing but the weary, heartbroken tone of the man she used to wake up next to. "You look like you did the night you walked out. Like the weight of the world is on your shoulders."
"It is," she whispered into the darkness. "Because you won't let me go. You won't let me escape this impossible situation you created."
He traced the delicate curve of her ear with his thumb. "And you won't let me fix it. You won't let me prove that the past three years have taught me that precision is useless if the prize is empty."
He pulled her head forward slightly, forcing her gaze up to his. His eyes were wide, dark, and filled with a vulnerability he hadn't shown since she left. He was inches away. She could feel the uneven rhythm of his breathing, smell the expensive cologne mixed with the faint, comforting scent of the city and exhaustion.
"We're trapped in this foxhole, Lila," he whispered, his voice thick with raw yearning. "But you chose the war. Now you have to trust me to fight it with you."
Lila searched his eyes, the anger draining out, replaced by a sudden, terrifying recognition of her own desire. The man who hurt her was also the only man who truly saw her. Her exhaustion dissolved into a potent, electric awareness of his presence.
She made a minuscule motion, a subtle shift of her weight, a tiny, almost imperceptible closing of the distance between their faces. It was a clear, unspoken invitation.
Ethan didn't move. His control was absolute, even here, in the shadows of the deserted garage. He waited, his expression tight, allowing her to make the final, devastating decision.
Lila closed her eyes, fighting the urge that was pulling her toward him. She remembered the red binder, the Risk Assessment he took from her. She had come back to win, not to break down.
She took a shaky breath and pushed gently away from his hand, breaking the contact.
"You can walk me to my car, Ethan," she said, her voice regaining its professional coolness, though it was still strained. "But you can't fight my battles for me. And you definitely can't try to fix me."
She unlocked her car and pulled the door open, the sound echoing loudly. She got in quickly, placing the distance of the door between them.
Ethan leaned down to the open window, his face unreadable. He placed her briefcase on the passenger seat.
"Goodnight, Lila," he said, his voice flat. "Get some rest. We start at 7:30 AM sharp."
He didn't wait for her reply. He walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the loading dock, leaving Lila alone with the realization that the man who broke her heart was now fighting a ruthless battle to protect it.