Ethan woke that morning with Lena's laughter still echoing in his mind. He hated how she consumed his thoughts—how she made his pulse race even when she wasn't near.
But Lena was pulling away. He could see it in the subtle way she avoided his gaze, the way her smile no longer reached her eyes during meetings.
He hated it. Hated that he wanted her close, that he feared losing her.
"I don't do attachments," she said casually when he confronted her that evening.
"Attachments?" he repeated, voice low, almost threatening. "Is that what you call this… tension between us?"
Her eyes met his, defiant yet cautious. "I call it reality."
Reality. Ethan hated reality. He wanted her—not reality.