ETHAN'S POV
The sound of my pen scratching across the paper was the only thing tethering me to reality as chaos swirled around the office. Numbers, reports, projections, they were safe, predictable. They didn't ask questions or pry into the disaster that was my personal life. They didn't care about the sham of a marriage I'd been forced into.
Business didn't need my heart.
The phone on my desk buzzed, and I glanced over at the name flashing across the screen. My jaw tightened. Of course it would be her.
I let it ring.
A moment later, my assistant's voice came over the intercom. "Mr. Blackwell, your mother is on line one. Shall I put her through?"
"No," I said shortly. "Tell her I'm in a meeting."
I leaned back in my chair and pinched the bridge of my nose. It wasn't that I didn't love my mother, somewhere in some deeply buried part of me, I did, but her meddling finally reached its limit. She set up an arranged marriage between me and Lila, which was the final betrayal.
Lila.
She stirred inside me a confusing storm.
I didn't want a wife. I didn't want expectations, obligations, or vulnerabilities that came with letting someone into my life. And there she had been, bright-eyed and determined, trying far harder than I was worth.
I'd thought she'd be like the other women drawn in by my name, my wealth, and the power that came along with it. Still, in her, I saw something different.
Something dangerous.
It was a drug of a day, endless rivulets of meetings, insincere handshaking and congratulations upon my marital state.
"How's married life treating you, Mr. Blackwell?" a voice piped from one of them as we sat to eat, there was definitely a sneer threatening his lips.
"It's… an adjustment," I said, trying my utmost to have a flat emotionless quality to the timbre of my tone.
They laughed, like I just told some sort of joke. I hadn't.
That night, exhausted to the bones, I slid into my car. The thought of having to go back to that mansion, going into that house didn't seem appealing to me, the mansion was no longer a place of refuge-a haven; and the thought was binding my chest.
But I went anyways.
Save for the soft bustling of staff down the hallways, the house was quiet as I walked in. Loosening my tie, I stepped into the fresh varnished wood scent mixed with flowers in the air.
"Good evening, Mr. Blackwell," one of the housekeepers whispered and crossed the hallway.
I nodded, my eyes drifting to the foyer: Lila wasn't anywhere in sight, but like an afterimage, the sense of her presence overflowed into each room.
I found her in the living room, curled up on the sofa with a book resting in her lap. Her hair cascaded loose waves down her shoulder, shining with reflected light as if it were spun gold. The dress she wore clung to soft, feminine curves, and for a moment, I couldn't look away.
She spun at the sound of my footsteps, a bright smile lighting up her face.
"Ethan," she said, laying the book aside. "You're home."
"I am," I said, my tone sharper than I intended.
"Dinner's ready," she said, and then she rose, smoothing off the fabric of her dress. "I had the chef prepare something special."
There was a hopeful lilt in her voice that it tugged on something deep inside of me.
"I already ate," I lied.
There was a falter in her smile, before she recovered. "Oh. Well, perhaps you'd like some tea? I can…."
"I'm fine," I said, and it came out harsher than I'd meant. "It's been a very long day."
Before she could get out a word, I turned and strode away to my study, slamming the door shut behind me.
This has always been a place of retreat for me. When my world shuts down, I allow work to consume me totally, so I can temporarily forget my problems. Tonight, though, even the familiar surroundings-so silently panelled in dark wood and barely scented with old books-could not placate this restless activity in my head.
Lila.
Her name whispered in my head of its own accord and brought along the picture of her smiling, the way it softened her facial features, made her eyes sparkle with a fire incomprehensible to me.
Why did she look at me like that? Like there was something inside me worthy of salvation?
I stared at the stack of reports piled on my desk-a sea of blurred words no longer making much sense in my mind, as it hinged on one particular focal point: how the outline of her waist was defined while she stood in that clinging dress that made her eyes pop, her soft floral scent drove me crazy. I wanted to kiss her back in the living room but I forced the urge down.
I told myself it wasn't necessary. Longing stirred in my chest, sharp and unwanted. I curled my hand again, forcing the emotion down.
She was beautiful; absolutely no denial on that score, but every piece of beauty came with a price. A price that just simply couldn't be paid as long as I had absolutely no idea what her motive towards me were.
Was she trying to please me, secure a place in my world, or was it an honest attempt to make this marriage work?
The very thought sent a shiver running down my spine.
Hours ticked by. Finally, when I came out of my study, the house was steeped in silence. The soft light spilling from the rear of the door met me as I climbed the stairs.
I hesitated.
I opened the door and found her sitting by the bay window, knees tucked under her chin, staring out into darkness. Soft, diffused light from the lamps outlined her with a gold aura almost otherworldly.
A long time passed without her realizing that I was in the room, and so I simply watched her.
She looked… fragile. Vulnerable. Yet there was quiet strength in the way she held herself, a sense that she wouldn't let the weight of the world crush her.
"Lila," I said, my voice cutting the silence.
She spun around, startled. "Oh, Ethan. I didn't hear you come in."
"You should be in bed," I said, softly.
"I couldn't sleep," she said, standing and smoothing her dress. "I was just… thinking."
"About what?"
She hesitated, her eyes staring at the floor. "About us. About how to make this work."
I felt her words like a kick in the gut.
"Lila….."
"I know you didn't want this," she said in a rush, the words spilling out to cut me off. "But I'm trying, Ethan. I'm really trying."
She looked up at me then, her eyes wide and searching, and for a moment I couldn't breathe. The way she was looking at me, with hope, with longing made something inside of me crack.
I want her. God help me, I really want her.
But I just couldn't let her in. Not until I knew whether she was being sincere or not.
"Goodnight, Lila," I finally said after my voice had gone tight.
I stepped out of the room, wordlessly, then silently shut the door behind me.
That night, as I laid on the bed in the guest bedroom, her words played in my head over and over again, like a broken record.
"I'm trying, Ethan. I'm really trying."
She was really giving this marriage her all, but all I do is push her away.
What was I supposed to do? Let her in, feel something for her, only to watch it all crumble at the end?
I turned my head, my eyes catching the framed photograph of us on our wedding day. Lila was smiling, shining, alive. I couldn't recall smiling in return, but in the picture, I was.
I leaned forward, reaching for the frame staring a long moment before setting it face down.
Lila wanted to build with me, but I didn't know if I had anything left to give.