A Dangerous Game
Lena never imagined she'd willingly put herself in a situation where she had to see Ethan Reid every day. But here she was—standing in the middle of the Kensington Hotel's grand lobby, paintbrush in hand, while the man who once shattered her heart watched her every move.
It had been three days since she officially started working on the mural. Three days of tension so thick she could cut it with a palette knife.
The worst part? Ethan was always there.
Sometimes he'd stand at a distance, silently observing as she sketched out her designs. Other times, he'd ask questions, his voice calm, his demeanor professional. But every now and then, she'd catch him looking at her—not at her work, not at the colors—but at her. And each time, she felt the weight of his gaze settle deep in her bones.
"Lena," he said one evening, standing a little too close as she mixed her paints.
She stiffened but didn't turn around. "Hmm?"
"I was thinking… would you have dinner with me tonight?"
Her brush froze mid-stroke. Slowly, she turned to face him, arching a brow. "Is that a request from my employer or from you?"
Ethan smirked, but there was something hesitant in his eyes. "Would it make a difference?"
Yes. It would.
Because if it was professional, she could refuse easily. But if it was personal… she wasn't sure she trusted herself to say no.
"It's just dinner, Lena," he added. "You have to eat."
She sighed. "Fine. But only because I skipped lunch, and I refuse to pass out mid-mural."
His grin widened, and for a moment, it felt like the Ethan she used to know—the one who could charm her into anything—was standing in front of her again.
Dangerous.
Dinner and Memories
The restaurant inside the Kensington was exactly what she expected—elegant, warm lighting, soft jazz playing in the background. The kind of place couples went for romantic dinners.
Ethan had chosen a private booth near the window. As they sat, Lena told herself this wasn't a date. It was just two professionals having a meal.
But when the waiter poured her a glass of wine—one she hadn't ordered but was exactly the kind she used to love—her stomach twisted.
"You remembered," she said, staring at the deep red liquid.
Ethan leaned back, studying her. "Of course I did."
Her heart ached at his words, but she quickly buried the feeling. "So, tell me, Ethan. What's the real reason you hired me for this project?"
His expression didn't change. "Because you're the best."
She scoffed. "Try again."
Ethan sighed, setting his fork down. "Fine. Because when I bought this hotel, I wanted it to feel like more than just another luxury building. I wanted it to have meaning. And when I saw your work, I knew you were the only person who could make that happen."
Lena swallowed hard. "That doesn't explain why me specifically."
He hesitated. "Maybe because I regretted losing you."
Silence stretched between them. Lena's pulse raced, but she kept her expression neutral.
"You lost me because of your choices, Ethan," she said finally. "And nothing changes that."
"I know." His voice was quiet. "But that doesn't mean I don't wish I could."
Flashbacks of Love and Heartbreak
As she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling of her small Brooklyn apartment, the memories came rushing back.
Five years ago, they had been inseparable. Ethan, the ambitious architecture student, always sketching buildings in the margins of his notebooks. Lena, the passionate artist, always covered in paint.
They had spent nights in his tiny dorm room, whispering about their futures. He had promised her the world. She had believed him.
And then, everything changed.
Ethan got an offer from a prestigious firm—one that required him to move across the country. He had asked her to come with him.
But she had dreams too. A gallery, a career, a life she had built in New York. And when she asked him to stay, he had hesitated.
That hesitation had been her answer.
And so she had left.
The Tension Builds
The next morning, she arrived at the hotel determined to keep things professional.
But fate—or maybe Ethan—had other plans.
He was already there, leaning against a pillar with two coffee cups in his hands.
"For you," he said, holding one out.
She hesitated. "What's this?"
"Your favorite. Caramel macchiato, extra foam."
She took the cup but didn't thank him. If she started accepting his kindness, where would it end?
They worked in silence for most of the day, the only sounds the occasional stroke of her brush against the wall. But as the hours passed, the tension between them grew heavier.
At one point, she stepped back to assess her progress, only to find Ethan standing right behind her.
She inhaled sharply. "You're in my space."
His lips quirked. "You never used to mind."
Her heart pounded. "That was a long time ago."
He held her gaze. "Doesn't feel like it."
Lena clenched her fists. She needed to focus. On the mural. On her work. On anything but the way Ethan was looking at her like she was still the love of his life.
"I need to finish this," she said firmly, turning away.
Ethan exhaled, his breath warm against her ear. "Alright, Lena. But this isn't over."
She ignored him.
But deep down, she knew he was right.
It was far from over.