It had been a week since the bet was made, and Sienna found herself caught between the desire to prove Ethan wrong and the weight of her growing self-doubt. The words were coming easier now, but they didn't feel right. Each time she typed, she kept thinking about how Ethan would mock her if it didn't meet his expectations. Would he find her work dry? Emotionless? Would the lack of passion on the page be too obvious for anyone to miss?
But it was more than that.
Every time she thought about the way Ethan had looked at her, that quiet intensity in his eyes, her mind drifted. And no matter how much she tried to focus on the characters she was creating—people who didn't need to fall into each other's arms to feel love—her thoughts always returned to him. To his smile. To the way he made her feel like there was something more beneath the surface of their constant bickering.
It was frustrating, to say the least.
Sienna rubbed her temples, trying to push those thoughts out of her mind, and stared at the screen again. The cursor blinked mockingly, waiting for her next move. She took a deep breath and began typing, the words flowing more easily now, but she still couldn't shake the sense that something was missing. She was about to close her laptop and call it a night when her phone buzzed again.
Ethan: "Have you hit a wall yet?"
Sienna: "Not yet. But you won't make it any easier."
Ethan: "You need help, don't you?"
She frowned, but before she could respond, a knock echoed at her door.
"This is getting ridiculous," she muttered, opening it to find Ethan standing there again, his ever-present smug grin on his face.
"You know, it's getting kind of pathetic that you haven't invited me in yet. I'm here to help you, after all," he said, stepping into her apartment without waiting for permission.
"Help?" she shot back. "I don't need your help."
"Sure you don't," he said with a raised eyebrow. "Then why do you look like you're about to tear your hair out?"
Sienna shot him a glare. "I'm fine."
Ethan leaned casually against the kitchen counter, watching her closely. "Come on, Sienna. Don't act like I'm the problem. You're holding yourself back. I can see it."
She clenched her jaw, frustrated that he seemed to know her better than she knew herself. "I'm not holding back. I'm just trying to write something that matters without using cheap tricks."
His eyes softened for just a moment, before he straightened up. "You're worried it's not going to be enough, aren't you?"
Sienna froze. She wasn't prepared for him to be that perceptive. She turned away, refusing to let him see her vulnerability.
"I'm fine."
But Ethan's voice was quiet now, and there was a new understanding in it. "You're not. You're terrified that your best won't be good enough. That if you don't deliver something perfect, you'll fail."
She didn't respond, but his words cut deeper than she cared to admit.
"I get it," he said softly. "It's not easy. But you're doing it. You're writing. So don't back down now."
Sienna's heart pounded, her emotions roiling. "You're right. I'm afraid. But not for the reasons you think."
Ethan tilted his head, genuinely curious. "Then why?"
She bit her lip, the walls around her heart beginning to crack. "I'm afraid that if I don't prove you wrong, I'll lose something I've worked so hard for. And maybe—maybe I'm afraid that if I do prove you wrong, you'll think I'm just another one of your easy challenges."
For a long moment, Ethan was silent, watching her closely. Then, unexpectedly, he stepped forward, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.
"Sienna," he said quietly. "This isn't about me. It never was. It's about you proving to yourself that you can do this, whether I like it or not."
His touch lingered for a moment, and for the first time, Sienna saw Ethan in a completely different light—not just the arrogant, confident editor who had made a bet for the thrill of it—but as someone who genuinely cared about her succeeding.
"You're stronger than you think," he added, before pulling his hand away and breaking the moment. "Now get back to work. You're not going to win by staring at the screen and worrying."
Sienna took a deep breath, trying to shake the unease in her chest. She nodded, but the knot in her stomach hadn't loosened. "Fine. I'll work. But don't think this means you're off the hook."
Ethan smiled, his usual cocky grin returning. "I wouldn't dream of it."
And with that, he left—again. But this time, Sienna was left standing in her apartment, feeling a shift within herself.
She wasn't just writing anymore. She was fighting. Fighting for her story. For the kind of love that transcended physicality. Fighting against her own doubts and insecurities. And, maybe, fighting against the pull she felt toward Ethan.
She sat back down, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. This time, she wasn't writing to impress anyone. She was writing to prove something. To herself.
And that made all the difference.