Chapter 6

Ethan didn’t sleep.

The image of Marcus standing in the doorway arms crossed, suspicion sharp as a blade looped in his mind like a warning siren. Dante’s words pulsed louder each time he tried to close his eyes:

Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?

He could still hear the low strain in Dante’s voice. He could still feel the shock of those words vibrating through him. And beneath it all, the embarrassment, the panic, the fierce reckless spark that refused to die.

By morning, he was exhausted enough that the sunlight filtering through his blinds felt like a personal attack.

He dragged himself out of bed, showered on autopilot, and braced himself for the one place more dangerous than Hart & Associates:

His family’s living room.

His mother didn’t even let him sit before the interrogation began.

You look pale, she said, arms folded. Are they overworking you already?

Ethan forced a smile. It was just a long night. First week learning curve. It’s normal.

She exchanged a look with his father, one of those silent parental conversations that made Ethan feel thirteen again.

His father leaned forward, voice firm. Ethan, you’ve barely been there a full week and they already have you staying late? That’s not normal.

It was collaborative work, Ethan tried. And I’m lucky to even be in the same room as Dante Hart.

That’s exactly what we want to talk about, his mother cut in.

And there it was.

The conversation he’d been hoping to avoid.

She sighed, soft but heavy. This sudden job, this shift in your career path of course we’re happy for you. Dante Hart is a huge name. But working directly under someone with that much influence, you don’t see how risky that could be?

Ethan blinked. Risky? Mom, it’s architecture, not mafia work.

She gave him a look. Don’t joke.

His sister, Emily, perched on the arm of the sofa, chimed in quietly. It’s not the field, Ethan. It’s him. Dante Hart. He’s intimidating.

Ethan stiffened. You don’t even know him.

We know of him, Emily countered. Everyone does. He’s brilliant, yes, but he’s also famously intense. People say he demands loyalty, perfection, devotion. And you; her gaze softened, you’re sensitive. I just don’t want you crushed under expectations you weren’t prepared for.

He opened his mouth, but his father cut in, voice low with concern.

Power dynamics matter, son. You’re young. He’s much older than you, People are going to talk.

Ethan felt heat crawl up his neck.

They didn’t know. They couldn’t. But their words hit too close, as if they sensed the pull he couldn’t name. The tension simmering beneath professionalism. The way his body reacted when Dante stepped too close. The way his mind replayed that accidental touch. The way last night had nearly tipped into something he wasn’t supposed to feel.

His mother leaned forward. And there’s the very obvious issue.

He stiffened, what issue?

You’re working directly under a man who holds your entire career in his hands. She softened, brushing his cheek with worry. If anything goes wrong even a misunderstanding it’ll be you who pays the price, not him.

His father nodded. People might think he chose you because of favoritism. Or because of something else.

Ethan’s stomach dropped.

Was he that transparent?

He swallowed roughly. There’s nothing like that happening.

Emily raised a brow. You sure?

He hated how his voice faltered. Yes.

The doubt in her eyes cut deeper than any accusation.

Ethan, she said gently, you blush every time you even say his name.

He jerked his head away, heart thundering. That’s not it, It’s just nerves. He’s my boss.

His mother sighed. Sweetheart just promise you’ll be careful. Ambition is good. But people will twist anything if it involves someone powerful.

His father added softly, And if anyone makes you uncomfortable even your idol you tell us immediately.

Ethan stood abruptly. It’s not like that.

But even as the words left his mouth, they felt shaky. Thin. Unconvincing.

His mother watched him closely, as if she could see straight through him. Just keep your guard up. You’re talented enough to succeed without tying your future to any man no matter how brilliant he is.

The words landed harder than intended.

Ethan felt his chest tighten.

He mumbled something he didn’t know what and stepped outside onto the porch, gulping down morning air like it could steady him.

He wanted to defend Dante.

He wanted to defend himself.

But he didn’t even understand what he felt.

Attraction?

Admiration?

Curiosity?

All tangled together into something that wrapped around his ribs and made it hard to breathe.

Back at his apartment, Ethan changed for work, hands trembling slightly.

What am I doing?

Why does it feel like they’re right?

Dante’s voice from last night whispered through his mind:

Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?

Ethan closed his eyes.

He had no idea what he was doing to Dante

And even less idea what Dante was doing to him.

He grabbed his bag, stepped outside, and caught the bus without feeling any of it.

The studio was alive by the time he arrived phones ringing, drafting tables occupied, everyone buried in projects. A few people looked up at him, some with knowing looks he didn’t understand.

Marcus wasn’t at his station.

Ethan exhaled in relief.

Until, Ethan.

Dante’s voice behind him.

Ethan’s heart stopped.

He turned.

Dante stood by his office door, suit immaculate, expression unreadable. No trace of vulnerability. No trace of the man who had nearly leaned into him last night.

But his eyes, they shifted briefly, when they met Ethan’s. A flicker. A spark. Something he immediately smothered behind professionalism.

We need to discuss the revisions before the afternoon review, Dante said quietly. My office. Now.

Ethan followed him, pulse racing.

Dante walked ahead, hands in his pockets, shoulders tight.

When the door closed behind them, Dante didn’t sit. He didn’t look at him. He stood with his back to Ethan, jaw clenched, as if wrestling with something he couldn’t let slip.

About last night, Dante began, voice rougher than usual.

Ethan’s breath faltered.

Dante continued, slower. Measured. Controlled:

We crossed a line. Dante still didn’t turn. And it won’t happen again.

The words sliced through Ethan with shocking force. He stepped forward, voice cracking. Dante!

I’m your mentor, Dante said sharply. You’re my apprentice. Anything else is unacceptable.

Ethan felt like the room tilted.

Unacceptable?

Was he unacceptable?

Dante’s voice dropped, softer but strained. This cannot go any further.

Ethan swallowed hard. I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t trying to…..

I know. Dante finally turned.

His eyes were too bright. Too intense. Too conflicted.

You have no idea how easy it would be to let this spiral, Dante said quietly. And you don’t understand the consequences. Not for you. Not for me.

Ethan stepped closer before he could stop himself. Then help me understand.

Dante went still.

Ethan, he said softly, painfully, if I let this continue I will ruin you.

The door burst open.

Marcus stood there.

Again.

But this time he wasn’t alone.

Behind him stood a middle aged woman with the coldest expression Ethan had ever seen.

Marcus smirked.

Director Hale, he said to her, this is the apprentice I mentioned. The one Dante’s been giving special attention to.

Dante’s face drained of color.

Director Hale’s gaze sharpened.

Mr. Hart, she said slowly, we need to talk. Now.

Ethan’s heart crashed in his chest.

Dante looked at him once, apology, fear, something deeper flickering in that single second

Then he stepped past Ethan without a word.

And left him standing there alone, shaking.

With no idea what storm Marcus had just unleashed.