Chapter Four - A Distraction

  ~ Ethan ~

The music thumped so hard it felt like the bass was rattling my chest, syncing with the steady hammering of my pulse. The club was alive red and gold lights swirling like fire and treasure, dancing over the writhing bodies packed into the space. Laughter erupted from one corner, shouts from another, glasses clinked, and the whole place reeked of perfume, alcohol, and secrets.

It should have been easy to lose myself in the chaos. Easy to drown in noise so loud it could bury thought.

But then came Daniel’s whisper. Urgent. Sharp. Cutting through everything.

"Don’t turn around."

The words sliced straight down my spine, leaving a trail of ice.

My fingers went rigid around my glass, frozen midair, inches from my lips. I turned slightly toward him, my brows knitting together. "What do you mean?"

His eyes didn’t blink. They darted over my shoulder, then locked on me again. "She’s here."

The name was unspoken, but I felt it. I felt the weight of it before he even gave it breath. My chest constricted. My jaw tightened, and an ache pulsed in my temples. The crowd roared as the DJ dropped a new beat, but none of it reached me.

Then he said it.

"Chloe."

Just like that, my world tilted.

I swallowed, hard, as if I could wash down the storm that had suddenly surged inside me. Only hours ago, I’d promised myself no, sworn that I was done with her. That I wouldn’t let her shadow haunt me anymore. But promises… promises mean nothing when your past is stubborn enough to chase you down, even in the middle of a crowded club.

The chaos of tonight had actually started earlier. At home.

Outside my penthouse, the storm raged with a violence that matched my mood. Sheets of rain lashed against the tall glass windows, streaking them with silver like the city itself was weeping. Lightning illuminated the skyline in jagged bursts, each crack a reminder that peace is always temporary. I stood there, staring out, my reflection superimposed against the drowning city.

And I wished more than anything that I didn’t have to go to dinner.

Family dinners were never dinners. They were battles disguised with porcelain plates and expensive wine.

But I had no choice. Appearances had to be maintained. So I slipped into my car, letting the city blur by in a haze of rain as I made my way to my father’s estate.

The gates loomed when I arrived, tall iron structures that had once looked grand to me as a boy but now felt like prison bars. They creaked open, revealing manicured lawns and cold marble halls that never felt like home.

"Good evening, Mr. Ethan," the house manager said the moment I stepped inside, his voice polite, his eyes unreadable.

I nodded, offering nothing more, and made my way to the dining room.

It was already full. My stepfamily sat stiff and poised, their polished smiles never reaching their eyes. They looked up as I entered, studying me with that same curiosity they always wore like I was a puzzle piece they couldn’t quite fit, or a threat they couldn’t quite name.

My father sat at the head of the long table, his gaze sharp as steel. His presence always demanded obedience, though I’d spent years quietly rebelling against it.

"Good evening, everyone," I said smoothly, taking my seat.

No one replied. Forks scraped against plates, knives sliced through meat, and the silence grew so heavy it felt alive. I forced myself to chew, to swallow, to sit through every excruciating second while wishing I was anywhere else in the world.

Later, my father summoned me to his study.

The air inside was different thicker, saturated with the smell of aged leather, wood polish, and authority. Books lined the walls, relics of a legacy he never let me forget. He gestured for me to sit, but his eyes did not soften. They never did.

"We just signed a multi-million-dollar deal," I reported when he asked about the company.

His lips twitched into something close to approval. "Good. You’ve done well." He paused, studying me in silence for a moment that felt endless. Then his voice dropped, calm but weighted. "But Ethan… you’re not getting any younger. It’s time to think about settling down."

The words hit harder than I expected. Not because I hadn’t heard them before I had, countless times but because tonight, after everything else, I wasn’t in the mood for another reminder that my life was just a chessboard to him.

He made marriage sound like a tactic, like another business merger.

"Not now," I said flatly. "My focus is on the company."

"You can handle both," he countered, his tone final.

I didn’t argue. There was no point. Instead, I stood, thanked him, and walked out, my jaw set and my chest tight.

And that’s how I ended up here. In the club. In the chaos. With Daniel.

I sank into the leather booth, grateful for the dim lights and the pounding music. For once, I wanted to forget it all the estate, the family, the expectations. I wanted to be just a man, not a legacy.

Daniel laughed, sliding a glass toward me. "Dude, you look like you could use this."

I managed a smirk and clinked his glass with mine. "I definitely needed something."

The liquor burned down my throat, sharp and clean. For a brief second, I felt the weight lift. Maybe tonight I could pretend the storm didn’t exist.

But peace is always temporary.

Daniel’s expression shifted mid-conversation. The easy grin vanished. His eyes hardened as he looked past me, over my shoulder. His jaw clenched. Then he leaned in, voice low, urgent.

"Don’t look back. She’s here."

I froze.

The music roared louder, the crowd erupted, but all I could hear was the frantic pounding of my own heart.

Chloe.

Even before I turned around, I felt her. The way the air shifted, the sudden pull of memory and tension so thick it could choke me.

She was here.

And deep down, I knew this was no accident. Tonight wasn’t just another night out. Tonight was the opening move of something far bigger. A distraction, m

aybe. Or a trap.

But one thing was certain.

This was just the beginning of a much bigger conflict.