Chapter 5 – Choose

I should’ve known Ethan wouldn’t stop.

Three days after the press conference, he showed up at the company lobby.

Unannounced.

Uninvited.

And very intentional.

“I just want five minutes,” he told the receptionist loudly enough for half the floor to hear.

I found out because Logan’s assistant called me first.

“Mrs. Hayes… Mr. Carter is downstairs.”

Of course he is.

I closed my laptop slowly.

Logan looked up from across the office.

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

I nodded.

Silence filled the room.

Not explosive.

Measured.

“I’ll handle it,” Logan said calmly.

“No.”

His eyes sharpened slightly.

“He came to see me.”

“And you want to see him?”

The question wasn’t jealous.

It was direct.

Honest.

I held his gaze.

“Yes.”

A long pause.

The air shifted.

“Fine,” he said finally.

That surprised me.

“But not alone.”

My jaw tightened. “Logan—”

“Not because I don’t trust you,” he cut in smoothly. “Because I don’t trust him.”

I hesitated.

Then nodded once.

“Okay.”

The lobby felt colder than usual.

Ethan was leaning against one of the marble pillars when he saw me.

Relief crossed his face.

Then he noticed Logan walking beside me.

That relief vanished.

“You brought security?” Ethan asked dryly.

“I brought my husband,” I replied evenly.

His jaw tightened slightly.

“Can we talk?”

“We are talking,” Logan said calmly.

Ethan ignored him.

“Alone.”

Silence.

I looked at Logan.

He looked back at me.

There it was again.

The choice.

He stepped back.

“I’ll be upstairs,” he said quietly.

Not a command.

Not a threat.

Then he walked away.

Ethan watched him leave.

“Wow,” he muttered. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Expect what?”

“For him to let you.”

Let me.

The word irritated me more than it should.

“He doesn’t let me do anything,” I said firmly. “I choose.”

Ethan studied my face carefully.

“Do you?”

The question hit harder than the accusation.

“What do you want, Ethan?” I asked.

He exhaled slowly.

“I want to know if you’re okay.”

“I am.”

“You look… different.”

“I’m married.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Silence.

He stepped closer.

“Lila, this whole thing feels rushed. Strategic. Calculated.”

“It is,” I admitted.

“And you’re fine with that?”

I hesitated.

That hesitation didn’t go unnoticed.

“He’s powerful,” Ethan continued. “Men like that don’t marry without a reason.”

“And what reason do you think he has?”

“To control.”

I almost laughed.

“You don’t know him.”

“I don’t need to.”

His voice softened.

“I know you.”

That was dangerous.

Because he did know me.

The old me.

The predictable me.

The safe me.

“You liked simple,” he continued. “You hated complicated.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

Before Logan.

Before intensity.

Before commitment that felt like standing at the edge of something terrifying and exciting at the same time.

“You’re avoiding the question,” Ethan said.

“I’m not.”

“Then answer it.”

Silence stretched.

Finally, he said it.

“Do you love him?”

The world felt like it paused.

Love.

That word again.

And I didn’t know the answer.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Ethan’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

“That means there’s still space.”

“For what?”

“For you to walk away.”

The suggestion hung between us.

Walk away.

Simple.

Clean.

Safe.

“Would you catch me?” I asked quietly.

He blinked. “What?”

“If I walk away… are you asking me to walk toward you?”

Silence.

For the first time, Ethan hesitated.

“I—” He stopped.

That was all I needed.

“You don’t want me,” I said softly.

“That’s not true.”

“You want to win.”

His jaw tightened.

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” I replied calmly. “It’s honest.”

He looked frustrated now.

“I just don’t want you trapped.”

“I’m not trapped.”

“You signed a contract marriage.”

“Yes.”

“And that doesn’t scare you?”

“It did.”

Past tense.

Ethan noticed.

“Did?” he repeated.

I inhaled slowly.

“It’s different now.”

His expression shifted.

“You’re choosing him.”

It wasn’t a question.

I didn’t answer.

Because the silence was answer enough.

Upstairs, Logan was standing by the window again when I walked back into the office.

He didn’t turn around immediately.

“He leave?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“Did he ask you to walk away?”

I froze.

“How did you—”

“He’s predictable.”

I stepped closer.

“He asked if I love you.”

That made him turn.

Slowly.

“And?”

My heart was loud in my ears.

“I told him I don’t know.”

Something flickered across his face.

Not anger.

Not disappointment.

Just… calculation.

“That’s fair,” he said calmly.

“You’re not upset?”

“No.”

“You don’t care?”

His eyes sharpened.

“I care.”

“Then why aren’t you reacting?”

He walked toward me.

Steady.

Controlled.

Because he always is.

“Because I won’t beg.”

The words weren’t cold.

They were firm.

“If you stay,” he continued, stopping in front of me, “I want it to be because you want me.”

“And if I don’t?”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“Then I let you go.”

That hit harder than jealousy ever could.

“You would?” I whispered.

His gaze didn’t waver.

“Yes.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Real.

“You said you eliminate unstable things,” I reminded him.

“I do.”

“And this?” I gestured between us.

“This isn’t unstable.”

“What is it then?”

He looked at me like I was the only variable in a room full of certainty.

“This is a risk.”

My breath caught.

“I don’t take risks lightly,” he added.

“Then why take me?”

His voice lowered.

“Because you’re the only thing I can’t control.”

That confession cracked something inside me.

“You hate that.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re still here.”

“Yes.”

The honesty was overwhelming.

I stepped closer.

Close enough that I could see the tension in his jaw.

“You were right earlier,” I said quietly.

“About what?”

“You’re not obsessed.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly.

“No?”

“You’re scared.”

That made him go still.

“Of what?”

“Of losing something you haven’t even fully had yet.”

Silence.

Dangerous silence.

But this time, not angry.

Raw.

His hand lifted slowly.

Rested lightly at my waist.

Not claiming.

Not forcing.

Just there.

“Choose, Lila,” he said softly.

“Choose what?”

“Don’t stand in the middle.”

My heart pounded.

“You want an answer right now?”

“No.”

The answer surprised me.

“I want honesty,” he continued. “Even if it’s not what I want to hear.”

That was the most vulnerable thing he had ever said.

And suddenly, this wasn’t about contracts.

Or jealousy.

Or business.

It was about two people standing in something real.

“I’m not walking away,” I said finally.

His fingers tightened slightly.

Not possessive.

Relieved.

“But I’m not promising forever yet,” I added.

His eyes held mine.

“That’s enough.”

For now.

That night, we didn’t argue.

We didn’t fight.

We didn’t make declarations.

But when we stood on the balcony again, the space between us was smaller.

Not because he demanded it.

Because I stepped closer.

And for the first time since this contract began—

It didn’t feel like an agreement.

It felt like a beginning.