8. Ethan's Version

Ethan POV

I wake up already pissed off.

That’s the first thing that hits me. Not confusion. Not sadness. Anger. Hot and sharp and sitting right in my chest like it’s been there all night waiting for me to open my eyes.

My arm moves without me thinking about it, reaching to the other side of the bed, expecting warmth, skin, her hair tickling my wrist like it always did.

Nothing.

The sheets are cold.

I open my eyes and stare at the empty space next to me, jaw tightening so hard it actually hurts. For a second my brain tries to fill in excuses. Maybe she slept in the guest room. Maybe she got up early. Maybe she went for a walk or some dramatic shit like that.

Then reality crashes in.

She’s still not home.

I sit up fast, breathing heavy, and swing my legs off the bed. The house is dead quiet. No movement. No sounds from the kitchen. No soft footsteps. No sign of her anywhere.

I stand there for a moment just staring at the bed like it’s mocking me.

“She’ll come back,” I mutter, even though the words feel empty. “She always does.”

I head for the bathroom and turn the shower on full blast, not waiting for the water to warm before stepping under it. The cold makes me hiss but I stay there, teeth clenched, letting it hit my back hard.

I scrub at my skin like I’m trying to peel something off. Like if I press hard enough, I can get rid of the image of her face from that night. The way she looked at me. Not crying. Not begging. Just… disappointed.

That look crawls under my skin.

I dress fast. Suit. Tie. Watch. Everything neat and controlled. I don’t look at the nightstand. I don’t look at the ring. I don’t need that shit first thing in the morning.

I don’t eat breakfast. The thought of food makes my stomach turn.

I grab my keys and walk out of the house, slamming the door behind me hard enough that it echoes. Good. Let it echo. Let the house feel as empty as it is.

The drive to the office is hell.

Traffic crawls. Some idiot cuts me off. A red light lasts too long. I grip the steering wheel like I want to snap it in half. My jaw aches from clenching it.

By the time I get to the office, I’m already wound tight.

The first guy stumbles through his presentation, sweating, flipping through slides too slowly.

“This is what you brought me,” I snap. “This mess.”

He opens his mouth. “If you’d just let me explain—”

“No,” I cut in. “You’ve had three months. Three. And this is the best you can do.”

“I just need a little more time,” he says, voice shaky.

I stand up. “You’ve had enough time. Pack your desk. You’re done.”

His face goes white. “Ethan, please—”

“Security will escort you out,” I say, already sitting back down.

The next one tries to blame her team.

“If marketing had delivered the numbers on time—”

I slam my hand on the table. “Don’t you dare pass the blame. This stops with you.”

“But—”

“Out,” I snap. “You’re fired too.”

The room goes dead silent.

The third one doesn’t even try. He just nods, defeated, and stands up.

The fourth starts crying.

I don’t even feel bad.

“Save it,” I tell her coldly. “This isn’t a therapy session.”

By the time Ryan walks in, the hallway outside my office is buzzing with whispers.

He takes one look at my face and whistles. “Jesus. If I knew you were gonna be this ruthless, I would’ve helped you kick Lena out a long time ago.”

I glare at him. “I’m not in the mood.”

He grins anyway. “You sure. Because this feels like a man who finally cut dead weight.”

“I have work to do,” I say, turning back to my desk. “So unless you’re here for business, get out.”

He doesn’t move.

“You thinking about her,” he asks casually.

“No,” I snap.

Ryan tilts his head. “Then why do you look like shit.”

I stand up so fast my chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “Watch your mouth.”

He gestures toward my face. “Dark circles. You’re wired. And you just fired four people before ten. That’s not you.”

I grab the framed photo off my desk before I even realize what I’m doing.

The one from our wedding.

I throw it.

The glass shatters against the wall, pieces falling everywhere.

“I don’t lose sleep,” I say, voice rough, “over a gold digger who couldn’t keep her legs closed.”

Ryan chuckles. “Good. Would be sad if you wanted her back after everything she did to you.”

I don’t answer.

My PA walks in then. She stops short when she sees the broken glass.

“Your meeting starts in five minutes,” she says.

I nod. “I’ll be there.”

The meeting is worse.

I tear through every proposal like it personally offended me. I interrupt. I shut people down mid sentence. I lean forward and tear holes in their logic until they’re stammering.

“That’s bullshit,” I snap at one guy. “You expect me to sign off on this. Are you stupid.”

Silence.

Another tries to defend himself. “The numbers will stabilize—”

“No they won’t,” I cut in. “Because you didn’t do your job.”

People stop making eye contact.

When it’s finally over, my PA stays behind.

“What the hell is going on with you,” she asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “Busy.”

She plants her hands on her hips. “You can’t bullshit an old woman, Ethan. You’re spiraling.”

I scoff. “Don’t start.”

“Get your shit together,” she says. “Or do I call Lena.”

My head snaps up. “Don’t even bother.”

She shakes her head. “You’re acting like a teenage boy on his period,” she mutters as she leaves.

I stand there alone, staring out the window.

My mind betrays me again.

I picture Lena somewhere else. With him. Laughing. Touching. Forgetting me.

The thought makes my hands shake.

“She ran because she was guilty,” I tell myself.

I don’t know it yet.

But the doubt is already there.

And it’s growing.