Chapter 11

Ethan’s POV

I woke up slowly, still half-wrapped in Adrian’s shirt.

For a moment, I didn’t remember where he was. The room was quiet, the sunlight soft, and the bed still smelled like him. I smiled a little, thinking about yesterday — the shopping, the way he came back and kissed me like he had missed me more than he wanted to admit.

I reached for my phone, scrolling lazily through messages and notifications.

And then I saw his name.

Adrian trending.

At first, it didn’t worry me, he was famous. He trended all the time. I even smiled a little, curious, and tapped the video that was right at the top.

The clip started with flashing cameras and reporters shouting his name. He looked calm, confident, like he always did in front of people. For a second, I just watched him, proud in a quiet way I never said out loud.

Then one of the reporters asked about the café photo.

My stomach tightened.

I leaned forward slightly, listening more carefully.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

There was a pause. A small one, barely noticeable.

Then Adrian shook his head.

“It’s nothing like that. He’s just someone I know. We were just having coffee.”

I didn’t move.

The video kept playing, but I didn’t hear the rest of it. The words stayed in my head like something heavy that refused to leave.

Just someone I know.

I stared at the screen for a long time, hoping maybe I had misunderstood. Maybe it sounded worse than it actually was. Maybe he didn’t mean it like that.

But the more I replayed it, the clearer it became.

He didn’t say my name.

He didn’t hesitate long enough to make it feel real.

He just said it and moved on.

Like I didn’t matter.

I set the phone down slowly and leaned back against the headboard, the room felt quieter than before, like the silence had suddenly become heavier.

I wasn’t angry, not really.

Just… hurt.

Yesterday, he had kissed me like I was the only person in the world. He had looked at me like I mattered. And now, in front of everyone, I was nothing more than “someone he knows.”

I rubbed my eyes and laughed softly, but it didn’t sound happy. “That’s stupid,” I muttered to myself. “You knew this would happen eventually.”

But knowing it didn’t make it hurt less.

I stood up and walked toward the window, crossing my arms tightly like I was trying to hold myself together. People were walking outside like nothing had changed, cars passed, someone laughed somewhere down the street.

Everything felt normal.

Except it didn’t feel normal inside me anymore.

I couldn’t stay in my apartment.

The video kept playing in my mind, Adrian smiling under the lights, talking like I was invisible. Like what we had didn’t matter. I shoved my phone into my pocket, grabbed my jacket, and left without thinking.

The night air hit me, cold and sharp, but it didn’t matter. I just needed space. I needed somewhere familiar where I could breathe.

My studio.

The moment I stepped inside, I felt a flicker of calm. The smell of paper, and camera gear wrapped around me. Everything was exactly how I had left it. Nothing here demanded I think about him, about the video, about how everything had suddenly felt wrong.

I leaned back against the desk, letting out a shaky breath. “You’re fine. Just… breathe,” I whispered to myself.

I tried to focus, running my fingers over the camera, the light stands, the scattered prints of photos on the walls. But the memory of his words — or rather, the absence of them — wouldn’t leave.

Then I heard it.

At first, I thought it was my imagination. A soft footstep, almost too quiet to notice. Then another.

“Hello?” I called, trying to make my voice steady. Nothing.

I stood and walked toward the door, tension coiling tight in my chest. That’s when the first man hit me, hard from behind. I stumbled forward, my hands trying to grab something, anything to defend myself.

The second man was already in front of me, blocking the exit.

“What the—” I started, but my words were cut off by the harsh grip on my arms. They moved too fast, restraining me before I could react.

I tried to fight back, twisting and kicking, but they were strong and coordinated. Panic surged through me like wildfire.

“Let me go!” I yelled.

“Quiet,” one of them growled, covering my mouth briefly before letting go just enough for me to breathe.

I turned my head, heart hammering in my chest. That’s when I saw her.

The girl from the café. Her eyes were wild, almost gleaming with triumph.

“You should have stayed home,” she said, voice calm but dangerous. “Now you’re coming with me.”

I shook my head, struggling harder. “You don’t even know me! I’m not… I don’t…”

“You’re his,” she said sharply. “And you’re taking him away from me.”

Her words hit me like a punch. I didn’t understand how she could be so obsessed, so convinced. My mind was spinning.

The men grabbed me from both sides again, dragging me toward the back of the studio. I tried kicking and screaming, my hands clawing at them, but it was no use.

I could see my cameras, my prints, my life — slipping away in seconds. My chest felt tight. My mind raced.

“You’re not taking him!” I screamed, voice cracking. “He’s not yours!”

She laughed softly. “He doesn’t even know how much he belongs to me yet. But he will. You’ll see.”

The car was waiting outside. My stomach sank as I was pushed inside, the door slamming shut behind me.