The Way She Still Breaks Me

(Ethan Blackwood – POV)

I had lived through boardroom battles, hostile takeovers, and men who smiled while plotting my destruction.

None of them intimidated me the way that Sophia Reed intimidated me when she was too close and looked at me like I was still the man she once loved.

I brought her home.

Not her home. Mine.

It was an instinctive decision, not a rational one. Security said it was safer than any hotel. I told myself it was a temporary solution. A necessary solution. A professional solution.

Another lie.

The penthouse was quiet when we arrived, too quiet for the tempest brewing inside me. I dismissed the security team to the outer floor and locked the door myself. The instant the latch closed, something in the air changed.

She was standing near the entrance, looking uncertain, like she did not know where she belonged.

And that was hurting me more than it should have been.

“You can take the guest room,” I said, my voice steady despite the chaos in my chest. “There’s food in the kitchen. You don’t have to—”

“I don’t want the guest room,” she said softly.

I froze.

Slowly, I turned to face her.

She wasn’t looking at me like an employee. She wasn’t looking at me like a woman who feared her boss.

She was looking at me like the girl who used to trace circles on my chest and whisper that she believed in me when no one else would.

“I just… don’t want to be alone tonight,” she added softly.

Every wall I had put up was shaking.

I nodded once. “The couch pulls out.”

She smiled faintly. “You always hated sleeping on couches.”

“And you always stole my blankets,” I said, before I could stop myself.

Silence fell between us.

Not awkward.

Dangerous.

She went into the kitchen, her movements familiar, too familiar. As if she had never left. As if those years had never passed between us. I watched her from a distance, my chest aching with every memory she brought up.

“You’re still wearing the watch,” she said suddenly.

I glanced down.

The watch. Old. Scratched. Cheap.

The only thing I owned before everything changed.

“I forgot to throw it away,” I said.

She shook her head slowly. “No. You kept it.”

That simple statement cracked something open inside me.

She filled two glasses of water and handed me one. Our hands touched. Again.

The room spun around me.

“Sophia,” I said, trying to keep my voice down. “You don’t get to look at me like that.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like you still know me.”

Her eyes sparkled. “I never stopped.”

I stepped back.

I had to.

Because if I didn’t, I would be crossing a line that I wasn’t sure I could come back from.

“I read the old report again,” I said out of the blue.

She froze.

“The one about your disappearance.”

Her glass of water almost slipped out of her hands. “And?”

“There were things I ignored,” I said, still going. “Because they didn’t fit the story I needed to survive.”

She looked at me like she was bracing for an impact.

“I thought hating you was easier than missing you,” I said quietly. “It made the world a simpler place.”

She took a shaky breath. “And now?”

“Now I don’t know what to believe.”

I was surprised by the honesty.

She stepped closer. “Then believe this,” she said softly. “I loved you when you had nothing. I loved you when you were angry at the world. And I loved you enough to leave when staying would have destroyed you.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I wanted to demand details. Names. Proof.

But something in her eyes stopped me.

Fear.

Real fear.

Before I could say anything else, the lights dimmed.

Just for a second.

Then my phone vibrated.

A message. Unknown number.

You shouldn’t have brought her there.

My blood ran cold.

Sophia noticed the look on my face. “What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I lied, already moving towards the security panel. “Stay here.”

But before I could finish activating the security system, the power went out completely.

Darkness enveloped the room.

Sophia gasped, and I instinctively reached out for her, bringing her into my arms. Her body fit into mine like it always did. Like a natural fit.

“I’m here,” I said into her hair. “I’ve got you.”

Her hands grasped at my shirt. “This is all my fault.”

“No,” I said firmly. “It’s over now.”

The emergency generator kicked in immediately, and the dim lights came back on.

And that was when I saw it.

The envelope.

Placed neatly on the coffee table.

White.

Untouched.

Impossible.

I let Sophia go slowly and moved forward, my entire body on edge. I picked it up gingerly, as if it might blow at any moment.

There was a single photo inside.

An old one.

Of Sophia and me.

Taken years ago.

Before everything fell apart.

On the back, in perfect handwriting, were four words:

She still owes me.

Sophia’s breath hitched behind me.

I turned slowly.

Her face had gone completely white.

“You know this,” I said softly.

She nodded once, tears falling down her face.

“Yes.”

My chest constricted in agony. “Is it the same person?”

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Because in that moment, I realized the twist I didn’t want to face—

This wasn’t just about the past.

It wasn’t about revenge.

The person coming for us wasn’t

finished with her.

And if I didn’t stop it, loving her again could very well be the end of us both.