PEOPLE YOU USED TO KNOW

Ethan's pov

I woke up smiling.

No, scratch that grinning.

For once, the weight that had been resting on my chest was gone. Today was the day. My first day at Warner Industries. My first move towards making something that was mine, not Connor's, not my family's, not a handout.

This was going to be a good day.

I sprang out of bed and yanked the curtains wide open, drenching the room in morning sunlight like some soap opera movie montage. I caught a look in the mirror — hair flying out in every possible direction, eyes gleaming a little too hard with nerves — and just laughed out loud.

"Pull it together, Banks," I snarled at my own reflection.

I dressed in the outfit I had set out the night before — clean white shirt, black trousers, black tie. I even took out the gel and smoothed my curls back, trying to look more sophisticated, more. corporate.

But as soon as I caught sight of myself, I stopped dead in my tracks.

That wasn't me. That was a person who was too willing to fit in somewhere he hadn't even made it past the door yet.

I rinsed out the gel, dried my hair with a towel, and brushed out curls to frame my face as they did always.

"There," I said quietly. "I am not losing me due to this job."

And that was that. I marched out of my apartment, head held high, grinning like an idiot at commuters on the subway.

By the time I got to Warner Industries, I was a force to be reckoned with. The building glittered like a steel and glass fortress, inspiring and intimidating simultaneously.

Inside, I smiled at the receptionist, at the security guard, at every other individual until I was called to Madam Cheryl's office on the executive floor.

I knocked lightly, pounding heart.

"Come in!" a friendly voice beckoned.

The moment I came in, I was welcomed by the kind of smile that makes you feel instantly comfortable.

Madam Cheryl was sitting behind her desk, poised in a blue suit, pearls buttoned at her throat, silver hair wound into a glossy chignon.

"Well, would you look at that!" she said, rising to shake my hand. "Our new recruit! Ethan Banks, I presume?"

"Yes, ma'am," I answered quickly, but she waived her hand.

"Oh, none of that 'ma'am' hooey," she said, chuckling. "It's Cheryl. Madam Cheryl if you absolutely must be melodramatic about it — some of them still persist in calling me that, I am sorry to say — but just Cheryl is quite sufficient for me."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Alright. Cheryl."

"Good." She motioned me to a chair. "Now, before we get you tossed to the wolves, let me take a gander at what sort of man we've hired."

I blinked, shocked, until she laughed once more.

"I'm joking, sweetheart," she said. "Sort of. But tell me about you. What brought you here?"

Somehow, with her eyes soft and listening, I found myself talking more than I had meant to. I talked about moving to New York, about searching for the right job, about having something to prove to myself.

Ah, she said knowingly, leaning back in her chair. "So you're a fighter. Good. We need fighters around here. The ones who coast don't stay."

"I am definitely not coasting," I said with a little smile.

"No, I don't think you are," she said with a smile. "Well then, let's get you on your feet. We've got a live project in progress at the moment, and there's nothing better than the way to learn is to be put right in the thick of it."

I nodded hungrily. "I'm ready."

She winked. "That's what they all say. Come along, Mr. Banks."

As we walked along the corridors, she just went on speaking freely, asking me where I was living, whether I'd found a good coffee shop, whether I'd got lost yet on the subway.

"You look like my nephew," she said at one point. "Bright-eyed, set on something, and a little frightened beneath it all."

I laughed stiffly. "You're not far wrong.".

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” she said with a pat on my shoulder. “If you’ve got me on your side, you’ve got half the battle won already.”

I liked her. Really liked her. It felt good to have someone in my corner from the very start.

But then she opened the door to the boardroom.

And everything shifted.

There were already a couple of individuals seated at the long, shiny table. I took the only empty seat next to Cheryl, one chair left open at the head of the table.

I glanced at it momentarily, wondering whose it belonged to, when the door opened again.

And in he walked.

Aaron Warner.

My chest constricted. My breath hitched.

He was brutally dressed in a charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, black tie. He took all the air from the room.

And then he sat down. Beside me.

No even look my way.

I hated it. I hated the icy remoteness, the deliberate rejection.

But I could not help but think of it. The memories came crashing over me like a wave.

"You're mine, Banks. Your fucking mine — this body, this voice, this heart — it's all mine."

I pinched my eyes tight, attempting to shove the voice out of my head, but more memories seeped in.

*"His number keeps going to voicemail," Connor had said to me six years previously, his face tightening with frustration as I toyed with my fingernails until they bled.

I know, because I had called him a million times. No answer

"He isn't home. His mom won't tell me anything. I don't get it," Connor had said,worryetched in his features.

And that was when I had finally allowed the tears to spill, silent and burning, brushing them away on the back of my hand before anyone had a chance to notice.

"BANKS."

The mention of my last name snapped me out of my reverie.

I turned around and was met by Aaron's frustrated, gray eyes.

"I asked you to introduce yourself to the board," he said, voice silky but laced with annoyance.

I gulped. My throat closed up.

What was he doing here, anyway? Why was he in this project team?

Why couldn't he just make me believe he left?

I got up, cleared my throat.

"My name is Ethan Banks," I said, attempting to sound steady. "I'm a new employee in this fantastic facility, and I'm looking forward to working with all of you lovely individuals."

There were tense smiles around the table.

With the lone exception of Aaron.

"Sit down," he commanded me with a brusqueness, eyes scanning over me with an intensity that left me feeling as though I'd just been weighed and found wanting.

I sat quickly, thudding heart.

Slouching slightly towards Cheryl, I whispered, "Why is he here?"

She blinked at me, then smiled gently, covering it with her hand.

"Oh, darling," she whispered back. "He's heading up this team. AW? That's Aaron Warner, silly."

She laughed at my face, but my enti

re world changed.

The boardroom felt suddenly cramped, the table too close, the air too thin.

Because this was no longer a job.

This was war.