Chapter Nine

Ethan

Ethan woke before dawn, the faint light of sunrise creeping through the hotel curtains like an unwelcome reminder that the night was over. 

His head throbbed lightly from the drinks, but it was nothing compared to the heavier weight pressing on his chest. The memory of last night had refused to fade. He almost kissed a man. 

Again.

He sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment staring at the floor. He has nearly kissed a man— shattering every boundary he had spent years enforcing. The wine had threatened to loosen his control, but the cold light of the morning brought it back with brutal clarity.

This ends now.

He showered in ice-cold water, dressed in a fresh charcoal suit with mechanical precision, and packed his overnight bag. By 6:15 a.m., he was ready. He stood in the hallway for a moment, staring at Julian’s door. The responsible thing would be to wait, to ride back together, to maintain the illusion of professional normalcy.

Instead, he sent a short text.

Ethan: Early conference call. Taking the first car back. See you in the office.

It was a flimsy excuse. They both knew it. But Ethan could not face another hour in a confined space with Julian after what had almost happened. He needed distance.

The car ride back to Manhattan was quiet. Too quiet. Ethan stared out the window at the passing landscape, jaw tight. The jealousy from dinner still lingered, the way Richard had looked at Julian, the easy flirtation, the freedom Richard had to simply want without calculating every risk. People like Richard could enjoy themselves openly. People like Ethan had to bury everything behind perfect suits and public appearances with attractive women.

By the time they reached the Cross Media tower, Ethan had made a decision. Distance was no longer enough. He needed to reinforce the image the world expected.

Alone in his office, Ethan closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. He wanted Julian. He wanted him with a ferocity that terrified him.

But wanting was a luxury he could not afford.

He sent a quick text to Victoria Lang.

Ethan: Dinner at Le Bernardin tomorrow night? Need a public appearance.

Her reply came almost immediately: Victoria: Of course, darling. I’ll wear the red dress you like.

He sent another text to Lena instructing to ensure photographers would be present. The image had to be reinforced. The rumors had to be drowned out.

Ethan slipped the phone back into his pocket, jaw tight. It was necessary. A reminder to himself and the world of who he was supposed to be.

He sat behind his desk and opened the latest version of the manuscript. The protagonist’s struggle stared back at him, mocking him with its accuracy.

Ethan read the new pages Julian had sent, his fingers tightening on the mouse as the words described a man fighting the very desire that was consuming him.

A soft knock sounded. Lena entered with a tablet. “The statement about the photos has been released. Engagement is high, but the narrative is holding as a professional meeting. For now.”

“Good, The public appearance with Victoria tomorrow will cement it.” Ethan said, voice clipped. 

After she left, Ethan stared at the city skyline through the windows. He had survived worse. He would survive this.

But as he read Julian’s latest revisions again, one line jumped out at him:

He wanted the memory to be surgically removed from him if possible because it has refused to let him go.

Ethan closed the document, jaw clenched. He closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair, eyes closed.

He stood up and paced the length of his office, hands clasped behind his back. The city below moved on as usual, taxis honking, pedestrians rushing, the endless rhythm of New York that never stopped for anyone. This is where he was meant to be,  to be part of this  rhythm, to control it, not to be consumed by it.

His phone buzzed. A message from Victoria confirming the dinner details, complete with a teasing emoji. Ethan stared at it for a long moment. Victoria was safe. She was his favorite public companion ever since his marriage ended. She gives the people what they want to see with no complications. 

Yet the thought of sitting across from her tomorrow night, smiling for the cameras while Julian worked on the manuscript, left a sour taste in his mouth.

Ethan walked to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of water, drinking it slowly. The almost-kiss last night had been a lapse. A wine-fueled mistake. He would not allow it to happen again. Julian was a very talented writer. Nothing more. The contract would run its course, the manuscript would be completed, it'd be a huge success and then Julian would move on to whatever came next.

He spent the rest of the morning in back-to-back meetings, and confirming details for an upcoming gala. Burying himself in work. Every task was a deliberate reinforcement of the life he had chosen. When Julian finally arrived at the office around 12:pm, Ethan kept their interaction brief.

Mr. Hayes,” he said when Julian stepped into his office. “The revisions you sent this morning are adequate. Focus on tightening the surrender scene in the next draft. I expect it by the end of the day.”

Julian nodded, expression composed. “Understood, Mr. Cross.”

Ethan watched him leave, the door clicking shut with finality. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. The distance he had forced this morning felt very necessary. It kept him  in that safe bubble he had always been in before Julian came rattling around. But it also felt like a lie. 

It was a lie. Sometimes he lets himself believe some part of this polished and well organized life he displayed was a lie also. On days like this, he allowed it. 

The rest of the day dragged on. He attended a strategy lunch with senior editors, reviewed financial reportsEvery task was a reminder of the image he had to protect.

Yet when he finally sat alone in his office at 7 p.m., rereading  Julian’s latest revisions, the words on the screen still taunted him. 

He stepped back before the moment could become anything more. It was the sensible thing to do. Yet the thought of it kept returning at inconvenient times. The discipline he relied on had begun to feel less like a strength and more like a burden.

Ethan closed the document, exhaling sharply.

Julian was dangerous. Because he was steady and intelligent. Composed even when everything around him was chaos. Because he made Ethan want things he had spent years convincing himself he didn’t need.

Ethan stood and walked to the windows, staring out at the glittering Manhattan night. The city he had conquered. The image he had built.

He would not let one man tear it down.

Even if that man was the only person who had ever made him feel things truly.