Chapter 8 Fractures in the Glass  

“How dare you…” Ethan’s voice rumbled low, not loud enough to draw eyes from the other tables, but with a restrained force that made the air heavy. His jaw tightened, his fingers curling just slightly against the edge of the tablecloth.

Tim tilted his head, unbothered, his lips lifting into that maddeningly calm smile. “I suppose I hit a nerve,” he said softly, almost like a taunt, though his tone was coated in velvet.

“You hit nothing,” Ethan snapped back quickly, his words clipped. But even as they left his mouth, he knew it was a lie. Tim’s words had sliced deeper than he dared admit, like a beast’s claws tearing through armour.

Because Tim was right.

Ethan’s chest tightened, his thoughts betraying him as Tim’s steady gaze seemed to strip him bare. He knows.

He was aware of the silent war Ethan fought within himself. The truth he had hidden beneath years of control, wealth, and appearances. The truth of a man who, beneath the handsome face, the sharp suits, and the collected composure, felt utterly… lost.

Lost because he could never accept himself fully.

Lost because he could never be the son his mother wanted him to be—her perfect, straight, golden boy.

Lost because if he ever admitted he was gay, he feared he’d shatter what little love he still clung to from her memory.

And now, this man—this young, infuriatingly self-assured man who had captured Chloe’s admiration so effortlessly had read him with precision. Dug into him and ripped out truths Ethan wouldn’t even whisper to himself.

Worse still, Tim sat there smirking. That same smirk Ethan wanted so badly to wipe off his face.

Not with words. Not even with fists.

But with lips.

The thought seared through Ethan before he could stop it. His chest clenched, and he shook his head hard, his jaw tightening even more. Not kiss. No. He shoved the thought down with such force that it almost hurt. Slap. Anything. Just not that.

Before Tim could speak again, Ethan pushed back his chair abruptly, the legs scraping faintly against the polished floor. He stood tall, his broad shoulders squared, his presence commanding enough to make Chloe flinch.

“Come on, Chloe,” he said, his voice firm, still locked in eye contact with Tim. The younger man remained seated, utterly composed, his smirk intact, as though Ethan’s rising fury amused him.

Chloe blinked in surprise. “But we were just—”

“We leave now.”

The look he shot her was sharp, the kind of look Chloe knew too well. A look that allowed no room for debate. A look that had silenced her protests since childhood.

Chloe’s lips parted, her eyes darting between Ethan’s hard stance and Tim’s calm defiance. The tension between them was so thick she could almost hear it crackle. Her brother’s command, Tim’s unshaken demeanour—it was like watching two predators circle each other in silence.

Chloe exhaled loudly, a little huff of disappointment, before she finally rose from her seat. Her movements were reluctant, almost dragged, like a child being pulled away from a candy shop.

Tim rose too, smooth and elegant, his tall frame commanding the space without effort. Chloe leaned toward him with a shy smile. “I’m so sorry, Mr Dorian—oh, I mean, Tim. My brother can be… a little touchy sometimes.”

Tim chuckled softly, a warm sound that seemed to dispel the awkward air. “Oh no, it’s fine. These things happen, and it was truly a pleasure meeting you, Chloe.”

Her eyes widened when he slipped a sleek black card from his inner pocket and extended it to her. “How about we catch up another time? Here’s my card. Call me,” Tim said, ending it with a playful wink.

Chloe’s entire face lit up like Christmas morning. That sparkle—the same one Tim had already noticed a few times tonight returned in full force. He almost laughed at how easy it was to surprise and please her.

“Of course!” Chloe squealed, nearly bouncing on her heels. “I definitely will, Tim. Oh my god…”

Tim’s smile deepened, but when he turned his gaze, it landed directly on Ethan. The man was already on his phone, thumbs moving with deliberate force as though typing could keep him from looking up.

Tim’s voice dropped into a tone smoother than velvet. “And to you, Mr Wellman…” He extended his hand across the space. “Regardless of how the night went, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

For a moment, Ethan didn’t move. His eyes flicked up from his phone, catching Tim’s, and there was that silent, unspoken tension again. His hand twitched at his side.

“Et…” Chloe whispered firmly, nudging him with her elbow.

With a low growl of irritation, Ethan rolled his eyes and finally reached forward, grasping Tim’s hand in his much larger one. He squeezed once, intending to release quickly, but Tim didn’t let go.

Instead, he tightened his grip, leaning in just enough that his lips brushed near Ethan’s ear. His voice, soft and deep, curled around Ethan like smoke.

“I hope to see you around, Mr Wellman.”

The effect was instant. A sharp rush of adrenaline surged through Ethan’s body, settling low in his gut, pulsing in his groin before he could stop it. His breath caught, his body betraying him in ways he despised.

And then there was Tim’s scent. God, his scent. Not the harsh cologne most businessmen wore, nor the stale musk of arrogance Ethan was used to. Tim smelled… unearthly. Fresh, clean, but laced with something soft and sensual. Angelic. Dangerous. The kind of scent that clung, that lingered, that whispered temptation.

Ethan’s mind betrayed him further. Right here. Right now. Pin him to this table. Rip that smirk off his lips with a kiss so fierce he’ll forget his own name.

But with a violent shake of restraint, Ethan tore himself free of Tim’s grip. The move was sharp, almost jerking, as though touching Tim burned him. His jaw was stone, his face stormy. Without a word, he spun on his heel, striding toward the exit in pure, silent rage.

Tim’s chuckle followed him, low and satisfied. He watched Ethan’s broad shoulders tense with every step, watched the storm brewing in him like a man savouring his favourite game.

Meanwhile, Chloe lingered a moment longer, glowing so brightly she seemed to forget her brother’s fury. She leaned in quickly, brushing a kiss against Tim’s cheek. “It was so, so nice meeting you, Tim. Really. Honestly. Best night ever.”

She said it for what felt like the hundredth time, grinning ear to ear, before hurrying after Ethan.

Tim raised a hand to his cheek where she’d kissed him, though his eyes stayed on Ethan’s retreating form. That smirk curved his lips again, slower this time, more dangerous.

“Oh yes,” Tim murmured under his breath, almost to himself. “We’ll definitely be seeing each other again, Mr Wellman.”

As Chloe’s laughter echoed faintly down the hall, fading alongside Ethan’s heavy footsteps, Paul emerged from the shadows like he had been waiting all along. His presence was calm, unshaken, his eyes trained only on Tim.

“Well?” Paul’s voice was low, steady, a man accustomed to order and strategy. “Did it go as planned?”

Tim adjusted the cuff of his suit, the silver links catching the light. His smile curved slowly, deliberately, as though savouring the taste of victory still lingering in the air.

“Absolutely,” Tim replied smoothly. His tone carried confidence, but his eyes gleamed with something sharper. “The girl…” He tilted his head slightly, recalling Chloe’s starry-eyed devotion, her every word dripping with admiration. “She’s a bit easy. Adorable, really. Too easy, in fact.”

Paul’s expression barely shifted, though his eyes flickered with a hint of calculation. “And Ethan?” he asked coolly, the weight of the question hanging heavier than the first.

Tim’s lips curved wider, this time into something darker, more dangerous. His gaze wandered briefly to the door Ethan had stormed through moments ago, as though he could still feel the warmth of his hand in his own.

“Ethan…” Tim repeated, almost tasting the name. “Now, he is interesting. There’s more to that man than meets the eye. But it’s only a matter of time.” His voice dipped lower, a purr laced with steel. “Because there’s nothing I, Timothy, wouldn’t break.”

Paul took a measured step closer, his voice a whisper laced with warning. “Be careful, Timothy. Time is a luxury.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Tim’s head tilted back, and laughter spilt from his lips. But it wasn’t the soft, angelic laugh the world adored. No, this one was darker, jagged—laced with bitterness, with rage that had been fermenting for years. It was the kind of laugh that didn’t soothe, but unsettled.

“Time?” Tim said at last, his eyes narrowing, that laughter still echoing faintly. “Paul, I have waited years for this. Years.” His voice turned to steel, every word sharp as a blade. “Time is not my enemy. Time is my weapon. And it is certainly all I have.”

Paul studied him for a long moment, the weight of his words settling like thunderclouds overhead. Then he gave a slow nod, stepping back into the shadows, leaving Tim alone with his thoughts.

Tim smoothed his jacket, the deadly smile seeping back onto his lips. He gazed back at the doorway Ethan had disappeared through, eyes aglow with potential.

"This is just the beginning of the game," he murmured to himself.