All Chapters of Winning Her Back: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

The scent of his cologne was a ghost in the hallway. My heart wasn’t just beating; it was a frantic, caged thing trying to break through my ribs. I could feel the cold of the doorframe against my palm, the only solid thing in a world that had just tilted violently on its axis.“It’s not a good time, Michael,” I said, my voice tighter than I wanted it to be. I didn’t move from the doorway, my body a barrier between him and my sanctuary, between the past and the fragile future I was building. “Actually, it’s not a good time ever. What are you doing here?”His smile was a thin, bitter thing. “Nice to see you too, Lila. You could at least invite me in. We used to be better than this.”The ‘we’ he referred to felt like a different lifetime, a story about a naive girl I barely recognized. “I’m not comfortable with that,” I said, the words firm despite the tremor in my hands. I stepped out, pulling the door shut behind me with a definitive click that echoed in the narrow hall. The lock engag

I woke to the sound of his breathing.It was the first thing I was aware of, even before I opened my eyes. A deep, steady rhythm in the quiet of my room. The light filtering through my window was soft, a pale, buttery gold that spoke of mid-morning. I’d slept. Really slept. The kind of sleep that feels like a reset for your entire soul.I kept my eyes closed for a long moment, just listening. In. Out. A solid, reassuring sound. The frantic drumbeat of my heart from last night was a distant memory, soothed by the anchor of his presence.Slowly, I turned my head on the pillow.Ethan was on his side, facing me, one arm tucked under his head, the other draped possessively over my waist even in sleep. The expensive charcoal suit was a puddle on my floor, his crisp white dress shirt hung carefully over the back of my chair. He wore a pair of his own trousers and nothing else. The sheet was pushed down to his hips, revealing the powerful expanse of his back, the play of muscle under skin tha

The smell of linseed oil and fresh coffee was the scent of a happiness so profound it felt fragile, like a soap bubble shimmering in the palm of my hand. Morning light, clean and sharp, cut across my studio, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and the man who was watching me from my couch.Ethan was stretched out, a financial journal open but ignored on his lap, his attention entirely focused on me. He wore a simple grey henley and dark jeans, and he looked more at home in my chaotic space than he ever had in his own sterile penthouse. His gaze was a physical warmth on my skin, a silent, steady applause that fueled every stroke of my brush.I was attempting to capture the exact shade of gold in his eyes when he’s truly, unguardedly happy. It was a color I’d only recently been introduced to.“You’re staring,” I said, not looking away from the canvas, a smile playing on my lips.“I’m appreciating,” he corrected, his voice a low hum that vibrated in the quiet room. “There’s a

The first thing I was aware of was the weight of his hand on my hip, a warm, solid anchor in the quiet sea of dawn. It wasn't possessive or demanding, just present. A constant. A promise etched into skin and bone.Sunlight, pale and hesitant, filtered through the blinds, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets and the hard plane of his chest. I watched him sleep, the fierce lines of his face softened in repose, his dark lashes fanning against his cheeks. This was the face of the man who had shattered me and then, with infinite care, gathered every piece and put me back together. The vulnerability in that thought was a physical ache in my throat.I shifted minutely, and his hand tightened, just a fraction, a subconscious pull back toward him. A sigh escaped his lips, my name a breathless whisper in his sleep. The sound went through me like a live wire. Last night had been a raw, open nerve, but this… this careful, quiet claiming was its own kind of intensity. It threatened to undo m

The world didn’t just intrude; it announced itself with the cruel, sharp sound of gravel crunching under aggressive tires. The sound was a violation, shredding the delicate, intimate silence that had wrapped around us since we’d found each other on the studio floor.Ethan’s body went rigid against mine. The soft, sated man of a moment before was gone, replaced in a single heartbeat by the CEO, his senses on high alert, his arms tightening around me instinctively, protectively. The shift was so drastic it stole the air from my lungs.We were in the kitchen, wrapped in the same blanket, sharing a single mug of coffee. My head had been on his shoulder, his lips in my hair. We hadn't spoken. We didn't need to. The understanding between us was a living, breathing thing.And then the car came.Through the large kitchen window, we saw it: a low-slung, silver sports car, too sleek, too expensive, and too utterly out of place on our quiet, tree-lined drive. It didn't just park; it prowled to a