Ethan Frome Novels & Stories

From Ethan's wince and the forced smile on his face, I'm pretty sure those slaps were anything but friendly. "Ethan, dear!" Mom left my side to pull Ethan into a hug and took the opportunity to rub his back and glare at my father at the same time, who gave her the most innocent of looks that a 62 year old man could give his wife. We stepped inside once all the greetings were over, and instantly, I was hit by a well of nostalgia. Life was great with Ethan at Brunswick, but this will always remain the place that I spent my entire life in. Grew up, had catfights with Eva, made friends and fell in love with Ethan Whitmore. But most of all, started my career as an Erotic Romance writer.

"I've promised you already’’ Charlotte glanced toward the hallway before lowering her voice. “I saw that.” “Saw what?” “That little reaction.” “I didn't react.” “You did.” “I didn't.” Charlotte laughed and walked away before Sophia could answer. That night, Ethan stood in front of the mirror in the small room he and Sophia shared. His old suits hung in the wardrobe. They were still clean, still presentable but it had seen better days. Ethan looked at himself for a long moment before reaching for his wallet. He had been saving for months, not for anything important. Just saving. A little from here. A little from there.

He took the card from her, nodding politely before turning to leave, yet Emily felt her heart flutter in a way that left her momentarily breathless. In her dreams, Ethan was the same as he had always been—gentle, unwavering, and persistent in the most tender ways. In the beginning, Emily resisted his advances. After all, she had heard that Ethan had recently returned from studying abroad, and he came from a well-off family. It felt like their worlds could not be further apart. But he was patient; he waited for her after work, walked with her to her favorite cheap street-food stalls, and made her feel seen and understood. He would wait as she finished her shifts, staying late just to share a

I put my hands flat on my knees. I waited for the big, black shame to crawl up my throat. I waited to feel like the bad daughter who ruined everything. But the shame did not come. The bad feelings belonged to the man who sold his child, and to the sister who let him do it. They did not belong to me anymore. The glass door behind me clicked open. Ethan walked out onto the terrace. He was wearing his gray sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. In his hands, he carried two heavy white mugs that smelled like sweet tea and steamed milk.

I was thinking about something else. "So, your name is Ethan?" I asked him, looking directly at his eyes. "Why did you lie to me? Why were you hiding your name?" I was feeling kind of betrayed as I spoke to him. I looked at him. He tried to open up his mouth to say something but it was already enough for me... "I'm going at the stream. I need to take a walk! You don't have to worry that I am gonna escape! I don’t have wings like Mr. Fatso!"

I stared forward, looking at the person that stood in front of me, a person really dear to me. Ethan was dressed in a white suit that made him look so handsome. His hair was slicked back, making him look like those mafia bosses from Italy. He stretched out his hands and pulled me gently away from Mrs. Thompson’s. I walked and stood in front of him, with a pastor standing in front of us.

The faint scent of hay and earth still clung to him. There was nothing about him that should have drawn the attention of a Moon Warden. No noble blood marked his features. No symbol of rank. No striking aura like the Alphas carried. And yet my breathing would not steady. Ethan had truly stopped crying in his arms. His tiny fingers clutched the rough fabric at the man’s chest as if he had finally found something he had been searching for all evening. His cheeks, wet moments ago, now glowed softly. His breathing, once broken by sobs, had become calm and even. The corners of his small lips lifted into a faint smile that made my chest tighten painfully.

It might be better for every one who lives in this apartment building. "Just make sure you and whatever poor lost girl you feast on tonight are quiet. I'm having guests and I don't want them eating dinner to the sound of your next victim's groans,” I said. "Victim? You make it sound as if I'm the devil," He laughed with a throaty, manly chuckle. He was also entirely human like me, but I am convinced he is part Satan’s child. With his intriguing blue-grey eyes, disheveled black hair that screamed sex, a brilliant pearly smile, and that figure, Ethan resembled one of the flawlessly sculpted Greek gods you only saw in museums rather than a human being.

His own personal prison. Ethan crept along the edge of the building, then leaped down onto the roof of another, his eyes rooted on the movement of people below, searching for the weak member of the herd. But he didn't comb the crowds merely to satisfy his own needs; he needed to find an alchemist with an open flesh wound, and he knew for a fact that any rogue within a mile radius would not be far behind.

I sat on one of the coach facing the stairs and crossed my legs leaning back with the papers far ahead on the center table. Some few minutes later Ethan emerged from the stairs , he walked slowly and gracefully , it tugged at my heart. He looked so pale and tired. He was wearing black sweatpants and white turtle neck sweater. He's lips was blue but still kissable. He was sick. He looked so tired, I felt bad for dragging my ass here to disturb him. It made me more concerned. I tried not to show, He's going to land me a nasty comment anyway. "Afternoon Mr Ethan," I stood up to great him . he nodded.