Ethan Frome Novels & Stories

Vauxmoor's Bar & Grill was trendy but not boisterous to the point where we had to shout to talk. I mostly just enjoyed my view anyway. Seated over his plate of steak, Ethan was the picture of polite English gentleman. One supremely hot English gentleman. Gone was the heat and promise of sweaty sex we'd shared at the elevators. He'd turned that off just as quickly as he'd turned me on. "How did an American find herself at university so far from home?"

Was he still a warrior, good luck with the food then. I made a simple dinner, just some buttered toast and a can of tomato soup. Perfect dinner for a perfectly lonely night. I hated when I got like this… ugh. I groaned, putting the can down and taking an angry bite from my toast. Stupid Liam Taylor… XXX Ethan’s POV

“Look, I have so much to do, so you better speak now or forever hold your peace.” “Hahahaha,” Ethan laughed. “I knew it. You have a great sense of humor. But here is the deal. I want you to keep all my money for me,” he said seriously, but Ethel found it rather ridiculous. “Excuse me, do I look like a bank? Why would I keep your money?” “Because I want you to be my woman. You know, like how Zora has everything under her name? It would be impossible for Ezrah to bring in another woman because that means he's gonna lose everything,” Ethan explained. Ethel shook her head.

Ethan’s detached, cool voice emanated from the doorway. I halted, back to him, fists clenched in the material I held. I swung around slowly. Ethan leaned in the doorway, my former position mirrored in him. He was impeccably dressed in charcoal trousers and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms. He held a steaming mug of coffee in his hand, no doubt made by her. His face was carefully expressionless, but his eyes, however, those dark, familiar eyes that had once softened with amusement, desire, now held only a guarded, icy calculation. He was waiting. For the screams, the tears, the pleading his cruelty anticipated.

“Jacob, please open the door for me,” Ethan spoke to his friend who stays in his house by the lake. Ethan had a good old friend. He was an elderly who had been Ethan’s mentor. His wisdom had been so helpful for Ethan in his personal growth and development. He trusted the old man with many things despite knowing that this old man was a wanderer. He said he was a man without a home. But his talent is something that could make him earn millions if he chose to sell his creations.

Ethan's eyes were bloodshot, and his body felt like it was being consumed by millions of ants, causing extreme discomfort. A woman dressed in a black evening gown approached him and said, "Ethan, are you feeling uncomfortable? Can I help you?" Ethan's gaze was hazy, and the potent drugs made his mind a jumble. The woman's face seemed to overlap with Isabella's radiant face. As she reached out to undo Ethan's tie, a strong and pungent perfume scent filled the air, causing Ethan to push her away forcefully. Kathy was sent flying to the ground, crying out in pain.

A fine dust sifted down from the ceiling, glittering in the weird, pulsing light. Ethan, white as milk and cradling his splinted arm like a priceless treasure, had his eyes squeezed shut. He wasn’t humming his calming tunes now. He was listening with every fiber of his being, his head cocked, his whole face a picture of dawning terror. “It’s… it’s not a song,” he whispered, as if saying it too loud would summon it faster. “It’s a single note. One note, so deep and so old it’s been playing since this mountain was a molehill. It’s the mountain’s own note. And it’s annoyed.”

Ronan began, his tone overly enthusiastic as if trying to sell the man to the entire family, “tell us more about your background. I’m sure we’d all love to hear.” Ethan, with his sandy hair and overly polished demeanor, smiled politely. “There’s not much to tell, really. I come from a small pack in the west, but I’ve spent most of my time traveling, working with various alphas on… diplomatic matters.” I could feel Lila’s leg brush against mine under the table, and I nearly choked on my drink. I glanced up at her, and she had the audacity to look innocent, her face neutral as if nothing had happened. But there was a glint in her eyes that told me she was playing with fire.

Ethan whispered. I looked up and nodded. "Yes, why not?" His gaze shifted downwards and that's when I realized I was gripping his arm. "Sorry." I released it.. It felt like we were inside a giant globe.Al that was missing was the snow. But instead of snow, we had golden lights. "Ethan Wilder." A man in a white tuxedo, a gruff voice and white hair and beard stopped in front of us, leaning on a brown cane and a steel wolf head. He had a glass in his hand.

Being one gutful lady she had the power of speech indeed when nobody else except her dared to do the same. To displease master Ethan needs heavy guts. Master Ethan Thompson was known to be a man of heavy pride. Nobody dared to point any finger at him. He was scary and too arrogant to accept defeat from others. But when coming to his very own secretary, he always held strange clam though he gets pissed off by her way of spitting bitter facts about him every time. Moments later cold chuckles were heard from the other side making Sylendra's cold face change into a frowned one.