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.

"For me, farmers are those that are capable of sustaining themselves. It's those people who know how to work hard for them to live. We're like that, and wealth is just a bonus; it's the fruit of the hard work of my parents." "I understand; I assumed too quickly," Chrystyn sat up straight. "Can you show me a picture of your life there?" Ethan nodded and rummaged through the gallery in his phone. He showed his phone to Chrystyn, and she was left in shock. "This is a mansion!" "No, it's just a big 5-story house. Anything inside that is modern, and no, we do not keep our sheep inside," Ethan answered. Chrystyn laughed at his remark. "You are rich. Can you show me more?"

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.

But Ethan could not see me. The interrogation finally began properly. Brownlow sat across from him calmly. “Start talking.” Ethan cried heavily while shaking uncontrollably. “Ever since I did it, I have not slept peacefully,” he confessed brokenly. “I keep having nightmares every night.” Brownlow stared at him coldly. “Ever since you did what?” Ethan lowered his head completely. “It was not supposed to happen this way.” “Answer the question.” Tears streamed heavily down his face. “I needed money,” he cried. “Loan sharks were after me. They threatened my mother.”

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.

Just recognize that it's me. 'If only so I could be laid to rest. If only so I would not lie here like a nameless ghost.' Ethan's fingers trembled. He slowly lowered his head, as if trying to see my face more clearly. That was when his phone vibrated in his pocket. A name appeared on the screen. [Aunt Catherine.] Catherine Earnhart was a leech who treated Ethan and me like personal ATMs. The doubt in Ethan's eyes vanished in an instant. It was replaced by irritation.

"The spice traders from the southern track said Vane’s scouts were turning over the hay-wains three miles down. They’re still looking for the Alchemist's books." "Vane is a dog who doesn't have any teeth left," Ethan growled, his mouth slamming down onto the side of my neck, his teeth catching the skin just above the old collar scar with a heavy, breathless pressure that made my knees go loose under the shift. He didn't use the palace voice now. He used that low, desperate rasp that belonged entirely to the cabin and the dark. "Let them turn the wagons. There is nothing in this valley but two commoners and a pair of brats who smell like a burning forest." "Ethan," I gasped, my hands slipping

"Fine." I walked out of the suite and felt the sharp, midnight breeze of the Tundra. I hugged the oversized tunic for warmth, looking up at the moon and breathing deeply. I felt shattered, yet I was forbidden from howling about it. I sat on a stone bench by the roadside. I couldn't face my den or another lodge room. I would wait for the sun. Tomorrow would be a new hunt. At eight the next morning, Ethan woke in Suite V906 with a migraine that felt like a silver spike through his skull. He looked around the unfamiliar furs and saw a woman beside him—dark hair, fair skin, and a distinct mole on her shoulder blade.