Ethan Winters Face Novels & Stories

"I just received a call; Ethan Winters wants to meet you at the shooting range this weekend." "A shooting range?" Reed repeated with interest, "It seems the 'answer' has come to me." * Ethan Winters vividly remembered the day he met Alexander Reed. The moment Reed's handshake loosened, he subtly brushed against the callus on Winters' hand, as if confirming its presence. The callus was an undeniable fact, and Winters knew that hiding it would only make Reed more suspicious. So his plan was not to conceal, but to find an excuse that would rationalize the existence of the callus.

“Am I interrupting something?” I turned to see Roman, his icy gaze locked on Ethan. Ethan’s face went pale. Roman’s expression was calm, but there was a sharpness to his tone as he glanced at the table. “You’re standing in front of my seat.” Ethan stammered, stepping back. Roman turned to me, his voice softening. “Miss Winters, why are you crying?” I couldn’t answer. My throat felt like it was closing up. Ethan recovered quickly, his bravado returning. “I was just surprised to see Lyra here. We’re old friends, you see—”

Finally, one officer said, "I see. No wonder he deliberately misled the investigation that day. It turns out he wants to kill Vivian himself. This… this is insane." Everyone sighed heavily. Yet as the protagonist of this story, I simply stood to the side watching quietly. I heard all of Ethan's words yesterday, but the apology came far too late. All the years of cold treatment, cruel words, and unjust favoritism wouldn't vanish because of a few simple words. I passed through the thick metal doors and drifted into the operating room. Ethan lay there, with tubes running everywhere and a ventilator keeping him alive. He looked so vulnerable. I floated to his side and gently touched his cheek, j

Any hope I once had for him had already been crushed beneath the weight of his repeated vengeance. Jason recovered first, stepping forward. "Ethan... what brings you here?" Ethan's eyes swept over the crowd with a cold, commanding calm. Only after everyone had felt the weight of his gaze did he answer. "I'm here to take my woman back." Jason froze. His gaze drifted to me, something calculating behind it. The air shifted, tense and uneasy. One of the drunken bigwigs couldn't take it anymore. He'd spent too long at the top of the Nightclaw ranks to let anyone walk in and trample his pride.

After showering, he stepped out with the whip marks on his back still vivid and raw. I asked how he got the injuries. He said it was just roughhousing with the guys. I stayed silent for a long moment. Then, in a cold voice, I said, "Ronan, let’s get divorced."

he said, and for once, he wasn't joking or smirking, and the intensity in his eyes made my breath catch in my throat. Then the door to the suite swung open without even a hint of a knock. Ethan stood there with his coat over his arm, looking like the personification of a cold winter morning, and his eyes swept over the bed like he was scanning a crime scene. He took in how close I was to Kai and the way I was holding the heating pack, and a look of pure, cold amusement crossed his face. "How touching," Ethan said, his voice as flat as a dial tone. "The Critic and the Artist, bonding over a broken wing. It’s almost enough to make me believe in the script I’m currently writing for the both of

The twins laugh at him, teasing him about getting coal. “No Mom! I'm sorry. Please don't call Santa on me!” He plays along and the twins laugh. “Ricky's gonna be on the naughty list!” Val sings. “After further consideration, I don't think that Die Hard should be considered a Christmas movie.” Ricky says, moving over to me and I wrap my arm around his shoulder. “Traitor.” Wilder hisses at him with a grin. “Son, I can't believe that you would side with your mother over me. Remember that I'm the one that let you dr-” He stops suddenly and looks at me with a guilty expression.

Ethan's knuckles cracked. “Ground that jet.” Marcus nodded. “Already working with the FAA. We may have one shot.” I watched Ethan become the version of himself that made men flinch in boardrooms. Cold. Unshakable. Calculating. But when our eyes met, there was still that boy who used to draw stars on the attic wall. That night, we stood before a camera crew. Ethan wore a charcoal suit. I stood beside him, no makeup, no armor—just truth. The press release aired live.

So I dragged myself there, hoodie pulled low, trying not to care if anyone saw my puffy face. The rink was cold and hollow and it was the kind of cold that seeps straight into your bones. Ethan leaned against the boards, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, watching the ice. He looked up when I came in, and for a second, his smile almost felt like sunlight. “There’s my sister,” he said, pulling me into a quick side hug. “God, you look like death. No offense.” “Wow,” I muttered dryly while pulling my hood tighter. “Thanks for that.”

Alfie scratched his cheek as he queried, "Alright, but may I ask, what if she is indeed the one who framed you to retaliate for your confrontation, and then denies it? How will you ascertain whether she is lying?" "I sincerely hope she tells me the truth and nothing but the truth," Ethan responded. Alfie inquired, "If she is indeed responsible, what will you do?" "Well, I am uncertain, but please hold me back should I contemplate doing anything rash," Ethan admitted. "Haha, Ethan, you are amusing. Do not worry; I will not allow you to do anything foolish," Alfie laughed, responding. After waiting for a considerable time, Anna finally emerged from her gate in a hurry, and Ethan quickly approa