At MyCorp Group, Ethan was just finishing a meeting when his phone buzzed.
He glanced down—and for the first time that day, a real smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Without hesitation, he texted back:
"Yes. Just tell me when and where."
Seeing his quick reply, Jillian's heart gave a small, surprising flutter.
She stared at the message for a moment before sending him the name of a small, cozy restaurant she liked — somewhere quiet, away from too many curious eyes.
An hour later, Ethan's black car pulled up outside the restaurant.
He stepped out, loosening his tie slightly, his gaze sweeping the entrance until he spotted her waiting by the door.
Jillian, in a simple blouse and coat, looked calm on the surface—but inside, she was sorting through a hundred unspoken things.
She greeted him with a small nod. "Thanks for coming."
Ethan's eyes softened a fraction. "You asked. I came."
No teasing, no games — just quiet sincerity.
They sat down at a private booth near the window.
Over dinner, Jillian finally found her words.
"I wanted to thank you," she said, lifting her gaze to his. "For the support. For believing in me, even from a distance. I know you didn't have to."
For a moment, Ethan said nothing.
Then he leaned back slightly, studying her.
"I didn't do it because I had to," he said quietly. "I did it because… I couldn't just stand by and watch you be crushed."
The words hung there between them, tender and sharp.
Jillian lowered her eyes, feeling the warmth spread through her chest — unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
Outside, the city lights blurred into soft colors against the window glass, wrapping the moment in a hush of something neither of them dared name just yet.
After dinner, the two lingered over a few quiet drinks. Jillian, never much of a drinker, quickly became tipsy—her cheeks flushed, her smile softer, her guard falling away. Ethan watched her with a mixture of amusement and concern, subtly signaling the waiter to stop offering more wine.
As the night deepened, Jillian began to speak—halting at first, then more openly.
She told him about her years of struggle after her mother's death, the long lonely hours buried in textbooks, the betrayals she had quietly survived, the moments she almost gave up but didn't.
Ethan leaned forward, elbows on the small table between them, listening intently, his usual sharpness replaced by something gentler.
Every word from her seemed to etch itself onto him—her bravery, her pain, her fierce determination to never let life break her.
At one point, Jillian laughed softly, eyes a little glassy, "You know... people always see the medals, the certificates... they don't see the nights I spent crying alone wondering if it was all even worth it."
Ethan's hand tightened around his glass, his heart heavier than before.
In that moment, she wasn't the brilliant doctor standing on distant stages—she was simply Jillian, the girl who had fought battles no one had applauded.
He wanted to say something—comfort her, tell her she wasn't alone anymore—but he held it in, knowing she needed to let it out first.
The night air grew cooler around them, but neither seemed to notice.
It wasn't the place or the hour that mattered now—it was everything that was finally being said, piece by fragile piece.
Jillian, worn out from the whirlwind of emotions and the alcohol humming through her veins, drifted into a peaceful sleep right there at the table.
Ethan hesitated for a moment, then sighed softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
He slipped his jacket off and draped it around her shoulders before carefully lifting her into his arms—carrying her out in a gentle bridal style.
The quiet restaurant chatter broke into delighted murmurs.
Some women nudged their boyfriends and husbands, whispering things like, "Why don't you ever carry me like that?"
Others simply watched, smiles soft, admiring the scene—a striking man cradling a sleeping woman as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
Ethan heard the whispers but ignored them, focused only on getting her somewhere safe. His steps were steady, every move protective.
Since he didn't know where she lived yet, he made a quick decision—booking a suite at a nearby hotel.
A quiet, discreet place where she could rest undisturbed.
After checking them in, he carried her all the way up, easing her onto the plush bed as gently as if she might break.
He took a blanket and tucked her in carefully, crouching beside the bed for a long moment, watching her peaceful face.
You deserve more than this kind of exhaustion, he thought, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead with a rare tenderness.
Then, respecting her space, he settled himself on the couch across the room, deciding to stay close—just in case she needed anything when she woke.
---
Morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room.
Jillian stirred, groaning softly as she turned over, her head pounding faintly.
Blinking awake, she took in the unfamiliar surroundings—the plush bedding, the soft carpet—and then...
Her eyes widened when she spotted Ethan slouched on the nearby couch, arms folded across his chest, fast asleep but still somehow looking composed, as if even resting he was on guard.
Panic fluttered for a second.
She sat up too quickly, the blanket slipping off her shoulders.
"Ethan...?" her voice croaked out, half confusion, half mortification.
He cracked one eye open lazily, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said, voice low and teasing.
"You had quite the evening."
Jillian flushed crimson, tugging the blanket higher like a shield.
"I—did I do something embarrassing?"
Ethan stood, rolling his shoulders with a lazy grace, and walked toward her with a glass of water.
"Nothing terrible. Just told me your whole life story..."
He paused, handing her the water.
"And demanded that I find you a unicorn someday."
Jillian let out a mortified groan, burying her face in her hands.
"I'm never drinking again."
Ethan chuckled quietly—a rare, deep sound that filled the room warmly.
"Relax," he said. "I liked hearing about you. The real you."
For a beat, their eyes met—something tender passing between them, unspoken but unmistakable.
No teasing, no walls.
Just... understanding.
Jillian took the glass, sipping carefully.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For... everything."
Ethan's smile softened.
"I told you, didn't I? I'll be around."
Jillian was still recovering from her embarrassment when Ethan checked the time on his watch and gave her a raised eyebrow.
"Now hurry up and take a shower," he said, voice firm but amused.
"I'll ask my secretary to bring a set of clothes for you. Then we'll have breakfast—or else you'll be late for work."
Jillian blinked at him, half-flustered, half-scandalized.
"You're treating me like a child."
Ethan chuckled, already pulling out his phone to send a quick text.
"If you behave like one, I have no choice."
She narrowed her eyes at him, but deep down, the warmth spreading through her chest made her smile.
She swung her legs off the bed carefully, muttering under her breath,
"I'm perfectly capable, you know."
Ethan glanced up briefly, his gaze warm, lingering a little longer than necessary.
"I know," he said quietly. "That's why I'm helping you."
For a moment, Jillian forgot the headache, the awkwardness, even the time ticking away.
All she saw was Ethan—the man who had listened when she was at her most vulnerable, and who was still here without expecting anything in return.