Aww, that hurts...
The soreness between my legs from last night hit me the moment I tried to move. I carefully traced my steps off the bed, wincing with every shift. The morning light spilled through the wide windows, casting a soft glow across the room, highlighting the crisp whiteness of the decor. Ethan was nowhere in sight.
His cologne still lingered in the air—warm, woody, and heavy—mixing with the sterile freshness of the cleaned room. It smelled like him. Strong, mysterious, a little too controlled.
I looked down at the sheets and froze.
Oh no.
Stains of blood marked the once-pristine white sheets and even smeared on my nightwear. Panic flared. The last thing I wanted was for the maids to stumble on that—not after the night we had.
I rushed to fold the sheets, ignoring the aching throb in my body. Just as I reached the door, I nearly bumped into a woman in uniform.
"Good morning, ma'am," she greeted cheerfully.
"Good morning," I returned, trying to mask my discomfort.
"Sir ordered the room to be cleaned as soon as you woke up."
"Oh… about that…" I shifted awkwardly. "I could clean it myself."
"No, ma. I could lose my job if I don't do this."
There was no winning with her. I stepped aside and let her in, trailing behind her nervously. She began gathering the sheets. When she turned one over and caught a glimpse of the stain, her hand paused.
Our eyes met.
"I understand," she said softly, covering the sheet back without judgment. "I'm a woman too."
I swallowed a lump in my throat and gave her a small, thankful nod. She didn't push or ask questions. Just quietly continued. Before leaving, she touched my arm lightly. "Come to the kitchen later. I'll give you something to help with the pain."
---
Downstairs, the maids chorused, "Good morning, ma'am," as I passed. I waved gently, muttering under my breath, "I could get used to that," though a shadow of last night lingered in my thoughts.
"Did anyone see Ethan?" I asked, eyes scanning the room.
"Yes, ma. He left early for work," one of the maids responded.
Of course he did.
I was shown to a lavish breakfast table, covered in every dish imaginable. I stared at the food in awe. Never had I seen such a spread—not even on holidays. I was just about to dig in when a soft tap on my shoulder startled me.
"Here." It was the cleaner again, whispering. "Take this. I saw how you walked earlier."
She discreetly handed me two pain-relief pills and a bottle of water. My eyes misted with gratitude.
"Thank you…" I hesitated, then asked, "What's your name?"
"Clara," she smiled. "You'll be okay."
---
Just as I popped the pills and picked up my fork, Christian appeared, dressed sharply as always.
"Hey, Lena. How was your night?" he asked, sitting beside me.
I forced a smile. "It was good."
"Any news about my brother?"
He brightened. "Yes! The doctor called this morning. They found a heart match for Audrey. He's scheduled for surgery this weekend."
"Wait, that easy?" I blinked.
He nodded. "Sometimes luck favors the brave. Your brother's been stable, and the match is a miracle."
Tears pricked my eyes. "I want to be there. To at least see him before it happens."
Christian's expression softened. "About that… you and Ethan have events lined up this weekend. But you'll be able to video call Audrey to wish him well. He's not alone at the hospital. The doctors and caregivers are doing their best."
I clenched the table, trying to contain my frustration.
"That's also what you signed in the contract," he added gently.
"I know the contract," I muttered, bitterly. "But did Ethan send you to say this? He didn't even show his face this morning."
Christian leaned back. "First—no, he didn't. This is my job. And second—you don't have to worry about Ethan. Just focus on the next three months. Then everything will go back to normal."
Silence lingered for a moment.
Then I blurted out, "I mean… we had a talk yesterday. He said you were more than a PA."
Christian raised an eyebrow. "That's good to hear."
"Yeah. I was hoping you knew more about him than anyone else. He's… so mysterious. His whole house—beautiful, but lifeless. Everything is either white, grey, or beige. There's nothing personal. No photos. No warmth."
Christian didn't reply, so I pushed further. "Even after last night, he didn't bother to—" I caught myself and looked away. "Never mind."
He studied me for a moment. "You noticed all that in one day?"
"I'm a psychology student," I said, half-smiling. "Observing people is kind of my thing."
He paused, then stood. "Lena, don't get too involved. You seem like a nice girl. But it's no good wanting to know too much. Just remember—your brother is the priority."
I stared at him, unsure whether to feel comforted or warned.
"He's not the man to fall in love with," Christian said flatly before walking off. "Many girls have tried. None succeeded. And about last night… don't overthink it. It happens."
---
His words echoed in my head long after he left.
I wasn't going to fall in love with Ethan.
He's more complicated than my entire life. But why did I feel like I needed to understand him?
To distract myself, I followed Ethan's words from the night before and asked the maid—Clara—to show me around the mansion.
Each room was a palette of silence: grey walls, white sheets, beige furniture. No splashes of color. No family portraits. Only a perfectly aligned shelf of high school awards. It felt like walking through a museum… not a home.
There was one floor Clara said was off-limits—Ethan's orders.
The only place that felt remotely alive was the hidden garden tucked away behind the west wing. It wasn't visible from any of the main windows. Clara said Ethan never went there.
Even his wardrobe followed the same pattern—black, white, cream, or brown. A closet full of monotony.
It hit me like a wave.
The man I slept with last night—this powerful, guarded billionaire—was a walking contradiction. Surrounded by everything, yet filled with nothing.
And somehow… that made me want to dig deeper.