Lena had a whole lot to say to Ethan. Her plan was to keep whatever had happened between them sealed and silent. Now, it felt like he'd sold her out.
Vivian wasn't just being an attorney… she gave off the vibe of a woman who had never been appreciated enough. That look in her eyes wasn't just legal—it was personal. Lena could feel it.
Stick to the contract, that's all she should've done, Lena fumed silently. Her body had betrayed her that night, but so had Ethan's. Yet now, she was the one left to fight it out—fight her urges, her emotions, her misplaced attraction.
She had to keep her distance.
He was her boss, after all.
When Lena returned home, Ethan was already there. But instead of speaking to her, he sent Clara to deliver a message.
An emergency dinner meeting had been called—a gathering of potential contract individuals. A formal event. Lena was required to attend and follow the instructions to the letter. Speak only when spoken to. Observe Ethan for signals. Never leave his side. The evening was a test.
Her glam team prepped her. The dress fit her like a second skin. Her face barely needed makeup—it glowed. But inside, Lena was all nerves. She rubbed the back of her palm—a nervous tick.
Ethan waited in the next room. Silent. Formal.
Her red-bottom heels tapped the floor with every step. Ethan offered his hand, guiding her down the stairs. They didn't exchange a word. But if tonight was going to work, cooperation was essential.
The bodyguard opened the door, adjusting Lena's gown with precision. Ethan took the other door, and together they were driven off.
Silence reigned until Ethan finally broke it.
"Did you go through the instructions?"
Not what she wanted to hear. No apology. No explanation about Vivian.
Just business.
"Yes," she replied faintly.
"You won't be all by yourself. You can stop rubbing the back of your palm," he added gently.
So he had noticed. But that still wasn't enough.
Just as she gathered the courage to ask him the question that burned on her tongue, the driver interrupted.
"Sir, we're here."
"Use the back entrance. I don't want too much attention."
They obeyed.
Escorted by bodyguards, they entered through a stunning hallway designed by a famous designer. The space was almost surreal—flashing lights, glittering chandeliers, rich voices echoing through the marbled room.
"Where are we?" Lena whispered.
"This is where the world's biggest men gather yearly," Ethan said. "If you aren't invited, you aren't big enough."
Wow, Lena thought.
Ethan turned serious. "This place is strict. No phones. No bodyguards. Everyone here plays for power. Don't fall into a trap. The ladies will test your weakness. Say nothing unless spoken to. And watch me the entire night."
Dinner was served. Ethan had already made the orders. Lena, hungry from a skipped lunch and emotionally drained, ate carefully—not too fast, not too slow.
Then came the tension.
An intro tradition: everyone at the table had to introduce themselves—name and position.
A woman Lena recognized from earlier, elegant and sharp-eyed, started it off.
"I'm Ashley," she said, her British accent crisp. "Heiress to my father Richard Bills, married to a prince. You may call me Princess Ashley."
The next speaker followed. "I'm Stevie, son of billionaire Matthew Harts, King of Estates."
Everyone seemed like royalty or something close.
Lena braced herself for humiliation. Her hands shook. She rubbed them again. Only three more turns before hers.
What if they ask about her background? What if they mock her and Ethan gets ostracized for being with someone so… ordinary?
Then Ethan placed his hand over hers. Firm, calm.
He leaned in and whispered, "Let me do the talking."
She nodded slowly, gratefully.
Her turn came.
"I'm Ethan," he said clearly. His voice was steady and deep. "Owner of a multi-million dollar tech company. Successor to Edwin O'Martin. And by my side is my wife…"
Lena's breath caught.
"…Lena Marks O'Martin. Final-year psychology student. Best in class."
He smiled at her—warm, practiced… but still, somehow, it made her chest flutter.
Lena gave a polite, soft "Thank you," just to show she wasn't mute.
Heads nodded. Whispers passed. And the round-table continued.
Lena couldn't stop glancing at Ethan.
He'd called her his wife. In front of them.
Was it just for the show?
Or did some part of him mean it?
Soon, it was time to leave. Several guests stopped her—complimenting her poise, congratulating her academic success, even offering job recommendations for the future.
Lena thanked them all, smiling softly, keeping her confusion hidden.
But in the car, silence returned.
The car was already waiting, and Ethan opened the door for her like a perfect gentleman. Lena slid in, her legs trembling slightly beneath her gown. He joined her a moment later, the door clicking shut like the sealing of a vault.
They didn't speak.
Not as the driver pulled into the night.
Not as the world outside blurred into streaks of light and silence.
Lena traced her fingers over the smooth edges of the business card still in her hand. Ethan had introduced her as his wife—his wife—before the richest people in the world.
It was just for the contract.
Of course it was.
But…
Why did it feel like something more?
She turned her head slowly, eyes landing on Ethan's unreadable profile, carved like a secret against the night.
He felt her gaze.
"Say it," he murmured without looking.
Her voice came out lower than she expected. "Why did you do that?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then, without turning to her, he said, "Because they needed to know exactly who you are."
Lena swallowed.
Her chest tightened.
But something still twisted inside her.
Because if you can play this well, Ethan…
…then maybe breaking hearts isn't something you do by accident after all.
And in that moment, as the car rolled deeper into the night, Lena realized something far more terrifying than the crowd they'd just escaped:
She no longer knew where the lies ended and the truth began.
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