Elena's palms were damp with sweat, her breathing just slightly off rhythm.
She stiffened as she pulled away from Ethan's arms, gaze lowered, lashes trembling. Taking two careful steps back, she steadied herself and spoke with quiet formality.
"Thank you, Ethan."
Ethan retracted his hand without expression.
"Don't stare at your phone while walking down the stairs," he said coolly. "You'll get yourself hurt."
Just moments ago, she'd crashed into his chest—the crisp scent of pine and cedar clinging to him had filled her senses. Even now, it lingered faintly in her lungs: clean, cold, and distant—like winter air right before a storm.
Elena held her breath and didn't argue. She simply nodded, obedient as ever.
In an effort to dispel the awkwardness, she forced herself to speak. "Just finished work?"
"Yeah," he replied. "The meeting ran late."
"What about you?" he asked. "Why are you still awake?"
"I was heading to bed. Just came down for some water."
Instead of returning upstairs, Ethan walked with her, wordlessly leading the way.
As they descended, soft lighting clicked on one by one—glowing sconces and chandeliers gently illuminating the shadows, guiding their steps like silent attendants.
At the marble bar, Ethan quietly poured her a glass of water himself—like one might for a child who couldn't quite be trusted not to spill.
Elena's eyes landed on his hands.
The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his forearms. His skin was pale under the dim lights, the muscle lines subtle but defined. Calm strength without show. Controlled.
He handed the glass to her without a word.
"It's warm. Better for your stomach."
"Thanks, Ethan," she murmured, fingers brushing his as she took it.
Ethan leaned against the bar counter, not in any rush to leave. His eyes lingered as she took quiet, measured sips.
"Want more?"
She shook her head.
He took the glass back and set it down, his motions smooth, deliberate.
"Get some rest. Let me know if you need anything."
"You too. Don't stay up too late."
A low hum vibrated in his throat—almost like agreement.
He watched her turn, light-footed and silent, as she disappeared up the stairs.
The next morning.
Mr. and Mrs. Jiang returned from the airport.
Neither looked pleased. In fact, Mrs. Jiang's face was dark with fury.
Mr. Jiang tried placating her in soft tones, but nothing could soothe her—not when their youngest son, Adrian, had completely vanished the night before, ignoring all messages and refusing to answer his phone.
"This is your fault for spoiling him!" Mrs. Jiang snapped as she stormed into the living room, her voice sharp and controlled only by sheer will.
"He's been rebellious for two years now! First, refusing to inherit the company. Now he dares to mess with the engagement?"
Mr. Jiang didn't respond. He knew better. Her anger had passed the boiling point, and anything he said now would only feed the fire.
"It's Elena I'm worried about," she continued bitterly. "The engagement, the families—it's all on the line."
To anyone else, it might've sounded like pure frustration.
But underneath the fury, Mrs. Jiang was genuinely distressed. She had helped raise Elena. The girl wasn't just her future daughter-in-law—she was family.
She had carefully planned this marriage for nearly two decades, ever since the Shen family's tragedy. To break off the engagement now? To hand Elena over to someone else? It felt like a betrayal of everything she had promised—both to the girl and her late parents.
Then there was the alliance between the Jiangs and the Shens. If Adrian walked away now, what would the rest of the city say? What kind of message would that send?
Just then, Ethan came downstairs.
"Mom. Dad."
Mr. Jiang let out a breath of relief, as if reinforcements had finally arrived.
He shot Ethan a look—silent but clear: Handle this.
Mrs. Jiang, still fuming, softened slightly at the sight of her eldest son. She gestured vaguely toward the staircase. "Is Elena awake?"
Ethan sat down across from them, picking up the teapot on the table to pour them both a cup.
"Probably still asleep."
Mrs. Jiang sighed, accepting the tea. Her eyes flicked to Ethan—so composed, so steady. He had never once disappointed them.
"Do you know what happened between her and Adrian?"
"I asked last night," Ethan said, his voice calm as ever. "She didn't want to talk about it."
"She wouldn't," Mrs. Jiang muttered. "She's always been mature. Always protecting everyone else. That's why she left the house to live near campus—to avoid conflict."
Ethan's fingers circled the rim of his cup in silence, his eyes downcast in thought.
Then, quietly, he asked, "So... about the engagement. What do you and Dad want to do?"
Mrs. Jiang's temper sparked again. "Cancel it? Absolutely not. But what does it matter what I want when Adrian's off doing God knows what?"
She huffed, rubbing her temples. "Ignoring messages, vanishing like this—what is he thinking?"
For the next half-hour, Ethan listened as his parents filled him in on everything that had happened over the past two years—things that hadn't made it into their calls or emails.
Eventually, Leo arrived, a portfolio of documents from E.R. Group in hand.
Ethan brought him upstairs to the third-floor study.
After scanning and signing the papers, he passed them back.
"Have you found Adrian?"
Leo nodded. "Yes, sir." He flew to Southbay last night. Checked into the Regal Heights Hotel."
Ethan didn't react. He simply gave a few brief instructions, then dismissed him.
Once alone, Ethan sat in still silence, one hand tapping slowly on the polished desk. His phone sat darkly beside him.
He stared at it for a moment, then picked it up. A few swipes brought him to Adrian's backup number.
He called.
It rang.
And rang.
Just before it disconnected, the line clicked.
"…Hey, bro."
Ethan's gaze lifted. He leaned back, his wrist resting against the edge of the desk.
His tone was even. Unemotional.
"Why didn't you answer Mom and Dad?"
The wind hissed in the background.
"My phone died yesterday," Adrian said after a pause. "Didn't see their messages."
"You're in Southbay?"
"Yeah. Got here last night."
"Are you coming home for the Mid-Autumn Festival?"
Adrian hesitated. "Got stuff to take care of. Probably not."
Ethan didn't push. He simply asked, with the same quiet clarity:
"Elena's home. You knew that?"
Adrian's voice turned indifferent. "It was her childhood home. Nothing strange about her being there."
Ethan cut straight into it. No pretense. No diplomacy.
"You've told me multiple times you don't want the engagement. I'm asking you one last time, Adrian. Do you want this… or not?"
There was a long pause.
Only the wind responded.
In the Regal Heights Hotel, Adrian stood on the balcony, his grip on the phone tightening. Below, the city buzzed with life. Behind him, silence loomed like judgment.
His mind flickered with images—Elena's face when he ignored her. Her calm voice as she chose to step back.
Her quiet disappointment.
She'd never fought. Never demanded anything.
And slowly, she walked away.
His free hand curled into a fist.
And finally, from deep within that hollow indifference, he gave his answer.
"…I don't want it."