Lena's pov
The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, but the warmth did little to thaw the chill that had settled between Ethan and me. Days had passed since his confession—the moment when he laid his heart bare—and though I hadn't pushed him away, a quiet tension had grown, thick and unspoken.
He was here now, sitting across from me in the dorm room, his eyes flicking nervously to the faint bruises on my wrist and the subtle swelling near my jaw.
"Lena…" His voice was low, hesitant. "What happened?"
I caught the look in his eyes—concern mixed with something tender, fragile. I forced a small smile, pulling my sleeve over the bruises. "Just a little accident. Tripped on the stairs."
He didn't look convinced, but he didn't press further.
There was a pause, heavy with all the things neither of us dared say aloud.
"I've been worried about you," he finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
I swallowed, the weight of Mara's words echoing in my mind: Keep him close. Use the cover.
"I know," I said softly. "But I'm fine."
He reached out, his hand brushing mine, and the awkwardness between us deepened—the unspoken feelings tangled with fear and hope.
---
Later, Mara's advice rang clear in my ears as we sat in the quiet café.
"You're the agency's best asset," she said. "And right now, your best protection is to make the fake relationship as real as possible. Ethan's presence will keep you safer."
I nodded, conflicted. The line between mission and truth was blurring fast, and with Ethan so close—his feelings laid bare and mine tangled in secrets—I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep them apart.
---
The faint bruises on my wrist and jaw burned under Ethan's steady gaze. The silence between us thickened, full of things unsaid and feelings neither of us was ready to voice.
I took a deep breath, my voice barely above a whisper. "Ethan… can I ask you something?"
He looked up, hope and maybe a little nervousness flickering in his eyes. "Of course. What is it?"
I swallowed hard, trying to steady the fluttering in my chest. "I need you to be my fake boyfriend again."
His eyebrows knitted together, confusion clear. "You want to… what? Again?"
I nodded, biting my lip. "Yeah. For… reasons. People will think we're together, and it'll help me—avoid some awkward situations."
He paused, then gave a small, uncertain smile. "After what I said… you still want to do this?"
I met his eyes, feeling the weight of his confession lingering between us. "Yeah. I think I need you."
The tension eased just a bit, but beneath it all was a fragile line—one neither of us dared cross.