*Ethan's POV – Switzerland*
I had been in the middle of reading a case study on ethical collapse in multinational corporations when I stopped cold—halfway through a paragraph I'd already re-read three times.
I set the journal down and rubbed the back of my neck. The leather chair creaked beneath me. The fire in the marble hearth across the room crackled lazily, as if mocking how restless I'd become.
I couldn't focus. Not tonight.
I hadn't been able to focus for days, if I was being honest with myself.
It was Zoey.
Again.
I sighed and leaned forward, elbows on my knees, hands loosely clasped. My phone lay face-down on the desk beside me, the screen black. I'd checked it at least fifteen times today—no new message from her since the one she'd sent confirming where she spent the night.
*I'm good. I spent the night at one of my coursemate's place. She invited me over.*
Seven hours. No follow-up. No questions. No reaction to my silence.
And still, I kept thinking about her.
It made no sense.
This entire situation was built on necessity. Leverage. Strategy. Marriage not as a choice, but a solution. She had every right to hate me—to resent my silence, my absence, the cold way I agreed to the terms she laid out.
*One illusion for another,* I'd told her.
But somewhere along the way, the lines blurred.
Her name had started to live in my chest. Not loudly—but persistently. Like a knock that wouldn't stop.
I hated that I'd let it get this far.
But I also hated that I didn't want it to stop.
I got up and walked to the window of the private suite the university had arranged for me here in Zurich—floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking Lake Geneva. The water glistened like oil under the moonlight. Beyond the lake, the mountains stood silent, judging.
I remembered her first email—sharp, smart, emotionally restrained. She didn't beg or romanticize. She negotiated.
She had asked for the one thing that mattered most to her: her parents' house.
She didn't ask about *me*—didn't care. Just wanted her home. Her autonomy. Her boundaries.
And I respected her for that.
But now?
Now I was the one crossing lines. Invisible ones. Dangerous ones.
It started with subtle things. Wondering how her classes were going. Thinking about whether she'd made friends. Worrying that the transition to Sterling University had been too abrupt. Then came the other thoughts—the *less* appropriate ones.
Like how she looked when she wasn't trying.
How her voice lingered after conversations ended.
How she didn't shrink around my mother or the board members, no matter how cold they were.
There was a grace to her silence. A quiet strength.
And maybe that's what scared me.
Because I knew what our world did to girls like her.
It chewed them up. Repackaged them. Sold them as polished pearls on broken strings.
And here she was, surviving it with dignity I didn't think was possible.
I turned away from the glass and grabbed my phone again, opening her last message and re-reading it.
*I'm good. I spent the night at one of my coursemate's place.*
I knew I had no right to feel anything. No right to feel the sharp burn of jealousy, or guilt, or… whatever this was.
But I did.
I worried.
Not because I didn't trust *her*—I trusted her more than I trusted myself.
But I knew people.
I knew how quickly secrets spread. How fast reputations are shredded when a Marrow is involved. All it would take is one photo. One rumor. One whisper in the wrong ear.
She'd told me not to acknowledge her in public. Not to give her special treatment. To keep the illusion clean.
But behind the illusion, I was losing my grip.
*You can't do this,* I told myself. *You don't get to want her.*
But I did.
God help me, I did.
I wanted to protect her, even from the game I helped build.
I wanted to know what made her laugh—not the polite smile she wore in public, but the real laugh. The loud, ugly one. The one she probably only shared with people like Edwina or Ariana—whoever they were.
I wanted to know what she dreamed about before this arrangement ruined her freedom.
I wanted to tell her she wasn't invisible to me, not even for a second.
But I'd promised her space. Promised not to intrude. Not to care.
And now I was paying the price for that lie.
Because even from across the world, she haunted me.
A stranger in name. A wife in contract.
And somehow, the only person I felt *anything* for in a world full of hollow conversations.
I dropped my phone onto the desk again, stepped back toward the window, and stared at the lake.
Somewhere out there, Zoey Carpenter was living a life I had dragged her into.
And I couldn't help but wonder...
Would she ever be able to forgive me for it?
And worse—would I ever forgive myself if she didn't?
---
To be continued.