Emily didn't sleep that night. The rain kept tapping her window like it had something to say. Every drop reminded her of Ethan—his quiet voice, his eyes that held too much.
She turned on her side, pulling the blanket close. Something about him didn't feel right. He was kind, yes. But sometimes, when he thought she wasn't looking, his face went blank. Like he was hiding a part of himself she wasn't meant to see.
When morning came, her head was heavy. The scent of coffee drifted from the kitchen. She followed it, her bare feet brushing the cold floor. Ethan stood there, sleeves rolled, a mug in his hand.
"Morning," she said.
He turned, eyes tired but calm. "You slept?"
She shook her head. "Barely. You?"
He gave a small laugh. "Sleep's overrated."
His voice was low, rough, like he'd been awake all night. He poured her coffee, his hand brushing hers for a second. It wasn't much, but it made her heart skip.
"Thanks," she whispered.
He nodded, his gaze lingering. "Do you ever feel like life's holding back something from you?"
She looked up, surprised. "Yeah... all the time."
He gave a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Then you know how it feels."
They fell quiet. The air between them felt thick, almost warm. She took a slow sip of coffee, watching the rain blur the city beyond the glass.
"Thanks for letting me stay here," she said after a while. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to," he said, voice low.
Her chest tightened a little. "Why?"
He looked at her for a long second before answering. "Because you remind me of something I lost."
She wanted to ask what that meant, but his tone stopped her. The words felt too heavy to touch.
She set her cup down and stood. "I should get to work."
"I'll drive you."
"You don't have to."
He gave a small smile. "I want to."
She sighed but nodded. "Alright."
---
The drive was silent. The city passed in a blur of lights and puddles. She kept stealing glances at him. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed ahead. Something was off.
When they reached her office, Ethan didn't unlock the doors right away. His hands gripped the wheel too tight.
"Emily," he said quietly, "if someone told you not to trust me, would you?"
Her heart stumbled. "What are you talking about?"
He exhaled, a shaky breath. "Never mind. Just… be careful, okay?"
She frowned. "Ethan, what's going on?"
"Nothing," he said too quickly. "Promise me you'll stay alert."
"I promise," she whispered.
He nodded once. "Good. Go."
She stepped out, confused, but the way he looked at her stayed in her head all day.
---
Work dragged on. Her mind wouldn't stop replaying his words. When her phone buzzed near the end of the day, she jumped.
Unknown number.
Do you really know who you're living with?
Her fingers went cold. Another message followed.
Check the news tonight.
Her heart raced. She looked around but saw no one. She grabbed her bag and left early, rain soaking her before she reached the penthouse.
The lights were off when she entered. The place felt wrong. Too quiet.
"Ethan?" she called.
No answer.
She turned on the TV, trying to shake the unease crawling up her neck. The news anchor's voice filled the silence.
"Breaking story: sources confirm the missing heir of the Callahan empire may still be alive."
Emily froze. The screen showed a younger Ethan—same sharp eyes, same mouth. Her breath caught in her throat.
It couldn't be.
She stared in disbelief, her pulse thudding in her ears. That was him. The man she'd been living with. The one who never talked about his past.
The door opened behind her.
Ethan stepped in, rain dripping from his hair. He saw the TV, then her face.
"You saw it," he said quietly.
Her mouth felt dry. "You're the missing heir."
He didn't deny it. His voice came out rough. "Yes. But that's not the whole story."
She took a shaky breath. "Then tell me."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver key. "This belonged to my brother. They killed him for it."
Her eyes widened. "Killed him? Who?"
"The same people who think I'm dead," he said. "The same people who will come for me."
Before she could speak, the window behind him shattered. A bullet hit the wall. Emily screamed, falling to the floor.
Ethan dropped beside her, pulling her close. "Stay down!"
Her heart pounded. "Who are they?"
"The people who sent you that message," he said. "They know everything."
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Ethan's jaw clenched. He reached for a drawer and pulled out a gun.
"Ethan," she whispered, trembling. "What are you doing?"
He didn't answer. His eyes were dark, steady. "Whatever happens, don't believe what they tell you about me."
The doorknob turned.
Her phone buzzed again on the floor beside her. She glanced at it—and froze.
A new message. From Ethan's number.
Don't trust the man beside you.
Her heart skipped. She looked up at him, shaking. "Ethan… I just got a text from you."
He frowned. "What?"
"It says not to trust you."
He stiffened. His hand trembled slightly, just for a second.
"That's not from me," he said.
"Then who sent it?"
He didn't answer. His eyes flicked toward the window, then back to her.
"Emily," he whispered, "you're about to find out."