CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: ETHAN 'S POV

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: ETHAN 'S POV


The dining table gleamed under the chandelier, too polished, too perfect, like everything else in this house that never quite felt like mine. The scent of roasted lamb, saffron rice, and garlic bread filled the room, but I could barely taste any of it over the dread settling in my stomach.

My father sat at the head of the table, hands folded, expression unreadable. My mother, poised and elegant in her silk blouse, kept offering me food I couldn’t stomach. And Diana… Diana was glowing. Her smile was the picture of calm as she passed the salad bowl like she hadn’t been sitting in my living room just hours ago like a queen staking her claim.

She hadn’t mentioned it. Not a word.

But she didn’t need to.

Every glance she threw my way was laced with something I couldn’t read, mockery, threat, curiosity? I couldn’t tell. That was the worst part. Diana didn’t need to scream. She just had to exist in a room to unsettle me.

"So, Ethan," my father said, slicing through a thick cut of lamb, "how was your trip?"

I nodded, forcing a polite smile. "Productive. Restful."

Diana let out the faintest hum of amusement, sipping her wine like she was holding in a secret.

"Anything we should know?" my mother asked, eyes narrowed just enough to feel pointed.

"No," I said quickly, my throat dry. "Just time to think. Clear my head."

"Well, I’m glad you’re back," my father said. "We’ve had some delays with the merger paperwork. Your presence will push it along."

"And the engagement," my mother added with a pleased look toward Diana. "Now that you’re back, we can start planning properly from your own end. A fall wedding, perhaps? Or spring? Diana has such a lovely complexion for both seasons."

I nearly choked on my water. “We haven’t even…”

“I just want to be ready,” my mother said sweetly. “You’re not getting any younger, Ethan. And Diana’s been so patient.”

I glanced at Diana, expecting her to object, to show some sign that she wasn’t as onboard with this as my parents were.

But she just smiled and smiled.

And sipped her wine.

Her silence was louder than anything else at the table.

"Of course," Diana finally said, voice delicate, calm. "Whatever works best for the family. I’m here for Ethan. Always."

Her words were innocent on the surface but her eyes flicked to me like a dagger. I felt the implication. The reminder. She could blow this whole thing apart if she wanted to. But she hadn’t. Yet.

"We’ve already spoken to the dressmaker," my mother continued, oblivious to the undercurrent of dread surging beneath the conversation. "She can fly in next week to start fittings. Diana, darling, do you still prefer off-shoulder silhouettes?"

"They’re classic," Diana said, smiling wider now. "And Ethan loves tradition."

I flinched.

Every fork scrape, every clink of glass felt like thunder in my skull. I could feel my pulse in my throat, my ears, my fingertips. What was she doing? Why wasn’t she saying anything? Was she waiting for something? Holding it over me until I slipped?

Was this her game?

"So," my father said, looking at me squarely. "Can we expect an announcement by the end of the month?"

I opened my mouth, but my voice stalled. I could feel Diana’s eyes on me like pressure, like fire.

"That depends," she said suddenly, cool and composed. "On whether Ethan's heart is in it."

Silence fell over the table.

My mother paused mid-cut. My father looked from her to me. I stared at Diana, stunned, searching her face for the meaning behind her words.

But she just gave me a small, polite smile and reached for the breadbasket.

Like nothing had happened at all.

……….

The house had quieted, but my mind hadn’t. Every step down the hallway toward the guest rooms felt like I was walking into a trap. I could still hear her voice

“That depends. On whether Ethan's heart is in it.”

She was testing me.

And I couldn’t keep pretending not to notice.

I stopped outside the guest room door and knocked once. No response.

I knocked again, harder. "Diana."

"Come in," she said softly, like she’d been expecting me all along.

I stepped in. She was brushing her hair at the vanity, still wearing that delicate smile that felt like a knife against my skin.

"We need to talk," I said flatly, shutting the door behind me.

"About the wedding colors?" she asked without turning around. "I’m leaning toward emerald and gold. Very regal. Very us."

I clenched my jaw. "Stop playing games."

She finally turned to face me, her expression unbothered. "I’m not playing, Ethan. I’m just… adapting."

"You are in my home. Moving around like you own the place. You are up to something aren't you?"

She tilted her head. "What could that be?"

"Don’t do that."

Her smile faded slightly, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of the woman beneath the performance, sharp, calculating, dangerous.

"You want me to say it out loud?" she asked. "That I saw you and Liam? That I saw what you were too much of a coward to admit in front of your family?"

I exhaled shakily. "So why didn’t you say anything at dinner?"

She stood and walked toward me slowly, arms folded. "Because power isn’t in what you reveal, Ethan. It’s in what you hold onto. And right now… I hold everything."

I swallowed hard. "So, what? You’re blackmailing me into marrying you?"

She gave a short laugh. "Blackmail is such an ugly word. Let’s call it… mutual benefit."

"I can’t marry you."

"You will marry me," she said, stepping closer. "Because your father expects it. Because the company expects it. Because if you don't, I could let it slip to him that his only son has been sneaking around with his fiancées boyfriend and cousin."

I stared at her, stunned. "You're willing to ruin your own cousin just to get what you want?"

Her smile was cold. "Liam has always been a bad omen,he doesn't have anything to lose and I don’t feel too bad for him."

I shook my head. "You’re insane."

"No, Ethan," she said, brushing past me toward the door. "I'm just a woman who knows her worth. And I refuse to be discarded."

She opened the door, then turned back to face me.

"Sleep well, fiancé."

Then she left, leaving me in a room that suddenly felt too small, too quiet, and entirely out of my control.

I hesitated for a moment before following behind her. “What do you really want? Name your price,” I shouted trying to catch up.

She halted in her tracks, turned around and smiled. But it wasn’t kind. It was the smile of a woman who had found leverage.

"I’m going to take my time with this," she said. "But make no mistake, Ethan. If you don’t give me what I want, I will make sure everyone knows exactly who you are. Your father, your church, your precious followers. I’ll ruin you."

"What do you want?" I whispered this time. Already exhausted.

Her voice was like ice. "You’ll find out soon enough."