Chapter 26 Untamed
Lena was more grateful than she could ever express. Not only had he saved her that evening, but he had also retrieved her paintings and stored them beautifully. It was as if he instinctively understood how much they meant to her.
"This was an old storage house," Ethan said, his voice calm. "I thought the paintings would look excellent here, so I had the place quickly refurbished."
"Thank you, Ethan," Lena said, turning to face him. "I can't express how grateful I am."
Her voice came from the heart, and he felt it.
He looked at her for a moment too long. He didn't like this version of Lena. He didn't like how expressive her eyes were, how her emotions tugged at something deep in him. Without another word, he stepped forward to examine the paintings, his way of pushing his feelings aside.
"It was a hassle," he said nonchalantly, eyes fixed on the canvas. "But thank God you're fine. If anything had happened to you... that would've been really stressful for me."
Lena smiled softly, choosing to ignore his usual guarded attitude. "Still... thank you."
"I wish there was a way to repay you," Lena said quietly.
This wasn't a small favor, not to her. It was huge. Significant. He had done something most people wouldn't even consider. She felt genuinely indebted to him, and the weight of it sat heavily in her chest.
Ethan chuckled, the sound low and proud. "There's very little you can do for me," he said with a trace of arrogance in his voice.
But then, his tone softened slightly. "But don't worry you owe me one."
And truthfully, he wasn't wrong. There was very little Lena could offer a man like Ethan. He had wealth, power, connections and good looks to match. He didn't need anything from her. Still, rather than dismiss the moment entirely, he let the words hang in the air. Perhaps one day, that small debt might come in useful.
Lena didn't like that she owed him anything. She would have preferred to even things out with him right away, to shake off the weight of the debt, but she couldn't think of a single thing she could offer.
"Alright then," she said softly, almost reluctantly. "I owe you one."
With that, she turned and walked over to the paintings, her eyes scanning them once more. As she stood there, she was pulled into memory lane, reliving moments she'd shared with her father.
When she reached the front row, she paused. Her breath caught.
There it was a painting she had never seen before. A portrait of her.
She reached out and gently placed her hands on it, examining the details. One side had clearly been broken and carefully pieced back together.
Was this the painting Vincent spoke about?
As she stared at it, lost in thought, she suddenly felt warmth behind her heat radiating close enough to make her skin tingle. Ethan.
He had moved in, silent, his presence unmistakable. Since she stood directly in front of the painting, he leaned over her shoulder to get a closer look so close that if she moved even slightly, their bodies would touch.
"Wow," he murmured. "Your dad was really good. This painting... it's beautiful."
Lena smiled faintly. "Are you indirectly telling me I'm beautiful?"
Ethan paused. He hadn't meant to say it that way but now that she'd pointed it out, he found himself actually thinking about it.
She was beautiful
She had a slender frame that moved with quiet grace, and her long, dark hair cascaded down her back in waves, soft and untamed, like it had a will of its own. But it was her eyes that struck him the most, those fierce, expressive eyes. They burned with a fire he couldn't quite name, a kind of untamed spirit that made it impossible to look away. There was tenacity in them, a boldness that didn't need to speak loudly to be heard. They held stories, pain, strength everything all at once.
Her nose was gently pointed, elegant in its shape, and her lips God they were full, delicate, and undeniably inviting. The kind of lips that could look soft and innocent one moment, sharp and commanding the next.
Ethan found himself staring, lost in details he never let himself notice before.
He didn't realize how long he'd gone silent.
"I'd be lying if I said you weren't beautiful," Ethan said and his voice caught her off guard.
It was softer than she'd ever heard it. Gentle, almost vulnerable. Lena blinked, surprised. She had expected his usual sarcastic brush-off or some cold, calculated deflection but instead, he'd said it plainly. Honestly.
And Ethan felt like he had nearly choked on the words. He didn't mean to say it out loud. The truth had slipped through a crack in his control, and now it hung in the air between them, heavy and undeniable.
Lena turned slightly, slowly, as if unsure she'd heard him right. He was still standing there close, steady, and watching her.
Her eyes met his and he didn't look away.
His gaze was intense, locked onto her like a man seeing something he hadn't expected to find. She was momentarily overwhelmed not just by his words, but by him. The sheer force of his presence. His height, the sharp lines of his face, the way his eyes darkened when he looked at her... it was too much.
He's too much.
Lena looked away, her cheeks warming.
But he didn't stop staring. She could feel the weight of his gaze even as she avoided it like heat grazing her skin.
Then his voice dropped, sharp again. Controlled. Ethan was back to himself. "Lena... don't forget what this is," he said quietly, his tone tightening. "You have to listen to me if you don't want a breach of our contract."
Ah. There it was. A scolding.
She straightened, blinking away the emotions stirring inside her. Of course, she thought. She prepared her eardrums, bracing herself for the long, cold lecture she knew was coming.
Ethan had launched into one of his long, detailed lectures firm, commanding, every word laced with that usual edge of control. His voice filled the space like he owned it, dissecting every error, every oversight, with clinical precision.
Lena had planned to shoot him a glare, one of her best, the kind that could slice through steel and show him her annoyance and irritation. But when she finally looked up, her scowl never made it to her face.
All she could see was him.
The sharp structure of his jaw. The way his lips moved when he spoke. His dark eyes, intense and focused, unaware of the effect they had on her. Her irritation blurred, and his voice slowly faded into the background, replaced by the sound of her own thoughts.
What if Ethan were really mine?
What if this strange, accidental world I've landed in... was actually my reality?
What if I could lay on his chest freely, without rules, without tension, just warmth and belonging?
The thought startled her. She caught it by the throat and strangled it quickly, forcing it into silence.
She wasn't okay. That much was clear.
This whole situation, the paintings, the kidnapping was really messing with her brain.