Chapter 52 EMPTY(NESS)
As Ethan's convoy rolled through the massive gates of his estate, an unusual tightness coiled in his stomach. He wasn't sure why he felt nervous; it was unfamiliar, unwelcome. Dismissing the sensation, he stepped out of the car, his expression unreadable, and made his way into the house with purposeful strides.
Without pausing, he climbed the grand staircase and headed straight for Lena's room. Reaching her door, he hesitated. His knuckles hovered in the air for a second before he knocked softly.
No answer.
He knocked again, a bit louder this time, then called out, "I'm coming in."
The door creaked open. He stepped inside.
Lena was fast asleep, curled slightly on her side. Her breathing was soft and steady, her face serene. Ethan's brows softened. The trauma must've truly taken a toll on her. Quietly, he walked over and sat by her bedside.
She looked like something out of a dream, a sleeping princess.
Her hair was swept into a neat pile beside her head, strands curled like silk on the pillow. She wore a simple yet elegant dress, one that told him she hadn't planned to sleep but had been overtaken by exhaustion. Her face held a peaceful innocence, untouched and gentle. He took it all in the soft curve of her cheek, the faint flush on her skin, the floral scent that lingered around her like a whisper of spring.
He didn't know how long he sat there, just watching her. His eyes traced every delicate line, every rise and fall of her chest. For a moment, he forgot the world beyond that room. She looked different somehow like a gentler, quieter version of herself, fragile yet captivating.
He was so immersed in her presence that he didn't notice the slight movement of her eyes.
She was awake.
Their gazes locked, quiet and intense. Neither of them spoke. The room felt suspended in time just the two of them, surrounded by unspoken thoughts.
Lena stirred awake, her senses catching onto something familiar, a scent that clung to her skin and pulled at her memory. It was warm, masculine, and grounding. Her brain had already linked it to safety, to that night... the night she was rescued.
Still half-asleep, she opened her eyes, expecting the scent to be a trick of her mind.
But it wasn't.
Ethan was there sitting quietly by her bedside.
For a moment, she didn't move. It felt surreal, like her mind was still suspended in a dream. Her thoughts instantly flew back to the night he had come for her, that same face filled with worry, that same presence that had made her feel safe in the chaos.
Emotion surged in her chest before logic could catch up. Without thinking, her body moved on instinct. She sat up and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face into the crook of it. Her body remembered how it felt to be held by him, to be protected.
Ethan didn't hesitate. Just like he had that night, he pulled her closer, his arms firm around her. She exhaled against him, releasing the last remnants of fear and tension she hadn't even realized she was still holding.
"I see you haven't fully recovered," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, brushing softly against her ear. His breath was warm against her neck.
The words tugged her back to reality.
Her eyes blinked open. She quickly pulled away, realization flooding her cheeks with heat.
He chuckled under his breath, rising to his feet. The way he looked at her held an amused glint, but there was warmth beneath it something far less cold than the Ethan she'd once known.
"You have a lot of explaining to do," he said, attempting to slip back into his old, detached tone. But it didn't quite land.
His voice was softer now.
Lena felt her cheeks flush. She wasn't used to feeling this way around Ethan. Before now, she never really looked at him as a man at least, not like this. But after being in his arms, something had shifted. She felt suddenly aware of every breath, every glance, every inch of closeness.
Speechless, she looked away, unsure of what to say.
Ethan stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he gently took her arm in his hand. His brows furrowed when he saw the lingering bruises, the red, irritated skin.
"I'll have a doctor come check this," he said, his voice serious, firm.
She looked up at him at the sharp lines of his face, the way his expression softened just slightly when he was focused on her. Why did he suddenly look so devastatingly handsome? Why did her heart flutter at the simplest words from his mouth?
It made no sense.
Pulling her hand back, she looked away, trying to compose herself. "It's fine," she mumbled. "It's just a little swelling. It'll go down on its own."
He noticed the shift in her tone, the slight avoidance in her eyes. A faint smirk touched his lips.
"I see," he said. "The old Lena is back."
Then, his expression hardened again not with anger, but discipline. "Well, I'll leave you to rest and fully recover. After that, you'll be getting a long scolding."
Lena didn't argue. She knew she deserved it.
He lingered for a moment, scanning her face his gaze unreadable, almost reluctant. Then, with a sharp breath, he turned away, the movement stiff and robotic, like his body was forcing itself to leave even when his mind wasn't fully ready.
He was nearly at the door when her voice stopped him.
"Uhmm... Ethan?" she said softly, the words catching in her throat. "Thank you."
Her voice carried more emotion than she intended, warm, vulnerable and grateful.
He paused with his hand on the doorframe but didn't turn around. "Try not to get into more trouble," he said coolly. "I hate when people drag me into unnecessary situations."
And with that, he walked out.
As the door closed behind him, Ethan paused just outside, his hand still resting on the knob.
He exhaled slowly, but it didn't help. That hug it had caught him completely off guard. Not just the act itself, but the way she held him... like he was the only solid thing in her world. Like she trusted him.
It shouldn't have mattered. He'd held women before. He'd seen tears, gratitude, desperation. But none of them had shaken him like this.
Her arms had wrapped around his neck so tightly so naturally he felt it in his chest.
The warmth of her body, the way she had clung to him without hesitation... It was supposed to be a simple moment of comfort, something fleeting.
But it wasn't.
It lingered.
Ethan stared at the wall in front of him, his jaw clenched. He hated the way it made him feel unguarded, exposed, human.
You're being ridiculous, he told himself. She was scared. Traumatized. That's all.
And yet, his body hadn't moved. He was still standing there like a fool, heart beating faster than it should.
He ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to take a step forward. Then another.
He had tried to sound like his usual self cold, detached, in control. But the truth was, when she looked at him with those grateful, half-sleepy eyes, something inside him shifted.
Not permanently. Not dangerously.
Just enough to remind him she wasn't like the others. And that, in itself, was a problem.
Because Ethan Sinclair didn't do emotional attachments.
He didn't like to be needed especially not by someone who could look at him like that.