Chapter 91 Chapter 91
Chapter 91
Sam woke up late the next morning, sunlight already slanting across the guest room floor. He lay there for a second, blinking at the ceiling, realizing the penthouse was dead quiet. No footsteps. No coffee machine gurgling. No Ethan cursing at his phone like usual.
He sat up, rubbed his face, and swung his legs off the bed. The sheets were tangled from him tossing around half the night jet lag still kicking his ass but the rest of the place felt empty.
He padded down the hallway in his boxers and a T-shirt, glanced into the master bedroom. Bed made. Neat corners. No clothes thrown around. Ethan’s side of the closet doors were closed tight.
Sam snorted. “Okay, who are you and what did you do with my friend?”
He wandered into the kitchen. A single sheet of paper sat on the counter, handwriting quick and sharp.
Gone to work. Coffee’s fresh. See you later.
Sam picked it up, read it twice, then laughed under his breath. “Work. Right.”
He checked his phone. 9:47 a.m. Ethan never left before ten unless someone was dying. Sam poured himself a mug, leaned against the counter, and shook his head. “It’s her. Has to be.”
His phone buzzed. Message from Ethan.
Busy day ahead. Don’t wait up if you’re out.
Sam grinned and typed fast.
Busy with spreadsheets… or busy staring at someone across the desk?
Dots appeared. Stopped. Appeared again.
Then: Don’t start.
Sam laughed out loud, the sound bouncing off the marble. “Too late, man. You’re already gone.”
\---
Ethan was already halfway across town, driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting easy on the gearshift. He caught himself smiling in the rearview mirror and immediately frowned.
“Knock it off,” he muttered.
He’d checked his reflection three times before leaving hair, tie, shirt collar. Three times. He never did that. It pissed him off how much he cared today.
“It’s just work,” he said again, louder, like saying it out loud would make it true.
Still, he took the on-ramp a little faster than necessary, the engine responding smooth and eager.
Castellan Enterprise rose ahead, all glass and steel catching the morning light. He parked in his usual spot, grabbed his briefcase, and walked through the lobby like he owned the place which he did. Quick nods to security, a brief “morning” to the receptionist. Elevator button pressed. Doors slid shut.
Fourth floor.
The doors opened to silence. No open-plan chaos. No phones ringing. No chatter. Just the executive suite his private floor. Him and Celine. That was it.
He stepped out, adjusted his cuff, and walked toward the glass-walled office.
She was already there.
Celine sat at her desk, blouse pale blue, trousers dark, hair pulled back in a low knot. She was bent over a stack of files, pen moving steadily, lips parted just enough that he could tell she was reading under her breath. Focused. Calm. Completely unaware of him standing in the doorway.
Ethan stopped.
He watched her tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear, then frown at something on the page and underline it twice. Small things. Ordinary things. But they hit him square in the chest.
He cleared his throat.
She looked up. “Good morning, sir.”
“Morning,” he said, voice coming out rougher than he meant.
Their eyes locked for half a second—too long—then both dropped their gaze at the same time.
He moved to his desk, sat down, opened his laptop, stared at the screen without seeing a word.
Every sound from her side pulled his attention. The soft click of her mouse. The quiet scratch of her pen. The tiny huff she let out when she hit a snag.
Ethan shifted in his chair. Get a grip.
After twenty minutes he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood, walked to the coffee station in the corner, poured one for himself. Paused. Poured another.
When he turned, she was right there—reaching for a mug of her own.
He almost dropped both cups.
“Sorry,” he said fast.
“No, it’s okay,” she said, stepping back with a small laugh. “I was just—”
He held out the second cup before his brain caught up. “Here.”
She blinked. “You made this for me?”
“Yeah. If you want it. If not, I can—”
She took it, fingers brushing his for half a second. “Thank you.”
He nodded, throat tight. “Sure.”
He walked back to his desk feeling like an idiot teenager.
A few minutes later she appeared beside him with a thick folder. “HR sent this over. They need your sign-off by end of day.”
“Right.” He took it, flipped it open. “We should go through it together. Sit if you want.”
She pulled the chair closer close enough that he could smell her shampoo, something clean and light and sat.
They worked.
He explained clauses, pointed out numbers, asked her opinion more than he needed to. She answered clearly, asked smart questions, never rushed him when he stumbled over a sentence and had to backtrack.
At one point she laughed soft, surprised. “You already said that part, sir.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m following.”
Something in her tone patient, easy—made the knot in his stomach loosen.
Hours slipped by.
The office outside the glass walls slowly emptied. Lights dimmed on other floors. Still they worked.
“You should go,” Ethan said suddenly. “It’s late.”
She shook her head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind staying. I want to finish this.”
He hesitated. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” she said gently. “But I want to.”
They continued working.
Ethan leaned back, rubbed his eyes hard. “I barely slept.”
She looked up, concern flickering across her face. “You should take it easier.”
“I will,” he said. “Soon.”
His voice came out tired.
He closed his eyes just for a second.
Then his head tipped forward.
Weight shifted.
When he didn’t move again, Celine froze.
His head had settled against her thigh.
His head had rested on her lap.
She stopped breathing for a beat.
“Sir?” she whispered.
Nothing.
He was asleep.
He was out deep, even breaths, face slack in a way she’d never seen. No tight jaw. No furrowed brow. Just… rest.
She didn’t dare move.
Carefully, she eased her back straighter so he wouldn’t slide off. Her hand hovered near his shoulder, then settled lightly not quite touching, just close enough to steady him if he shifted.
She looked down at him.
This wasn’t the Ethan Castellan who walked into rooms like he owned the air. This was just a man tired, human, finally letting go.
Her heart hammered steady and loud in
her ears.
She didn’t leave.
She stayed right there, files forgotten on the desk, coffee gone cold, watching him sleep like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And for once, it felt like it was.