It’s Already Past Five

His shoulders rolled with irritation before he slowly turned, his towering figure now looming over her. The look on his face was hard. Distant. A slow drag of disbelief rested in the way he studied her.

“What are you trying to do?” he asked, his voice like gravel and cold wind. He arched a brow, clearly unimpressed.

“I’m trying to get your attention,” Megan said breathlessly, her chest rising and falling beneath her robe, her eyes wide with frustration.

Carlos hissed and shook his head. “Get lost,” he muttered and brushed her off with one hand as if swatting away a fly, continuing down the hallway with long, unbothered strides.

“No, you don’t get to do that!” she shouted after him.

This time, Megan rushed ahead of him, her bare feet slapping louder now, and stood right in front of him. She stretched out her arms wide, blocking his path like a defiant gatekeeper.

Carlos stopped just inches from her. The tension between them coiled tight. His jaw clenched. He looked her dead in the eyes, his voice rough and clipped.

“I don’t have time for all this nonsense, woman,” he growled. “What the hell is your problem? Where are these insecurities coming from all of a sudden?”

Megan’s arms trembled as she kept them raised, but her eyes didn’t waver.

“Because I want to have you all to myself,” she said, her voice low— almost a whisper— but so full of emotion it cracked as it left her throat.

Carlos narrowed his eyes. The corners of his mouth curled into a bitter smirk. “All to yourself?” he repeated, laughing lightly, shaking his head in disbelief. “What is this— some kind of joke? Since when did you get so... emotional? This isn’t the Megan I know.”

“I’m emotional because I love you,” Megan whispered, stepping closer. “And I want you to love me back... completely. No sharing. Is that too much to ask for?”

Carlos stared at her for a long moment.

Then he burst into laughter— loud and derisive, echoing off the high ceilings like thunder in an empty chapel. He held his stomach, wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, then tilted his head at her.

“Please,” he scoffed. “You almost sound as if you're Cynthia. This must definitely be the pregnancy hormones talking.” His tone was mocking.

He took a step forward.

Megan instinctively gasped and stiffened as he closed the distance between them. He stood chest to chest with her now, towering, dominant, unshaken. His breath hit her cheek as he leaned in.

He pressed a soft kiss against her forehead.

“Enough of this rubbish,” he said coldly. “You know damn well no single girl can have me all to herself. Never could. Never will.”

Megan’s lips parted. Her eyes shimmered with emotion she was trying hard to hide. Her hands had fallen to her sides, limp and lost.

“The way you're behaving right now... it disgusts me.” Carlos' voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble. “If it weren’t for the fact that you're carrying my child, I would've had you removed from this wing and sent to the guest quarters. And don't think I won't still do it if you keep up with rubbish.”

She flinched. Not at his words— but at how calm he sounded when he said them. Like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.

Then his eyes slid to her hair.

Without asking, he reached up and touched the fresh braids. His fingers ghosted over them, lingering at her temple.

“I like what you did with your hair,” he muttered. “Very... elegant.”

And with that, he brushed past her like a breeze that didn’t care who it chilled. His footsteps echoed away, deeper into the estate.

Megan stood there. Frozen.

The silence around her now was suffocating. Her chest heaved, though no tears came. Her fingers trembled slightly, curling into fists at her sides. Her lips, still wet from his kiss, quivered— but she said nothing.

She turned slowly, watching the direction he’d gone, her face pale, eyes dark with emotion. A strange cocktail of heartbreak, shame, and something darker began to rise in her chest.

But she didn't chase after him again.

She just stood there.

And in the vast emptiness of the hallway, the weight of silence screamed louder than any word ever could.

\--------------------

'Ethan’s POV— A Few Hours Earlier'

The sun was already beginning to dip behind the Manhattan skyline, casting streaks of gold across Ethan’s white Mercedes GLE 450 as he sped down the bustling avenue. His fingers tapped impatiently on the leather steering wheel, the sharp rhythm echoing through the luxurious interior.

“Come on, move already,” Ethan muttered under his breath, glaring at the standstill traffic ahead. His silver watch glinted as he checked the time. “Fuck... 5:11 PM? Seriously?” he groaned. “It’s already past five.”