Chapter 108 Chapter 108
Chapter 108
The Lamborghini eased into the Castellan Enterprise parking lot with the low growl that always turned heads. Celine felt the shift the second the car stopped people glancing over from the entrance, a few pausing mid-step to watch. She kept her eyes forward, fingers wrapped tight around the strap of her bag.
Ethan didn’t rush. He sat there a moment longer, engine idling, then cut it off. The sudden quiet felt louder than the drive had been.
“You’re not late,” he said, checking his watch.
She nodded. “Thank you… for coming to get me.”
He looked at her then—just a quick glance. “It was nothing.”
But she knew it wasn’t.
He got out first, walked around the car, and opened her door. The small gesture made her stomach flip in a way she wasn’t ready for. She stepped out carefully, smoothing her skirt, suddenly aware of how many people were watching them now.
They walked toward the entrance side by side. No touching. No words. Just the space between them that felt different smaller, warmer, more noticeable than it should have been.
Inside the lobby the usual Monday morning noise hit them phones ringing, heels clicking across marble, voices overlapping in quick hellos. Celine kept her head up, trying to look normal. Ethan moved like nothing had happened, stride steady, expression calm.
As they passed reception, Angela the day-shift coordinator stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes followed them, widening slightly. She leaned toward the junior assistant beside her, voice dropping but not low enough.
“I think something is going on between those two,” Angela whispered.
The other woman turned, brows lifting. “I’ve been thinking the same. I’ve never seen Mr. Castellan walk that close to anyone on staff. Not even HR.”
Angela gave a small laugh. “And HR is old enough to be his aunt.”
The assistant leaned in closer. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Angela’s smile grew. “She finally got through to the cold CEO.”
“Don’t be too sure,” the assistant said, but her tone was playful. “Still… look at him. He looks different when he’s near her. Softer. Like he’s actually paying attention.”
Angela sighed, almost dreamy. “She’s so lucky. Ethan Castellan. Only son. Only child. The heir. One of the most handsome men in Monterey.”
“The most handsome,” the assistant corrected with a grin. “She really won the lottery. I can’t wait to find my own prince charming. Maybe one of these billionaire heirs too.”
Angela laughed quietly. “Same. I’m so tired of broke men.”
Their voices faded as the elevator doors slid shut.
Inside, the small space felt even smaller. Celine stood near the back wall, Ethan closer to the panel. Neither spoke. She could feel him beside her the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the faint warmth of his presence. Her heart beat too fast for a Monday-morning elevator ride.
When the doors opened on the fourth floor, Ethan stepped out first. His posture shifted almost immediately shoulders squared again, face settling back into the calm, professional mask everyone recognized.
“Have a good day,” he said, voice formal once more.
“You too, Mr. Castellan,” she answered softly.
He paused for half a second, like he wanted to say something else. Then he just nodded and walked toward the office.
Celine stood there a moment longer, watching him go.
The office felt sharper today. Not louder. Not busier. Just… clearer. Every sound stood out. Every movement carried load.
She settled at her desk, opened her laptop, and tried to dive into the morning reports. Numbers stared back at her, refusing to hold focus. She told herself nothing had changed. She told herself she was reading too much into a car ride and a quiet elevator.
But every time she glanced toward his office, he was already working head down, phone to his ear, fingers moving fast across the keyboard. Too focused. Too controlled.
She caught herself looking more than once. Each time, he didn’t look back.
Once, their eyes met by accident. Just a second across the open floor. His gaze flicked away immediately, back to his screen.
That small movement stung more than she wanted to admit.
She didn’t understand why it hurt. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He wasn’t required to smile at her. To talk. To act like the drive this morning had meant anything more than a favor from a boss to an employee.
Still. It did hurt.
She remembered the way he’d pulled over without hesitation. The way he’d stepped out of the car like nothing else mattered in that moment. The way he’d opened her door, walked her inside, stayed close enough that she could smell the faint cedar of his cologne.
Now he felt a mile away.
She stood up to grab a file from the cabinet near his office door. As she passed his desk she slowed just a little hoping, without letting herself fully admit it, that he’d say something. Anything.
He didn’t.
He didn’t even lift his head.
Her stomach twisted. She hated how much that small silence stung.
She returned to her desk, sat down, and stared at her screen again. Words refused to stay in place. She reread the same paragraph three times.
Why does this feel like rejection? she asked herself. He hasn’t rejected me. He hasn’t done anything.
But the distance felt deliberate. Like he’d decided something between the parking lot and the fourth floor. Like he’d put the wall back up on purpose.
Across the open space, Ethan sat stiff in his chair, jaw tight.
He could feel her every time she moved. Every time she glanced his way. Every time she walked past his desk. It took everything in him not to look up. Not to ask if she was okay after the morning. Not to say something anything to close the gap he’d just put between them.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
One look at her and he knew he’d forget the rules. Forget Amelia. Forget why distance was safer right now. Forget that letting himself care too much could put her in the middle of something ugly.
So he kept his eyes on his screen. Kept his voice even when he took calls. Kept his movements precise.
It hurt more than he’d expected.
He typed an email. Deleted it. Typed again.
Focus.
He reminded himself of the meeting he’d had that morning. The new protocols. The logs. The walls he was building to keep Amelia out.
This distance is necessary, he told himself.
For her.
For both of them.
Celine stood up again later another file, another excuse to move closer. She passed his desk slowly.
He still didn’t look up.
She returned to her chair, sat down, and pressed her lips together.
Time crawled.
By noon Ethan stood, gathered a few folders, and headed to a meeting down the hall. He didn’t glance back.
Celine watched him go, confusion twisting inside her chest.
She didn’t know what she’d done wrong.
She didn’t know why his sil
ence felt heavier than any words he could have said.
And Ethan, walking away, clenched his fingers around the folders until the edges bit into his palm.
He was doing this on purpose.
And it was tearing him apart.