Chapter 115 Chapter 115
Chapter 115
By the time Ethan got there, the scene had already drawn attention.
A few cars had slowed down along the roadside, some people standing at a distance, watching like it was just another accident to talk about later. The SUV was pulled slightly to the side, the front dented just enough to show impact but not enough to explain the fear sitting in Ethan’s chest.
He didn’t park properly.
He didn’t even remember turning off the engine.
The moment the car stopped, he stepped out and walked straight toward the SUV, his pace fast, controlled, but urgent in a way that made the security officer straighten immediately.
“Sir—” the man started, moving toward him.
Ethan didn’t stop.
“Sir, it was sudden, the other car came out of—”
Ethan kept walking.
He didn’t want explanations.
Not now.
Not when his eyes had already found the back seat.
The door was half open.
And she was there.
Celine.
Unconscious.
Still.
For a second, everything around him faded into nothing.
His steps slowed, not because he wanted to, but because something inside him needed to understand what he was seeing before moving closer.
Her head rested to one side, her body slumped awkwardly against the seat. There was a faint line of blood at her temple, not heavy, not dramatic, but enough to make something tighten inside him in a way he had never felt before.
“Celine…”
Her name left his lips quietly.
Not a shout.
Not panic.
Just her name, like if he said it carefully enough, she would answer.
She didn’t.
Ethan stepped closer and opened the door fully, leaning into the car. His hand hovered for a brief second before he touched her, careful, almost hesitant, like he was afraid of hurting her more.
“Celine,” he said again, softer this time.
Nothing.
No movement. No response.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay steady.
“She hit her head,” the security officer said quickly behind him. “The driver passed out, but we’ve called—”
“We’re not waiting,” Ethan cut in, his voice calm but firm in a way that left no room for argument.
He slid into the back seat beside her, supporting her head carefully with one hand, adjusting her position so she wasn’t leaning awkwardly. His movements were precise, controlled, but there was something else beneath it—something tight, something urgent he was trying not to show.
“Move,” he said.
The security officer didn’t hesitate this time. He rushed to the driver’s side, pulling the unconscious driver aside just enough to take control. Within seconds, the engine was running again.
The car pulled back onto the road.
Inside the SUV, everything felt too quiet.
Ethan kept one hand behind her head, steady, making sure she didn’t shift with the movement of the car. His other hand rested lightly against her arm, not gripping, just there, like he needed to feel that she was still real, still present.
Her face looked different like this.
Too calm.
Too still.
He found himself watching her closely, searching for anything—any small movement, any sign she would open her eyes and look at him the way she always did.
Nothing came.
And for the first time, something inside him slipped.
Not loud.
Not visible.
But real.
His mind replayed everything he had done in the past few days. The distance. The silence. The way he had chosen control over honesty, thinking it was the safer option.
He had convinced himself it was for her.
That staying away would protect her.
That if he made it look like nothing existed between them, Amelia would lose interest.
But this… this had nothing to do with distance.
Nothing to do with appearances.
She had still been targeted.
She had still been hurt.
His jaw tightened as that realization settled in.
Distance didn’t protect her.
Silence didn’t protect her.
Control didn’t protect anything.
He looked down at her again, his grip adjusting slightly to support her better as the car moved faster.
For a moment, he saw her the way she had been earlier that day—quiet at her desk, answering him politely, calling him sir like there had never been anything more.
He remembered the question she had asked.
Did I do something wrong?
And the answer he gave.
No.
A lie.
A simple one.
A controlled one.
And now it sat in his chest heavier than anything else.
If something happened to her…
The thought didn’t finish.
It didn’t need to.
Ethan exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself, but it didn’t work the way it usually did. Control had always been easy for him. It was something he relied on, something he trusted.
Right now, it felt useless.
His eyes stayed on her.
Not the blood.
Not the stillness.
Just her.
And for the first time, he didn’t try to push the truth away.
He didn’t try to rename it.
He didn’t try to control it.
He accepted it.
He loved her.
The realization didn’t come gently.
It didn’t arrive with soft thoughts or careful understanding. It hit him all at once, sharp and clear, leaving no space to question it.
Ethan stood still, staring at nothing in particular, his mind replaying moments he had tried so hard to ignore.
The way she said “Good morning” every day, even when he barely responded.
The way she focused on her work, quiet and steady, never asking for attention, never trying to impress him.
The way she would pause sometimes, like she wanted to say something more… then stop herself.
He had seen all of it.
He had noticed more than he ever admitted.
And still, he chose to step back.
He told himself it was for her safety.
He told himself distance would protect her.
But now, standing there with that truth staring him in the face, it felt like an excuse. A weak one.
Because love wasn’t supposed to look like avoidance.
It wasn’t supposed to sound like short replies and cold tones.
It wasn’t supposed to make the other person feel small.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.
“When did this even happen…” he muttered to himself.
He tried to trace it back.
But in a way that made everything else feel small in comparison.
The car sped through traffic, the city passing by in a blur neither of them noticed.
Ethan leaned slightly closer, his voice low when he spoke again.
“Stay with me,” he said quietly.
There was no response.
But he didn’t stop holding her.