The door opened slowly, deliberately, like Vivian had been expecting him for hours.
She stood in a pale gold silk robe, hair cascading down one shoulder, her bare leg peeking through the slit as she leaned against the doorframe. Her smile was practiced and slow, the kind that always worked.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she purred.
Ethan said nothing. His jaw was tight, face unreadable. But he stepped in, and that was enough for her.
Vivian closed the door behind them and walked to the minibar with deliberate grace. "Whiskey?"
He nodded once, loosening his collar.
She poured two fingers into a crystal glass and handed it to him, brushing his hand with hers. "Rough day?" she asked, voice smooth like honey.
"I just needed to get away from everything," he said.
"Or everyone?" Her brow lifted. "You've been off lately. Different."
He sipped, eyes scanning the opulent suite, trying not to focus on the way the light shimmered off her skin.
Vivian took the glass from him, set it on the table, then walked back, this time closing the distance fully. She slid her hands up his chest, unfastening the top buttons of his shirt, eyes fixed on his.
"Maybe I can help you forget," she whispered.
Her lips grazed the base of his throat, lingering. Her fingers slipped under the fabric, tracing his collarbones, chest, stomach. Her body pressed into his—warm, inviting, familiar.
Ethan exhaled shakily, letting her robe fall open.
Her bare skin glowed in the lamplight. She guided his hands to her waist, and for a moment, he gripped her like he meant it.
But something wasn't right.
She kissed him—soft, slow, lingering—but his eyes fluttered open when hers were shut. Her lips didn't taste like what he wanted. Her scent was off. Her breathing too loud.
And all he could see was Lena.
Lena in her oversized T-shirt, crouched in front of a plant in his colorless garden. Lena biting her lip while concentrating. Lena—flushed, embarrassed, catching her breath when he brushed too close. Her laugh, her stupid, awkward laugh.
Vivian kissed harder, trying to pull him back.
He kissed back, briefly, desperately—but it tasted like guilt.
He pulled away.
"Vivian," he murmured.
She looked at him, puzzled.
"I can't."
Vivian stepped back slowly, her breath uneven now. "Let me guess... the girl?"
He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze.
Vivian laughed—quiet, almost sad. "She's already under your skin, isn't she?"
He didn't answer.
She tied her robe without urgency. "You came here trying to bury her in me. You can't bury obsession, Ethan."
---
It was past 1 a.m. when he slipped through the door of the house. The hallway was quiet except for the hum of the fridge.
He dropped his keys in the bowl by the door and turned to head upstairs—until he saw her.
Lena stood at the kitchen counter, barefoot, in his hoodie that fell past her thighs. Her back was to him, her hair damp, probably from a late shower. She was humming softly, distracted.
Something in him stilled.
She turned slightly—and jumped. "Ethan. You scared me."
"You're up late," he said.
She shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. Just… making tea."
Her voice trembled slightly. She was flushed again, cheeks warm. Her eyes darted away from his.
"Why are you burning up again?" he asked, stepping forward before she could move.
She laughed nervously. "I'm not. The hoodie's just warm."
"You're red."
"It's late, Ethan."
He reached out, brushing her forehead. She froze under the touch, her breath hitching.
Their eyes locked.
Neither said a word.
He pulled his hand away slowly, clearing his throat. "Sorry. I just…"
Lena turned, hiding her face in the fridge. "Want some tea?"
He stayed where he was. "No. I'm good."
She poured herself a glass of water instead, her hands trembling slightly. "Long night?"
He hesitated. "I went out."
She nodded, pretending not to care. "With someone?"
Silence.
"I needed the distraction," he said.
Her eyes flickered toward him but she didn't speak. He watched her lips tighten around the rim of the glass.
"Did it work?" she asked quietly.
"No," he said, just as quietly.
Their eyes met again.
The air shifted.
Her lips parted as if to speak—but nothing came. He stepped closer, until she could feel the warmth of his body without touching.
"I think I should…" he began.
"Yeah. You probably should."
"I left some work in the office," he added.
Lena smiled faintly, not looking at him. "Of course."
He turned to leave, paused, and looked over his shoulder.
She hadn't moved. She was still standing there, shoulders stiff, glass half-full.
The office door closed behind him with a soft click.
And Lena… stood in the kitchen, heart racing, wondering why he couldn't go through with it.