Ethan paced the length of the room like a man who had lost something. Not an object, but a feeling—a certainty that had silently slipped through his grasp.
Lena lay curled up on the far side of the bed, blanket twisted around her legs. Her sleep had been anything but restful. She tossed and turned through the night, murmuring, sighing, reaching out once into the empty space beside her. He had watched her, the guilt growing heavier with every toss, every breath that wasn't peaceful.
Her words from the night before echoed in his head like a warning bell. You're allowed to know everything about me, but I'm not allowed to ask about you.
They hadn't even defined what this thing between them was. But still, her words had felt like a breakup. Like a subtle declaration that maybe she was slipping away.
He didn't want to wake her—she looked like she needed the rest—but his pacing was restless, involuntary. It was as though his feet were moving in rhythm with the turmoil inside his chest.
Eventually, her eyes fluttered open, groggy but aware. She blinked against the morning light, gaze slowly adjusting to the sight of him pacing back and forth across the room.
She didn't speak at first, only watched him.
"Good morning, E," she said softly, voice husky from sleep.
Ethan stopped mid-step, turning slowly toward her. His face was unreadable, but his eyes told a story.
"Good morning," he said, his voice lower than usual.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, though they both knew the answer.
"Not really," she said, sitting up and pushing the blanket to the side. "I kept turning… thinking."
There was a long pause.
"I'm sorry," she added. "If I sounded off last night. I wasn't trying to push you."
He stayed still, listening.
"I know we're taking this slow," she continued. "You have every right to decide when you want to open up. About your past, your family—any of it. I just wanted you to know… I understand."
She stood up, slowly. But before she could take a full step, Ethan moved toward her.
"Maybe you're right," he said, voice steady but weighed. "About everything. About what you thought… and what you didn't say out loud."
His eyes locked on hers, full of storm and silence.
"I owe you an explanation if we're going to explore… whatever this is."
Lena said nothing, waiting.
He exhaled. "The truth is—no one's really wanted to know me. Not this version of me. Not beyond business. Not beyond results."
His voice dropped, thick with vulnerability. "Christian stuck around somehow. He doesn't ask for much. Then you came, Lena. And for the first time, I thought… maybe I could try to feel something real."
She watched him carefully, her chest rising with quiet emotion.
"I've never had constant people in my life. Never talked about my past. My dad? You're the first person I've mentioned him to in years—outside of my therapist."
A tear slid down Lena's cheek before she realized it.
She stepped forward, gently cupping his face and pressing her lips to his. A soft kiss, full of compassion rather than passion.
When she pulled back, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Maybe… talking to someone safe would help carry the weight. But only when you're ready."
"I thought about that too," Ethan murmured. "Last night, after you fell asleep."
He looked down, then back at her. "You deserve to know. At least a piece of where I came from."
A long breath left him. He started pacing again, slower this time, his voice unraveling truth like thread.
"My dad wasn't a bad man. Just… distant. Focused. Business-first. He was obsessed with making me better than he ever was. The languages? The private tutors? They were all tools to shape me."
He paused.
"Did I enjoy it? In some ways, yeah. I got to travel. Got to learn. But I didn't get to be a kid. He pulled me from school for his business trips. Education became flexible. Emotions weren't discussed—only performance."
Lena listened, heart aching.
"He never forced me to become him," Ethan continued. "But he never really knew me either. After my mom died… he changed."
Lena stepped closer again. "Changed toward you?"
"No," Ethan said. "Towards everything. Everyone. He became relentless. Pushed me harder. Expected more. And when I couldn't keep up with the grief, he drowned it in goals. Within a few weeks of her death, he fell ill. Died not long after."
Lena reached for his hand. He didn't resist.
"I never got the chance to grieve either of them," he whispered. "I buried myself in hustling. In building. I didn't even know I had stopped feeling until it was too late."
She wrapped her arms around him slowly. He didn't flinch. Didn't retreat.
Her hug was warm, grounding, unshakably present.
"That's a lot, Ethan," she whispered. "But if we're going to do this… let's take it slow. Together."
He closed his eyes and leaned into her. The comfort of her body against his was like a balm on a wound he hadn't realized was still bleeding.
He held her tighter, grounding himself in her warmth, her patience.
Somewhere deep inside, for the first time in a long while, Ethan knew—
He wasn't running the wrong race anymore.