The dinner date was everything Lena had hoped for—and more.
Under dim golden lights, across a candle-lit table draped in velvet, Ethan watched her with the kind of gaze that burned through the walls she never realized she'd built. They laughed over clumsy childhood stories—Lena recounted the time she mistook glue for lip balm and had to be rushed to the ER. Ethan nearly choked on his wine laughing, his eyes crinkled at the corners in a way she wanted to memorize.
When she teased him about his once-shoulder-length high school hair and his crush on a chemistry teacher, he rolled his eyes but laughed with her. It was effortless, the kind of evening that stitched itself into her soul.
The night ended on an emotional note. They talked about the pain of losing their parents. Lena shared how the silence in her house after her brother's illness and special needs felt like it could swallow her whole. Ethan, quiet for a while, confessed, "It's not just the absence. It's the fact you keep looking for them in every shadow. And they never come."
She kissed his cheek gently, their fingers intertwined as they sat side by side in the car, parked for longer than necessary outside their home. That night, they didn't just make love—they held each other like it was the only way to keep from falling apart.
For days that followed, the house was their private world.
Ethan relieved the maids of their duties temporarily—he claimed he wanted "peace and privacy," but Lena knew it was just an excuse to have her all to himself. They danced in the kitchen barefoot, he kissed her at every opportunity, and when he caught her singing off-key in the shower, he stood there smirking before joining her mid-song. Badly. On purpose.
Every room, every corner of the mansion seemed to carry their laughter. Ethan even joined her dance class—where he flailed like a lost flamingo—and she joined him on the golf course, where she deliberately missed every swing just to hear him groan in mock horror.
For two weeks, the texter was silent.
It worried her. She had grown used to the tension buzzing at the back of her mind. Its absence was suspicious. Was he... watching?
Then, it came. The phone lit up with that now-familiar bold message, always in capital letters.
HOW ABOUT I OFFER YOU A DEAL?
Lena stared at it, her fingers frozen mid-type.
HE'S PAYING YOU TEN MILLION DOLLARS FOR THE INCONVENIENCE AND THE CONTRACT. HOW ABOUT I GIVE YOU TWENTY? A BUYOUT. AND A BETTER LIFE.
Her chest tightened. So it was true. There was a deal. Ethan really did put a price tag on their so-called marriage. She had told herself a million times that maybe it had started that way, but it was different now. He loved her... didn't he?
She replied, hands trembling:
What does this get you? Why are you doing this?
The answer came swiftly.
LET'S SAY I'M JUST HANDING HIM HIS KARMA. HIS END IS COMING FASTER THAN YOU THINK.
Lena gripped the edge of the sink, feeling the room sway.
Let's meet. Face to face, both of us. she typed.
WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT. BUT FOR NOW... ASK HIM ABOUT HIS MOTHER.
Her breath caught.
Ethan had never spoken about his mom. Not once. Not even during their most vulnerable late-night talks. There was a photo in his office, yes, but he always skimmed past it, never lingering. Was she alive? Dead? Did they part on bad terms?
Something inside Lena churned—an uneasy coil twisting at her ribs.
That night, she waited until they were both lying in bed. They'd just finished a lazy pillow fight, his shirt halfway off and hers entirely missing. His skin was warm, his arms wrapped around her waist as they lay tangled in sheets and laughter. It felt like the right time.
"Babe…" she said, her tone soft, casual. "You've never told me anything about your mom."
She felt it instantly—how he stilled.
The playful look on his face disappeared. The arm that held her loosened, then fell away altogether. Slowly, Ethan sat up, turned his back to her. His silence wasn't just avoidance. It was heavy. Electric.
"I told you," he finally said, voice low, "I'd talk about her when I'm ready."
"I know," Lena said gently, propping herself up. "But I'm not asking for details. Just… what was she like? Your best memory? Something happy?"
He didn't answer. He stood, reached for the robe on the edge of the bed, and wrapped it around himself in sharp movements. His jaw was clenched. His eyes were distant.
"And I said…" he turned to her, his voice clipped, "Let it be."
It wasn't just a shutdown. It was a warning.
Lena swallowed hard, heart sinking.
She didn't push further. Not then. But she watched him walk away, felt the growing space between them like a crack forming under her feet.
That night, for the first time since they started dating, they didn't sleep wrapped in each other's arms. Ethan slept on the far end of the bed, facing the wall.
And Lena?
She stayed up, wide awake, replaying the texter's words over and over again in her mind.
> BEFORE THEN… ASK HIM ABOUT HIS MOM.
Was this the beginning of a truth too dangerous to ignore?
Or the beginning of the end?