Ethan's POV
She walked toward the window, her presence still unfamiliar in my space, even after everything. Her voice broke through the silence—calm, but laced with something sharp beneath it.
"Your dad is a total jerk," she muttered, staring out into the night like she could escape everything through that single window. "Controlling way too much, right?"
I said nothing, watching as her shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath.
"Why do they control grown-up kids like they're still students?" she continued, her voice softer this time, frustration bleeding through each word. "They don't need to fly with us. They just need to teach us how to fly. Just give support… not chains."
Her words cut deeper than I expected.
Support. Freedom.
Two things I'd never had—not from my father.
Richard Hart didn't teach you to fly; he clipped your wings and called it protection.
I clenched my jaw, not trusting myself to speak, not trusting what would come out if I did.
She didn't expect a response—maybe she didn't care whether I agreed or not.
She mumbled something under her breath and disappeared into the bathroom to freshen up. I stayed by the window, arms crossed, trying to shove down the strange knot twisting in my chest.
Minutes later, she stepped out—fresh, clean, wearing a simple but full dress that made her look... different. Softer. Brighter.
I cleared my throat, forcing my gaze away.
"We need to get ready for the photoshoot at eleven," I said, my voice sounding colder than I intended. "Be ready."
I stepped out, rolling my sleeves up lazily, just as a knock echoed through the door. Ember looked up, startled.
Without a word, I walked over and opened it.
Two women entered — one carrying a garment bag and the other dragging a small suitcase filled with makeup supplies.
"Good morning," one of them chirped politely. "We're here to get Mrs. Hart ready."
I stepped aside without saying a word, letting them in. Ember stood up awkwardly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress.
I walked over to the couch and sat down, pulling out my phone to scroll through emails, pretending to be uninterested.
One of the women opened the garment bag and revealed a stunning cream-colored gown with delicate gold embroidery. Ember's eyes widened slightly.
"Please change into this," the woman said kindly.
Ember nodded, her cheeks flushed, and hurried into the bathroom to change.
Meanwhile, the makeup artist began setting up at the small vanity by the window, laying out brushes, foundations, and palettes.
The smell of cosmetics filled the room — sharp and sweet.
A few minutes later, Ember stepped out again, wearing the gown.
Even without makeup, she looked... breathtaking.
I kept my head down, focusing on my screen, pretending I didn't notice anything.
The makeup artist gently guided her to sit. "Don't worry, sweetheart, you're naturally beautiful. We'll just enhance it a little," she said warmly.
I heard the light chatter between them as they worked — curling her hair into soft waves, brushing light colors onto her cheeks, making her lips a natural soft pink.
Ember's POV
After what felt like hours under the makeup artist's brushes and sprays, they finally declared me ready.
I stood up, smoothing the gown awkwardly against my legs.
The heels they handed me felt like tiny torture devices, but I somehow managed to stay upright.
Ethan finally stood too, slipping his phone into his pocket with a sigh like this whole thing was such a burden.
Without a word, he grabbed a jacket from the chair and walked past me toward the door.
"Let's go," he said casually, not even glancing back to see if I was following.
I tightened my grip on the dress, lifting the hem slightly so I wouldn't trip, and hurried after him.
The hallway outside was empty, our footsteps echoing against the polished marble floors.
The tension between us was so thick I felt like I was suffocating.
Neither of us spoke as we made our way toward the private elevator.
He pressed the button with unnecessary force, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the closed doors like they had personally offended him.
I fidgeted with the edge of my sleeve, wishing I could disappear into the walls.
When the elevator finally arrived, we stepped inside, the silence swallowing us whole.
I could feel his presence beside me, tall and imposing, but distant—like I was just some obligation he couldn't wait to get rid of.
The elevator dinged softly when we reached the lobby where the photoshoot was being held.
As the doors opened, a wave of flashing cameras and murmured greetings hit us.
Assistants, photographers, and managers buzzed around like busy bees, prepping the scene.
Ethan straightened his posture, his face smoothing into the cold, perfect mask he wore for the public.
For a brief second, he leaned slightly toward me and muttered under his breath, "Just smile. Pretend you're happy."
I nodded stiffly, swallowing the lump rising in my throat.