The morning after the penthouse clash dawned grey and brooding. The usual sunlight that streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows was swallowed by thick clouds. For once, I slept well—maybe it was the emotional exhaustion or the comfort of knowing Ethan had at least stood up for me, even if it was in the most dramatic way possible.
By the time I dragged myself to the dining room, breakfast was already served, the table impeccably arranged. But it wasn't the food that caught my attention—it was the gathering. Ethan sat at the head, calm and unreadable as always, surrounded by his legal team. Vivian was among them, wearing a perfectly tailored suit that screamed authority. Everyone looked like they were ready for court.
I froze, sensing the serious tone of the room. My gut told me to disappear before anyone noticed me.
"Lena, come on. We've been waiting for you," Ethan called without even looking up.
Reluctantly, I stepped in. My feet felt heavy, like I was walking into a boardroom, not a breakfast nook. The tension in the air was thicker than the fog outside.
"Say that again," one of the women said, flipping through some documents.
"Sir George has filed a report for assault," she repeated. "Last night's altercation. In his statement, he's requesting an official penalty. His legal team will send over the details by this afternoon."
I blinked. "Wait… George is pressing charges?"
Ethan didn't look surprised. In fact, his gaze darkened, jaw tightening.
"Why do I have to wait for a statement from George? Everyone knows he's been trying to get under my skin since Elena left," Ethan said with that sharp, quiet rage he wore like a second suit. "And now he's using Lena to do it."
He turned toward the group. "I don't care what the statement says. Handle it."
I stood there, caught in the middle of a power play I wanted no part in.
"Can I enjoy my breakfast now?" I muttered.
The lawyers took the hint and left with a series of nods and polite goodbyes.
Now it was just the two of us.
Ethan took a sip of his coffee, eyes locked on mine. "So… what do you have to say?"
I looked away, pretending to be busy with my plate. "I didn't ask you to punch him. It was a harmless dance."
He smirked. "You think I hit him because he danced with you?"
"Didn't you?" I challenged. "That punch was all about staking your claim. And the kiss? That was your little show to mark territory."
"Maybe," he shrugged. "Maybe I just don't like watching someone else touch what's mine."
"Yours?" I laughed bitterly. "I only kissed you to piss him off."
"And I didn't mind," he said coolly. "But if you're with me, I expect respect. Public or private."
"Fine," I muttered. "Then maybe next time don't leave me alone in a nightclub!"
My voice cracked as I stood up, my chair screeching against the floor.
"What are you mad about now?" he asked, leaning back.
Maybe I was mad because somewhere deep down, I believed he actually wanted to protect me—not because I was his wife, but because I was me. And yet, every time he did something that made me feel like I mattered, it was wrapped in control, pride, and power.
He stared at me for a long time, then went back to his breakfast without another word.
Ethan O'Martin—master of making someone feel completely seen and invisible at the same time.
---
Later that afternoon, the statement came through. George's nose had indeed been broken. He'd undergone emergency rhinoplasty and had no interest in suing for money. What he demanded instead was a sincere, public apology—from Ethan—at a gathering attended by the same guests who had witnessed the punch.
And he wanted it done tonight.
Ethan didn't flinch. For a while, he just stood still, one hand in his pocket, staring at the wall like he could punch a hole through it.
"I'll do it," he said at last. "But on one condition—he has to apologize to me too. For messing with my wife."
His legal team nodded, scribbled, and left.
---
The event that night was more relaxed than the previous galas. The dress code was looser, the atmosphere lighter. But I still dressed my best. I had learned to embrace the world of glittering chandeliers and designer gowns, even if I sometimes felt like an imposter.
As I descended the staircase, Ethan met me at the bottom and silently handed me a necklace. A single gold chain with a capital "E" at the end.
"Marking your territory again?" I teased, accepting it anyway.
"Setting boundaries," he replied.
The venue buzzed with laughter and casual chatter as guests moved toward the auction area. Items ranged from rare art to luxury experiences. And tonight, Ethan himself was part of the bidding.
"A dinner date with Ethan O'Martin," the announcer declared.
The room went wild.
Women raised their cards in a frenzy, naming prices that made my heart sink. Each bid felt like another jab in my chest. I shouldn't have cared. But I did.
And then, without thinking, I raised my own card.
"$500,000."
The room gasped. Even Ethan's eyebrows rose.
"Sold—to the lovely lady in red!" the announcer cheered.
But before the applause died down, Ethan raised his hand again.
"There's more," he said smoothly. "I'm offering myself for a second date… but I won't be the one attending."
Confused murmurs rose.
"I'm giving that date away. To George. My way of apologizing."
Stunned silence followed. Then applause erupted. Classic Ethan—turning an apology into a power move.
George's face was unreadable, but the twitch in his jaw gave him away. Still, he put on a fake laugh, clinking his glass in mock acceptance.
Ethan returned to his seat beside me, his expression smug.
"Jealous much?" he whispered.
"You owe me $500,000," I shot back, folding my arms.
"Consider it a donation to your emotional investment."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't stop the small smile tugging at my lips. He always found a way to stay one step ahead, to control the narrative—even when he was supposed to be apologizing.
When George finally stood to deliver his own apology—to me—for flirting and crossing boundaries, I accepted it with as much grace as I could muster.
Tonight, Ethan may have paid a price for pride.
But I had no idea what that pride would cost me in the end.