Wednesday — 6:11 a.m.
The world was still asleep. No horns. No chatter. Just the distant hum of the city exhaling.
Ethan stood in the middle of his one-bedroom apartment, barefoot on cold hardwood, bathed in pale gray light from the window. His breath fogged faintly in the air, muscles rigid but balanced, as if the silence itself was a weight he was choosing to hold.
He didn't sleep much last night.
Not because of weakness.
Because of alignment.
Mental reboot.
(You saw her laugh with him. You felt your gut tighten. Good.
Pain is clarity. And clarity is power.)
His eyes opened slowly.
No alarm. No distractions.
Just intention.
He walked to the mirror—full-length, framed in brushed black steel.
Not to check for bags under his eyes.
But to assess posture.
Spine straight. Neck relaxed. Jaw unclenched.
Good.
He raised his hand, tracing a faint scar along his collarbone—an old reminder from the "first life." A life where he waited for validation. A life where Sienna never looked at him twice.
That Ethan died the day he woke up back in this timeline.
---
7:03 a.m. – Gym Basement
No music. Just the rhythmic clank of steel, the thud of footsteps, and his breath—controlled, deliberate.
Weighted pull-ups.
He strapped on the 25kg plate. Full range of motion. Six reps. Five sets.
With each rep, he whispered a mantra in his head.
Detach. Process. Evolve.
Pistol squats.
Each leg. Four sets of ten. Flawless balance.
Dead hangs.
Grip screaming. Time passing slow.
In the mirror, a different version of himself stared back.
The one who didn't react when women smiled at other men.
The one who didn't chase.
The one who chose who deserved access.
But that version was twitching now.
Not weak.
Alert.
Because Sienna… she smiled for someone else.
And Ethan had wanted that smile to be his alone.
---
9:14 a.m. – Post-shower Stillness
The water had steamed the mirror. He wiped it once with his forearm and looked himself in the eyes.
(You thought you were past jealousy.
You're not.
Good. That means she matters.
But desire without direction is chaos.)
He dried off, dressed simply—black tee, gray joggers, and his minimalist watch. It wasn't about fashion. It was about efficiency.
He brewed coffee—strong, black, no sugar.
Then sat down at his desk and opened the black notebook. The real one. The one he didn't let anyone touch.
---
10:20 a.m. – Internal Audit
DAY 6 – RESET ENTRY
Food intake: 1450 kcal — high protein, low decision fatigue.
Physical: Body at 92% capacity. Enough to dominate, not enough to collapse.
Business: Closed third retainer deal. Proof: emotion ≠ execution.
Psychological:
Sienna = beautiful, sharp, but untested in chaos.
Blake = ghost from her past, now manifesting. He is not your enemy. Her indecision is.
(Do not react. Respond. Cold is control.)
---
11:44 p.m. – Rooftop Solitude
The city looked different from up here—like a mosaic of people's lives unfolding behind tinted glass. Ethan sat near the ledge, legs drawn up, hoodie on, coffee thermos in hand.
His phone buzzed.
Sienna:
"I've been thinking about what to say tomorrow. I hope you're still coming."
He typed back slowly:
"I am. Just don't lie to me."
(Seen.
No reply.
Perfect.)
---
He leaned back, letting the night sky flood his vision. Somewhere across the city, Blake probably slept with no tension in his chest. Still believing he could flirt his way into the past.
Ethan didn't fear that version of Blake.
He feared what version of Sienna might answer.
And whether her heart still carried old echoes.
But he'd be ready.
He always was.
(Let her choose. Let her fall or rise. You're not chasing anymore. You're becoming.)
Tomorrow, the story would shift.
But tonight, he was still.
Unshaken.
Waiting.