Isabella had spent the entire night trying to forget the way Ethan had looked at her—the dark intensity in his gaze, the way his voice had curled around her name like a promise and a threat.
But no matter how many times she turned over in bed, no matter how many deep breaths she took, the memory of his presence lingered like an unshakable phantom.
She wasn't scared of him.
At least, that's what she told herself.
But as the first light of dawn crept through her window, she knew one thing for certain.
Ethan Lancaster wasn't just obsessed with her. He was claiming her.
And the worst part?
She was letting him.
Later That Morning
Isabella stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, gripping the edges of the sink as she took slow, measured breaths.
"You're not his."
Saying it aloud should have made it feel true.
But the moment she stepped out of her apartment, a sleek black car was waiting outside.
Her stomach tightened.
A driver stood by the vehicle, dressed in a crisp suit, his posture stiff with professionalism.
"Miss Reed," he greeted with a polite nod. "Mr. Lancaster sent me to take you to work."
She should have refused.
She should have walked away.
But something about Ethan's persistence—the way he wove himself into her life so effortlessly—made it feel pointless to resist.
And maybe, deep down, a part of her wanted to see him again.
She exhaled sharply before stepping inside the car.
The drive was silent, but the moment she reached her office, she knew she wouldn't be able to avoid him for long.
Her assistant, Maya, rushed toward her the second she entered.
"Isabella, Mr. Lancaster is waiting for you in your office."
Her breath hitched. "What?"
Maya winced. "He got here twenty minutes ago. He's... not in a good mood."
Of course, he wasn't.
Squaring her shoulders, she walked toward her office and pushed open the door.
Ethan stood by the window, his hands in his pockets, his back to her.
"You're late," he said without turning around.
She folded her arms. "You have no right to be in my office, Ethan."
He finally faced her.
And God, she wished he hadn't.
The look in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine—possessive, sharp, unyielding.
"You left with him."
It took her a second to understand. "You mean Daniel?"
His jaw clenched at the name.
She let out a humorless laugh. "Are you serious right now?"
Ethan moved closer, slow and deliberate. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
She refused to back down. "You're being ridiculous."
His eyes darkened. "Am I?"
Before she could respond, he reached out and brushed his fingers over her wrist, right where his grip had been last night.
A silent reminder.
A silent claim.
Her breath caught.
His voice was dangerously soft. "Did he touch you?"
She sucked in a sharp breath. "Ethan—"
"Did he kiss you?"
She jerked her wrist away. "You don't get to ask me that!"
His expression didn't change. "Answer me."
She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling trapped in the intensity of his gaze. "No," she admitted.
Ethan exhaled slowly, as if that was the only thing keeping him from losing control.
And then, before she could react, he reached for her.
His hands framed her face, his fingers tangling in her hair as he tilted her head up to meet his gaze.
Her lips parted in shock.
"What are you—"
"You're mine," he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous sort of possessiveness.
Her pulse thundered. "I'm not—"
His thumb brushed over her lower lip, silencing her.
And then he leaned in.
Not to kiss her.
But to let his lips hover just close enough for her to feel his breath against her skin.
It was intoxicating.
It was maddening.
And worst of all, it was everything she had been trying to resist.
She should have pushed him away.
She should have slapped him.
But instead, she stayed.
Ethan's voice dropped to a whisper. "Tell me you don't want this."
She couldn't.
Because it would be a lie.
But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
Instead, she forced herself to push against his chest, creating space between them.
His grip loosened, but his gaze never wavered.
"You don't get to control me," she whispered, her voice unsteady.
Ethan studied her for a long moment, then nodded.
"You're right," he murmured.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Then he leaned in again—this time, his lips brushing against her ear.
"But that doesn't mean I'll ever stop trying."
Her entire body shivered.
And just like that, he was gone.
Leaving her breathless.
Conflicted.
And more dangerously drawn to him than ever before.
That Evening
Isabella needed a distraction.
Anything to take her mind off the way Ethan had looked at her today.
So when Daniel called and asked her to dinner, she said yes.
She shouldn't have.
She knew it was a bad idea.
But sitting across from him in the dimly lit restaurant, she forced herself to smile, to pretend she wasn't unraveling from the inside.
"Are you okay?" Daniel asked gently.
She hesitated. "Yeah. Just... a long day."
His gaze softened. "Is this about Ethan?"
Her fingers tightened around her glass. "I don't want to talk about him."
Daniel nodded, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—concern? Or something else?
She didn't have time to figure it out.
Because the moment she turned her head, she felt it.
The familiar weight of a gaze that sent her pulse skyrocketing.
Her stomach dropped.
Ethan.
He was sitting in the far corner of the restaurant, his posture relaxed, his fingers wrapped around a glass of whiskey.
But his eyes?
They were locked on her.
Unblinking.
Unforgiving.
Daniel followed her gaze, his lips pressing into a thin line. "He followed you."
No.
He hunted her.
Her hands trembled as she placed them on the table.
This wasn't a coincidence.
This was a warning.
Ethan's lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.
And in that moment, she knew—
She could run. She could fight. But in the end, Ethan Lancaster would always find her.
And worse?
She was starting to wonder if she even wanted to escape anymore.