Isabella had thought she could finally breathe. After days of Ethan's relentless presence, his touch lingering in places it shouldn't, his eyes dark with a possessiveness that suffocated her, she had finally gotten away. At least, that was what she told herself.
The charity gala was her escape. A night where she could pretend to be just Isabella Reed, not the woman trapped under Ethan Lancaster's intense gaze. The venue sparkled under golden chandeliers, laughter and conversation filling the air. It was a world she had always belonged to—before Ethan had forced his way in.
She felt lighter as she moved through the crowd, accepting compliments on her deep crimson gown. The silk hugged her curves, the slit revealing just enough of her leg to turn heads. But it wasn't for attention. It was for herself—to remind herself that she was still her own person.
And for the first time in weeks, she smiled.
Until she saw him.
Ethan Lancaster stood at the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his fingers wrapped tightly around the crystal as if he was barely holding himself together. His eyes burned into her from across the room, his jaw clenched.
Her heart stuttered.
She hadn't invited him. She knew that for certain.
But Ethan never needed an invitation.
She turned away, refusing to let him ruin this night.
"Isabella."
The voice beside her was smooth, familiar. She turned to find Daniel Carter, one of the most eligible bachelors in the city. He was charming, kind, and most importantly, not Ethan.
"Daniel," she greeted with a smile.
His gaze flickered to Ethan before settling back on her. "I was hoping I'd run into you tonight. You look stunning."
"Thank you." She felt warmth spread across her cheeks.
Daniel was safe. He didn't make her feel caged or overwhelmed.
But just as he reached for her hand, a shadow loomed over them.
A familiar, suffocating presence.
Ethan.
His fingers curled around her wrist before she could react, his grip firm yet deceptively gentle.
"Isabella," he murmured, his voice like silk wrapped around steel.
She stiffened.
Daniel frowned. "Ethan."
Ethan barely spared him a glance, his focus entirely on Isabella. "Dance with me."
It wasn't a request.
"I'm busy," she said, refusing to let him dictate her night.
But Ethan wasn't the type to accept no.
His grip tightened slightly, a warning. "Now."
Daniel stepped forward. "She said she's busy."
Ethan finally looked at him, and the ice in his stare could have frozen fire. "And I don't remember asking for your opinion."
Tension crackled between them.
People were beginning to notice.
Isabella yanked her hand back, glaring at Ethan. "You don't own me."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You think he's safe?" His voice was dangerously quiet. "That he's any different?"
She narrowed her eyes. "He respects me."
Ethan exhaled sharply, as if the word itself was an insult. His hand moved, tracing the inside of her wrist, his fingers pressing lightly against her pulse.
It was racing.
Not just from anger.
"You're shaking," he whispered, his lips barely moving. "Not because of him. Because of me."
Her breath hitched.
He was too close. His presence was suffocating, intoxicating.
But she wouldn't give in.
Not tonight.
"I don't belong to you, Ethan," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady.
For the first time, something dark flickered across his face.
Then he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he murmured, "You already do. You just don't want to admit it yet."
She shivered.
Before she could say anything, he stepped back, his expression unreadable. But there was something in his eyes—something dangerous.
A warning.
And then he was gone.
But she knew better.
Ethan never truly left.
---
Later That Night
Isabella pressed a hand against her temple as she stepped into her apartment.
She was exhausted.
But the moment she closed the door, she knew something was wrong.
The air was different.
Charged.
She turned slowly.
Ethan sat on her couch, his legs crossed, his fingers lazily swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
Her breath caught.
"How did you—"
His gaze lifted, dark and unreadable. "You should really change your security code, Isabella."
Her stomach dropped.
She clenched her fists. "You broke in."
He smiled, slow and deliberate. "I let myself in."
"That's the same thing!" she snapped.
He tilted his head. "Is it?"
Her frustration burned hotter. "You can't keep doing this."
Ethan stood, moving toward her with the same lethal grace he always carried. "Doing what?"
She stepped back, but he closed the distance effortlessly.
"Showing up uninvited?" he mused. "Watching as you pretend to be interested in other men?"
Her eyes widened. "This isn't about Daniel."
His lips curved, but there was no humor. "Everything is about you, Isabella. You just don't see it yet."
She swallowed. "This isn't normal, Ethan."
He exhaled softly, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was gentle, almost tender.
Then he murmured, "Who said I was ever normal?"
Her pulse pounded.
"I need you to leave."
He didn't move.
Then, suddenly, he cupped her jaw, forcing her to look at him. His touch burned.
"Say it again."
She tried to pull away.
"Say it," he repeated, his voice lower.
Her breath came faster. "I need you to—"
His thumb brushed over her lower lip, silencing her.
"You keep saying that," he murmured. "But your body tells a different story."
Her knees went weak.
This was dangerous.
This was insanity.
He leaned in, his lips barely an inch from hers. "One day, you'll stop fighting me, Isabella."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
And then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, he stepped back.
His gaze swept over her one last time before he turned toward the door.
"Lock your doors properly next time," he said smoothly, before disappearing into the night.
Isabella stood there, her heart hammering, her lips tingling from the ghost of his touch.
She should be terrified.
She should be angry.
But all she felt was a terrifying, undeniable truth.
Ethan Lancaster was never going to let her go.
And worse?
She wasn't sure if she truly wanted him to.