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“I don't make a habit of letting women freeze on my watch,” he replies, his voice smooth, like aged whiskey poured over ice.
I can't help but notice the way the dim streetlights cast shadows across his face, accentuating the strong line of his jaw and the curls that dare to trespass onto his forehead. He's handsome—undeniably so—and it's infuriating how my heart decides to skip a beat or two in his presence. I scold myself internally; I've danced this dance before and know all too well where it leads.
Yet there's something about him that draws me in. Maybe it's the way he commands the space around him, an unspoken authority emanating from him that seems to whisper promises of safety and protection. Or perhaps it's the sheer physicality of him—tall and well-built in a way that speaks of strength without arrogance.
We walk in silence toward his car, and every step feels like a battle between my resolve and the magnetic pull I feel toward him. The night wraps around us, carrying away the pulsing beat of music from Club Allure and leaving behind a quiet that feels heavy with words unsaid.
He opens the passenger door for me, and as I slide into the leather seat, our hands brush—just barely—a current zipping up my arm at the contact. I withdraw quickly, folding my hands in my lap as if they've been burned.
Ethan slides into the driver's seat with ease, starting the engine with a roar that breaks through my reverie. “Where to?” he asks, glancing over with an unreadable expression.
“Maple Street,” I reply, keeping my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “It's the building on the corner.”
The heat from his jacket envelops me like an embrace I didn't know I was craving. My fingers graze over its material. It's soft yet substantial—much like how I imagine Ethan’s hugs might be, enveloping but not suffocating.
I don't have a jacket with me because I left it at the event, which I had to flee from to try to get rid of those two. But that's something I can't explain to Ethan.
I can't explainanythingthat happens. That the men following me are two of my ex-husband's bodyguards. That after years of abuse I left Brandon, but he's not comprehending that a signed a divorce decree means he can't dictate my life.
Nor can I tell him about the million-dollar sum my ex-husband has demanded he get out of this ungodly custody warover our son. Because he's a well-known and powerful politician, hell-bent on making my life miserable for wanting out.
No, the details of my life are not Ethan's business, nor should they be anyone else's. They are mine alone. Still, they would serve to explain why I had to take refuge in his club, without a coat, after a heated chase through the streets of New York in the middle of the night when winter is deep into the season.
But I'm grateful for Ethan's intervention. And there's something about him that I can't explain. Something that calls to me as if I am drawn to him by a mysterious but undeniable force.
As we drive, the city blurs past us—a canvas streaked with colors from passing cars and neon signs. My mind wanders back to Brandon, to our marriage that was nothing more than a well-constructed façade.
With Ethan beside me, every mile we cover feels like another step away from that life—a life where I was nothing more than an accessory to someone else's ambitions.
Ethan doesn't attempt small talk, for which I'm grateful. There's comfort in the silence between us—it allows me to collect my thoughts without having to put up walls or don masks.
I study him out of the corner of my eye. There's an ease to his movements—a relaxed grip on the steering wheel, an occasional glance in the rearview mirror—that contradicts the tension I sensed in him back at Club Allure. He drives with purpose yet without urgency, navigating through traffic as if he owns every inch of this city.
Ethan is obviously older than me, although I find him no less attractive. He's probably in his late thirties, while I'm only twenty-seven.
Yet he still has a certain youthful air about his countenance. He is tall, with dark curly hair that he wears cropped on the sides and a little higher on top, looking slightly tousled and fashionable.
With sun-browned skin, brown eyes, full lips and a worked body, Ethan is extremely attractive to me, and there is a certain aloof air about him that intrigues me.
The car slows in front of one of New York's most upscale neighborhoods. My luxurious cage. A wave of disappointment washes over me—the ride was too short, this strange interlude with Ethan is ending too soon. But it’s for the best. After Brandon’s betrayal, trust is not something I give away freely anymore.
“Thank you,” I murmur as he puts the car in park. “For everything tonight.”
Ethan nods once before responding with a hint of warmth breaking through his otherwise cool demeanor. “It's what anyone would've done.”
But we both know that's not true. There's something different about Ethan Callahan and—despite every logical fiber in me screaming caution, against all better judgment—I find myself drawn into his orbit.
I glance in the side mirror, and through the tinted windows, I can see my pursuers' car parked across the street.
“They're waiting for you,” Ethan notes, following my gaze and settling his on the same car I've noticed.
I nod. “Whatever. They'll get tired of it,” I say, even though I know it's a lie.
“Do they have access to your place?”
“I changed the code on the doors, but something tells me they might know it,” I admit.
Sighing, Ethan reaches for his handle and opens the door.
