(Ethan's POV)
I'd tried to ignore it, to pretend it didn't bother me. But the news of Claire's date hit me like a punch to the gut. Jealousy, a feeling I hadn't experienced since my teenage years, clawed at me, a raw, primal emotion.
Liam, of course, was the messenger, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Heard Claire's going out tonight," he said, leaning against my office door.
"So?" I retorted, my voice clipped, trying to maintain a facade of indifference.
"So?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you don't care."
"I don't," I lied, my gaze fixed on the computer screen. "She can do whatever she wants."
"Yeah, right," he scoffed. "You're as transparent as glass, Ethan. You're jealous."
"I am not jealous," I said, my voice tight.
"Denial isn't just a river in Egypt," he said, grinning. "Who's the lucky guy?"
"I don't know," I muttered, my fingers clenching into a fist. "And I don't care."
"Sure you don't," he said, his grin widening. "Well, I'm going to go get a drink. You want anything?"
"Just leave me alone," I said, my voice rough.
He shrugged and walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And my jealousy.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur. I couldn't focus on work, couldn't shake the image of Claire on a date, laughing, smiling, giving someone else the attention I craved.
I found myself pacing my office, my frustration mounting. I was acting like a fool, a possessive, insecure fool. But I couldn't help it. The thought of Claire with another man was unbearable.
As the evening approached, I found myself drawn to the window, staring out at the city lights. I knew I should go home, forget about Claire, but I couldn't.
I needed to see her, to know who she was with, to make sure she was safe. It was a ridiculous, irrational urge, but I couldn't ignore it.
I drove to the restaurant Liam had mentioned, a trendy place downtown. I parked across the street, my eyes fixed on the entrance.
And then I saw her. Claire, looking stunning in a red dress, her hair cascading down her shoulders. She was laughing, her eyes sparkling, her attention focused on the man beside her.
He was tall, handsome, charming. Everything I wasn't.
A wave of anger washed over me, a possessive rage that made me want to storm into the restaurant and drag her away. But I held back, forcing myself to remain calm.
I watched them for a while, my jealousy gnawing at me. They seemed to be having a good time, their conversation animated, their laughter genuine.
I couldn't take it anymore. I started the car, my hands gripping the steering wheel, my knuckles white. I drove away, my heart aching with a longing I couldn't explain.
I was losing her. I knew it. And I had no one to blame but myself.
(Claire's POV)
The date was...fine. He was charming, attentive, but there was no spark, no connection. It was like going through the motions, a polite exchange of pleasantries.
My mind kept drifting to Ethan, to his intense gaze, his quiet intensity. I couldn't deny it anymore. I was still attracted to him, still drawn to him in a way I couldn't explain.
The date ended, and I thanked him for the evening. He walked me to my door, a polite kiss on the cheek, and then he was gone.
I walked into my apartment, feeling a sense of emptiness. I should have been happy, excited about a potential new relationship, but I wasn't.
I was thinking about Ethan.
I picked up my phone, my finger hovering over his number. I wanted to call him, to tell him about my date, to hear his voice. But I hesitated, unsure of his reaction.
I put the phone down, feeling a sense of frustration. I was playing a dangerous game, tempting fate, but I couldn't stop myself.
The next morning, I walked into the office, my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I knew things had changed.
Ethan was distant, cold, his eyes dark and intense. He barely spoke to me, his attention focused on his work.
"Is everything alright?" I asked, my voice hesitant.
"Fine," he said, his voice clipped, not looking up from his computer.
"You seem...off," I said, my voice soft.
"I'm busy," he said, his voice tight. "I have a company to run."
I knew he was lying. He was jealous. And I couldn't help but feel a sense of...satisfaction.
"Did you have a good time last night?" he asked, his voice casual, but his eyes were sharp, searching mine.
"It was fine," I said, my voice neutral. "He was nice."
"Nice," he repeated, his voice flat.
"Yeah," I said, my voice soft. "But there was no...spark."
His eyes met mine, a flicker of something intense passing between us. The air crackled with unspoken words, with the weight of our shared history.
"I'm glad," he said, his voice barely audible.
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"Because," he said, his voice rough, "I want you to be happy. But I want you to be happy with me."
His words sent a shiver down my spine. I wanted to believe him, to trust him, but I was afraid. Afraid of getting hurt again, afraid of opening myself up to the possibility of love.
"I don't know if I can do that, Ethan," I said, my voice trembling.
"You can," he said, his voice firm. "You just have to try."
And as I looked into his eyes, I knew I couldn't run anymore. I had to face the truth, whatever it might be.