The sun filtered gently through the gauzy curtains of the guest suite, casting soft golden patterns across the ivory sheets. Myra stirred slowly, blinking her eyes open to a view she still hadn't gotten used to—floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a seemingly endless horizon of ocean, with mist curling over the waves like a dreamscape.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then it hit her.
Ethan's villa.Last night.The kiss.
She sat up, brushing her hair back as her heart did a small stutter-step. Everything felt too surreal to be real. The quiet intimacy they'd shared—the conversations, the silence, the kiss that said a thousand things they hadn't yet spoken out loud—it all weighed on her now. In a good way. But still heavy.
The door to her suite opened gently, and Ethan stood in the doorway, already showered and dressed in a crisp, slate-gray button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up casually, looking like he'd walked out of a designer catalogue. A warm aroma followed him—coffee, baked croissants, and something subtly spicy.
"Morning," he said. "Hope you slept well."
Myra nodded. "I did. A little too well. This place is dangerously comfortable."
He smiled. "That's the point."
She followed him out to the dining terrace. A full spread had been prepared—French toast, fresh fruit, pastries, juice, and coffee. Myra took it all in with a raised brow.
"You're setting dangerous standards, Ethan Cross."
He poured her coffee with a smirk. "Good. Let everyone else fall short."
They ate in relaxed silence for a few minutes, the soft crash of waves below providing background music to their morning. Eventually, Myra glanced at him over the rim of her cup.
"So," she said slowly, "you going to tell me what's next?"
Ethan raised a brow. "Next in what sense?"
"In the sense that you've clearly been planning things," she replied. "You're too strategic to just wing it."
Ethan leaned back in his chair, gazing out at the sea for a long moment. "You're not wrong. There are things coming. Pieces moving behind the scenes. Kairos, for one." He glanced at her meaningfully. "And the Langford board is growing restless. Your engagement to me bought us time—but not forever."
Myra sighed. "They still don't trust you."
"They don't need to," Ethan said. "They just need to fear disappointing you."
She arched a brow. "You think I can control the board?"
He smirked. "With my help, yes. You'll be the key to taking your grandfather's vision and evolving it. I'm not here to take from the Langfords, Myra. I'm here to protect what Alexander built—and why he chose me to begin with."
Her expression softened. "You really admired him, didn't you?"
Ethan looked away for a second, then nodded. "Even though I never met him, he shaped my life. He saw something in me long before anyone else did."
He stood up and walked toward the edge of the terrace, letting the breeze rustle his shirt. Myra followed him a moment later, standing beside him.
"You don't talk much about your past," she said gently.
"There's not much worth talking about," he replied, his tone cooler. "Before Alexander's arrangement, I was just surviving. Bounced between foster homes. Lived out of suitcases. Got in fights for fun and meals. Then suddenly... I had access. Power. Training. Money. I could've been anyone." He looked at her. "But I chose to become me."
Myra laid a hand on his arm. "And now?"
"Now I build something better," he said. "For myself. For the people I care about. For you."
The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. She wasn't used to this version of Ethan—soft-spoken, vulnerable without being weak. And that scared her more than his power ever did.
But before she could respond, Ethan's phone buzzed twice. He frowned as he pulled it out and read the notification.
"What is it?" she asked.
He hesitated. "There's someone waiting at the gate. A university student. Says he knows me."
Myra blinked. "Here? How?"
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Only a few people know about this villa. And none of them would've spoken."
He glanced at the screen again. "Connor Hayes."
The name struck her like a jolt. "Seriously? He followed us?"
"I don't believe in coincidences," Ethan said, already walking back inside. "This wasn't random."
Within minutes, they were at the security monitor in the main hallway. Sure enough, Connor Hayes stood at the gate, looking disheveled, clutching a manila envelope, and speaking into the intercom with desperation in his tone.
Myra's lips thinned. "He looks… scared."
Ethan observed the screen, unreadable. "Fear makes people honest. Let's find out what he wants."
—
Five minutes later, Connor sat stiffly in the reception lounge of the villa, eyes wide as he took in his surroundings. Gone was the cocky college jerk who once called Ethan a trash picker in front of a full restaurant. What remained was a humbled, desperate man who looked like he hadn't slept.
He glanced up as Ethan entered, Myra right behind him.
"I know I have no right being here," Connor said quickly, standing. "But I need your help."
Ethan didn't blink. "You don't deserve it."
Connor's throat bobbed. "I know. I messed up. But this isn't about me—it's about someone you knew. From your past."
That made Ethan pause. He stared at Connor, measured him, then slowly sat down across from him.
"Talk."
Connor opened the envelope and slid a series of photos across the table. Black-and-white images. An abandoned orphanage. A burned-out house. A gravestone with no name.
"This is where you came from, right?" Connor asked, voice low. "I found it. I found him. The man who set the fire. The one who destroyed that place. He's still alive."
Ethan's fingers tensed slightly as he picked up one of the photos. Recognition flickered in his eyes—but only for a moment.
"How do you know this?" he asked quietly.
Connor leaned forward. "Because someone's been watching you, Ethan. Not just the Langfords. Not just Kairos. This guy… he's been waiting for you to slip up. To expose yourself. But when you humiliated me, it drew attention. It triggered something. I saw the pieces, and now I need protection."
Ethan's expression darkened.
For the first time in years, the past he buried wasn't just knocking—it was breaking down the door.
And he wasn't sure if the people around him were ready for what would come pouring out.