CHAPTER TWELVE: WHEN WALLS BEGIN TO TREMBLE
AVA MONROE'S POV
The next morning dawned heavy with the memory of Ethan's touch.
His thumb on my cheek had been soft, but the fire it sparked refused to die. I rolled over in bed, burying my face in the pillow, trying to
suppress the surge of emotions rising with the sun.
It wasn't love. No. That was too dramatic, too final. But something had shifted last night, and the floor beneath our feet was no longer
solid.
I got dressed slowly, choosing a cream silk blouse and tailored slacks. The perfect in-between outfit.
Not casual enough for relaxation, not formal enough to be accused of trying too hard.
It matched the limbo of our relationship.
Ethan was in the kitchen when I entered, already dressed for work. He looked up from his espresso and newspaper.
"Morning," he said, voice even.
"Morning."
There was a beat of silence.
"I'm flying out this evening. New York." He said.
"For how long?" I asked.
"A night. Maybe two." He replied.
I nodded, pouring myself coffee. "Business?"
He folded the newspaper. "Always." He said.
There it was again, that undercurrent of something unsaid. I
wasn't sure if I wanted to chase it or escape it.
"I'll hold the fort," I said.
He watched me over the rim of his cup. "And the stranger?" he asked.
"Liam?" I said, placing the spoon down a bit harder than necessary. "Why do you care?"
"Because I don't like the idea of someone else thinking they can reach you more than I can." He replied.
My breath caught. I didn't know how to respond to that.
"I won't see him," I said finally.
He didn't nod or thank me. He just stood, finished his espresso, and adjusted his cufflinks.
"I'll send you the address to a dinner I need you to attend
tomorrow night. Alone. It's charity, but the press will be there. Wear
something red."
"Red?"
"It'll remind them that you're fire."
Then he was gone.
And I was left alone with a bitter coffee and a heart that thudded too loudly in a quiet room.
The next evening, I arrived at the charity dinner alone.
The red dress Ethan mentioned had been delivered earlier that day. Custom.
Floor-length. Satin that hugged every curve and shimmered like blood under candlelight.
When I stepped out of the car, I felt a hundred eyes turn toward me.
I walked through the lobby of the hotel like I belonged. Like the diamonds around my neck weren't borrowed.
Like my husband wasn't hundreds of miles away.
Like I hadn't spent most of the afternoon wondering what it
meant that he still noticed what I wore.
"Mrs. Kingsley, this way please," the event coordinator said.
I followed him to a table at the front of the ballroom. Cameras flashed. People whispered.
She's stunning. Where's Ethan?, is the marriage already rocky?, the said to themselves.
I took my seat and smiled like I didn't hear them. Like I was trained to do.
Dinner passed in a haze of lobster bisque and forced small talk. I barely touched the wine, afraid it might loosen my tongue.
During the auction portion of the night, a hand touched my shoulder.
"Mind if I sit here?"
Liam.
I blinked. "What are you doing here?"
"Donated a painting. Friend pulled me in." He nodded to the auctioneer. "Didn't expect to see you."
"I'm here representing the Kingsley Foundation."
He studied me. "You look…, different tonight." He said.
"Different good?"
"Different guarded."
My smile faltered. "That's the dress code."
He leaned closer, voice low. "Can I ask you something?" he
said.
"Depends on the question," I replied.
"Are you happy?" he asked?.
I stared at him.
The ballroom around us disappeared. The laughter, the
applause, the money being thrown across the stage, it all blurred.
His eyes, brown and kind and sincere, pulled me into a space
where pretense couldn't follow.
"I'm… figuring it out," I said.
He didn't press.
When the night ended, he walked me to the car.
"I know your world is complicated," he said, opening the
door.
"That's an understatement."
"But if you ever want something…, simple," he added, "you have my number."
I nodded. "Thank you."
Then he stepped back, and I slid into the car. The driver pulled away.
And I sat in the dark, gripping my clutch like it might anchor me to a version of myself I hadn't fully lost yet.
Ethan returned the next morning. I heard him before I saw him, his footsteps purposeful, his voice low as he made calls from the hallway.
I walked out of my room just as he was hanging up.
He looked tired. Rumpled. Like the city had drained him.
"Good trip?" I asked.
"Exhausting." He studied me. "You looked good last night."
"You weren't there."
"I saw the photos."
I crossed my arms. "So that's it? I wear what you like, smile for the cameras, and you check the results online?".
"I never said it was fair."
"You didn't have to."
He closed the space between us. "You think I don't see what this is doing to you?. You think I'm blind to the cracks?."
"I don't know what you see, Ethan. That's the problem.
You built a fortress, and you expect me to decorate it from the inside."
He exhaled sharply. "Then maybe I should let you out."
I blinked. "What does that mean?."
"It means," he said slowly, "maybe the contract ends sooner than we thought."
My throat closed.
"You're saying we…, end this?."
He nodded. "If it's hurting you."
I stared at him, suddenly unsure if I wanted freedom or if I just wanted him to fight harder to keep me.
"No," I said.
His brow furrowed. "No?."
"I'm not leaving. Not until I understand why you're so afraid of letting me in."
He said nothing.
I stepped closer, touched his chest where his heartbeat thudded beneath crisp fabric.
"Because I think I'm already inside," I whispered.
And that was the most dangerous truth of all.
The Kingsley estate always echoed with silence, but that night, it throbbed like a haunted cathedral.
Each creak of the floor, every whisper of wind beyond the tall windows sounded like voices from another time.
I couldn't sleep and when I finally slipped out of bed, barefoot and wrapped in a silk robe, I didn't have a destination in mind. My feet simply carried me through the dimly lit corridors, past old portraits of brooding men and perfect women, all bearing that same signature air of untouchable authority.
Until I saw the door. It was ajar, Ethan's office.
The light glowed faintly from within, a spill of golden warmth against the hallway's shadows.
I knew better than to disturb him, but something tugged me forward, curiosity or recklessness, I couldn't tell.
I knocked softly.
"Come in."
His voice was low, but clear.
I stepped inside.
Ethan sat behind his massive mahogany desk, sleeves rolled
to his elbows, shirt collar open. His tie lay discarded beside a half-drunk glass of scotch.
The desk was scattered with papers, blueprints, and a glowing laptop screen filled with numbers.
He didn't look surprised to see me.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked without looking up.
"Not even close." I replied.
Silence stretched between us for a moment.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said, closing the laptop. "This room usually scares people off."
"Why?, I asked.
Because it smells like power and isolation?," He smirked. "Something like that."
I walked slowly toward the window, where the moonlight painted silver lines across the Persian rug.
"I grew up in a place with five people crammed in two rooms. Silence wasn't an option. Now it's all I hear."
"You miss the noise?."
"I miss feeling like someone would notice if I wasn't there."
That made him pause. I felt it in the air more than I saw it.
"You don't think I notice?."
"Do you?" I turned to face him.
His jaw tightened. "Ava…"
"Do you even know what my favorite color is?" I challenged.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly. "Green. The shade of that ugly hoodie you refused to throw away even after the sleeve ripped."
I blinked.
"And you like tea more than coffee. You cry at movies but pretend not to.
You read romance novels with the covers torn off. And you hum in the shower when you think no one's listening."
My lips parted.
"I notice," he said simply.
The weight of his words landed like a punch. Not because they were poetic, but because they were real. Observant. Ethan Kingsley had
seen more of me than I ever gave him credit for.
"I don't understand you," I said softly.
"No one does."
"Then help me."
His eyes met mine. For once, the walls weren't there.
He stood, walked toward me, then stopped just short of touching. Inches apart.
"If I let you in," he murmured, "you'll only want more." He said.
"Maybe I already do." I replied.
We stared at each other like two people at the edge of something too big to name.
But instead of leaning in, he turned away. Just like always.
"Go to bed, Ava."
I didn't move.
"Please," he added.
So I left. Quietly, slowly.
But even as I slipped back into the hall, my pulse still pounding from his closeness, I knew something had changed.
Ethan was a fortress. But tonight, I saw a crack.
And behind it, a flicker of something fragile.
Not love.
But the ghost of what could be.
Something worth fighting for.
Something dangerous.