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Chapter 105 – Amara's POV
"The Man Behind the Strength"
By the time 6 p.m. hit, I had already imagined twenty worst-case scenarios.
Ethan was in an accident.
Ethan had disappeared.
Ethan was ignoring me on purpose.
But the one thing I didn't imagine?
Was that maybe… he just needed someone.
Someone like me.
That thought alone was enough to send me rushing out of the office.
I didn't text or call again.
I just got in a cab and went straight to his penthouse.
The ride felt longer than usual, even though it was barely fifteen minutes. I kept tapping my fingers against my thigh, trying not to panic.
He was probably fine.
Probably.
But that "probably" wasn't enough anymore.
I loved him—whether I was ready to admit it out loud or not. And the thought of something being wrong with him was enough to send my heart spiraling.
---
The building's doorman greeted me as usual and let me up without question.
Everyone knew I was "his girl."
Ethan never said it publicly, of course, but it showed—in the way his eyes followed me, the way he held the small of my back when we walked together, the way his voice softened when he spoke to me and no one else.
And now I was about to walk into his world without warning.
Good.
Let him be surprised. Let him see I was done pretending to be distant.
I stepped out of the elevator, heart thudding as I punched in the code to his penthouse—my birthday. He'd never changed it.
The door slid open.
Silence.
No music. No glass of wine sitting on the counter like usual. No scent of cologne in the air.
I walked in slowly.
"Ethan?" I called softly.
No answer.
The living room was neat. Too neat. Like no one had touched anything all day.
A thread of dread worked its way up my spine.
I moved down the hall toward his bedroom. The door was slightly ajar.
I pushed it open.
And there he was.
Lying flat on his back on the mattress, the covers kicked halfway off, one arm draped over his forehead, eyes closed.
The sight of him nearly knocked the air out of me.
His skin was pale. His lips dry. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead.
"Ethan," I whispered, stepping inside quickly.
His eyes cracked open, barely. "Amara?"
He sounded wrecked. Hoarse. Weak. Not like himself.
"Oh my God." I knelt beside the bed. "Why didn't you call me?"
He gave a weak smile. "Didn't want to bother you. Thought I'd sleep it off…"
"Sleep what off?"
"I don't know. Flu? Fever? Everything hurts."
I touched his forehead. He was burning up.
"Ethan," I said, trying not to panic, "you're burning. You should've told someone. Anyone."
He reached out, catching my hand weakly. "Didn't want to look weak in front of you."
I stared at him.
This man—this confident, untouchable CEO—had been lying here sick all day, too proud to ask for help.
I leaned forward and brushed damp strands of hair from his forehead. "Idiot. You could've passed out alone and no one would've known."
He closed his eyes again. "But you came…"
I pressed my lips together, heart clenching. "Of course I did."
---
The next hour was a blur of taking care of him.
I got a damp cloth and wiped his forehead. Made him sip water slowly. Found medicine in his drawer and forced two pills into his hand.
He was barely responsive, just blinking sleepily and muttering thank-yous every so often.
I stayed by his side, watching the strong, arrogant man I knew crumble under something as simple as a fever.
It humbled me. Broke me a little too.
Because I realized then just how much he tried to be invincible around me. How much he wanted to be perfect in my eyes. And how hard that must've been for someone like Ethan.
---
By the time night crept in, his fever had started to drop slightly. He stirred more. Sat up halfway with a groan.
"You should go," he rasped. "It's late."
"I'm not leaving."
His brows furrowed, surprised.
"I mean it," I said gently. "You're sick, Ethan. And I care about you, even if you're too stubborn to believe it."
He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. Like he didn't expect me to be here. To stay.
"Amara…"
"You don't have to say anything," I whispered, climbing onto the bed beside him and propping him up with pillows. "Let me take care of you. Just this once."
He chuckled weakly. "You say that like it won't happen again."
I gave him a teasing glare. "If you ever do this again—sick, alone, and too proud to call me—I'll poison your next smoothie."
A soft laugh escaped him. "Noted."
I reached for his hand, intertwining our fingers.
And for the first time in hours, Ethan Lantel looked like he could breathe again.
Not because the fever was gone.
But because he knew he wasn't alone.
And neither was I.
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End of Chapter 105 – Amara's POV