The silence in Ethan's penthouse was deafening.
Rain tapped against the glass walls like a desperate whisper, the city lights outside blurred by the storm. Inside, the storm wasn't just in the weather—it was brewing in hearts that had once burned with passion.
Sabrina sat curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of Ethan. Her fingers clutched a photograph—one of the few they'd taken together when things had felt real. The edges were worn, like her heart, like her hope.
He hadn't come home last night.
Not even a text.
Not even a lie.
The elevator finally chimed. Her heartbeat leapt, then steadied as she stood up slowly.
Ethan stepped inside—wet, disheveled, yet handsome in the way only he could be. But his face wasn't the same. There was no smile. No spark.
Only shadows.
"You're back," she whispered.
He didn't answer right away. He looked at her, at the photo in her hand, and then turned away, shrugging off his soaked jacket.
"I had business," he said coldly.
Sabrina swallowed. "Business kept you all night?"
He poured himself a drink. "Don't do this right now."
"I waited," she said, her voice trembling. "You said you'd be home. You said—"
"I say a lot of things," Ethan snapped, slamming the glass on the counter.
Silence fell like a slap. Her breath caught.
"That's what I thought," she said, blinking back tears. "You say a lot. But what do you ever mean?"
Ethan's jaw tensed. "I don't owe you an explanation."
"You're my husband!"
"We had a contract, Sabrina," he hissed. "A contract, not a fairytale."
Her chest caved. "Is that all I am to you? A signature on paper? A convenience?"
He turned away again, as if her pain was too blinding.
"Then why do you kiss me like I'm your world?" she whispered. "Why do you hold me like you're afraid to lose me? Why, Ethan?"
His hands curled into fists.
She moved closer. "Look at me."
He did. And for a moment—just one—a flicker of guilt passed his face.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he murmured.
"But you did," she said softly. "And you keep doing it."
She moved away, her fingers trembling as she set the photo on the table.
"I can't keep doing this," she said. "Living between your touches and your silences."
He stepped toward her. "Sabrina—"
"No. If you want me to stay, give me a reason. A real one. Not a contract clause. Not an obligation."
Ethan stared at her.
Then he did something she didn't expect.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope.
The contract.
The damn contract that started it all.
He tossed it on the table and lit a match.
Sabrina gasped as the paper caught flame, curling, burning.
He looked at her with eyes that finally held truth.
"You want a reason?" he said. "I love you."
The flames danced between them.
"I didn't mean to fall for you," he continued. "But I did. And I'm terrified. Because love was never part of the deal. You weren't supposed to matter this much."
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"But you do," he whispered.
She stepped forward, hands trembling as she reached for him.
"I love you too," she said, her voice breaking. "I've tried not to. I've tried to remember this was fake. But my heart doesn't understand fake."
He pulled her into his arms, holding her like she was the only real thing in his world.
They kissed—softly at first, then with months of buried passion. The rain outside roared, but inside, two broken souls stitched themselves together in silence.
Suddenly, the door burst open.
Ethan turned sharply.
Ayla stood there.
Soaked.
Alive.
Breathing.
Watching.
Sabrina stepped back, heart racing. "Ayla…?"
Ethan's face paled. "What the hell—"
Ayla's voice was cold. "Didn't expect to see me again, did you, husband?"
Sabrina blinked. "Husband?"
Ayla smiled bitterly. "Did he not tell you? I'm the wife he left behind. The real one."
Ethan's fists clenched. "This isn't the time."
"No, Ethan. It's the perfect time," Ayla said. "Tell her the truth. Or I will."
Sabrina's world began to spin.
Everything shattered.
Everything changed.