The next morning, Elena walked to the dining room with a completely different feeling. It was no longer with the shuffling steps of a convict heading to the gallows, but with the wariness of a spy entering enemy territory. Her heart was still pounding from the thought of last night's events, but that fear was now mixed with something else—a sharp curiosity.
Ethan was already there, as usual, sitting at the head of the long table. He looked exactly the same as yesterday morning: a perfect business suit, a calm and unreadable expression. But to Elena, the man now looked different. He was no longer just a cold, flat surface; he was a puzzle whose surface had just begun to crack.
Elena sat down and, for the first time, she truly observed.
She noticed how Ethan didn't reach for a tablet or a phone like most people. Instead, he unfolded the broadsheet pages of The Wall Street Journal, turning them with an efficient motion that spoke of years of habit. There was something old-fashioned and solid about the gesture, something that didn't quite fit the image of a modern, all-digital CEO.
A maid came to pour coffee into Elena's cup. "Thank you, Bi Surti," Elena whispered.
"Please add a little sugar for Madam," Ethan said suddenly, his eyes never leaving his newspaper.
Elena flinched. Bi Surti also seemed surprised for a moment before nodding and reaching for the sugar bowl. How did Ethan know she liked her coffee slightly sweet? She had always added the sugar herself in silence. Had he been watching her all this time? Or was it just a random guess? The question added another layer of complexity to the puzzle in her mind.
She continued to watch. She saw the way Ethan folded his newspaper with perfect precision when he was finished. She heard his tone of voice when he spoke to the head butler who came to report something—firm, clear, but with no hint of condescension or impatience. He was in control, but not in the manner of a tyrant.
They ate in a silence that still felt awkward, but for Elena, the silence was no longer empty. It was filled with data, with small details she was collecting and trying to piece together.
Then, Ethan did something unexpected. A small porcelain bowl filled with fresh berries—raspberries and blueberries—was placed in the middle of the table by a maid. Without a word, Ethan pushed the bowl with his fingertips across the smooth surface of the table until it came to a stop right next to Elena's plate.
The gesture was so small. So ambiguous. It wasn't a warm action. There was no smile accompanying it. It was just a simple push. But it was an interaction. An acknowledgment of her presence at the table.
Her heart beat a little faster. She remembered Ethan's term: Just you and me. No distractions. Yesterday morning, Nathan had been the distraction. This morning, there was none. And in its place, there was this small gesture.
She swallowed, mustering her courage. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely audible.
Ethan didn't lift his head from his plate, but Elena was sure she saw it. For a split second, the corner of the man's mouth lifted slightly, a twitch of a muscle so fast that if she had blinked, she would have missed it. Then, the expression was gone, replaced once more by his neutral mask.
A few minutes later, Ethan finished his meal, placed his napkin down, and stood. "I'm leaving."
Just like yesterday. But for some reason, today felt different.
Elena was left alone at the vast dining table. She stared at the bowl of berries before her. Yesterday she saw an artist. This morning, she saw a disciplined businessman. But neither of those personas could explain the small, ambiguous push of this bowl of berries.
This puzzle was far more complex than she had ever imagined.
And she had just found her first clue.