Liana had expected to feel triumphant the moment she left Ethan Cole's office after the confrontation in his glass tower. She expected the old ghosts that used to torment her, those whispers of not being enough, of being replaceable, of being just a contract wife, to finally vanish now that she had stood her ground. She had walked out with her head high, her words sharp, her resolve cold and steady, convincing herself that she was untouchable now. She had believed it. She had needed to believe it.
But when the elevator doors closed behind her and the world outside his empire swallowed her back into its noise, she felt only an ache somewhere beneath her ribs, a slow and unwelcome heaviness she refused to acknowledge.
Work helped. Or at least it used to. The projects Adrian gave her kept her hands busy, kept her thoughts organized, kept her heart still. Yet after confronting Ethan in his office and exposing Camille's schemes, something shifted inside her.
She found herself zoning out during meetings, her pen hovering above her notepad as if suspended between one breath and the next. She would catch herself staring at her own handwriting without processing a single word she had written. People called her name more than once before she realized they were speaking to her. And Adrian, who always noticed more than he said, watched her with an unspoken concern that sat heavily between them.
One evening, she stayed late to finish final revisions for an upcoming pitch. The office had emptied gradually, lights switching off one row at a time until only a few remained glowing faintly like stars against the polished glass walls. The hum of the air conditioner felt louder, the clicking of her keyboard sharper. She told herself she was staying late because the workload demanded it, because she was dedicated, because she wanted to prove herself. But a more honest part of her, one she tried not to listen to, knew she was avoiding going home. Because going home meant thinking. And thinking meant remembering. And remembering meant pain.
Her phone buzzed twice beside her elbow. She ignored it, finishing the paragraph she was typing. When she finally glanced at the screen, her breath caught for a single second before she forced herself to exhale. Ethan. His name glowed against the dark background, the missed call notification small but brutal. She locked the screen quickly, as if the sight itself might burn her. And then she shoved the phone face-down.
She didn't know why he kept calling. Weeks had passed since the gala, since she had shut him down in front of an entire room, since she had walked away from the man who once shattered her so completely she almost didn't survive it. He should have stopped by now. He should have realized she had no intention of reopening any door he had closed. But Ethan Cole was not a man who gave up easily. She knew that better than anyone.
Still… why now? Why again? What did he want?
She shook the thought out of her head and returned to her work, telling herself firmly that she no longer cared. But caring wasn't an on-and-off switch, no matter how desperately she wished it were. Sometimes, even when she tried to focus, Ethan's face intruded at the edges of her mind the way his jaw tightened when he was angry, the rare softness in his eyes when he let himself be unguarded, the moments he had stood beside her and made her believe, even briefly, that she wasn't just convenient paperwork.
She hated herself for remembering. She hated even more that her body still reacted to his proximity, to his voice, to the memory of the man he pretended he wasn't. She hated that some part of her, wounded but stubborn, still carried his name like a bruise beneath her skin.
Love and hate weren't opposites. She was realizing this now. In her case, they were tangled threads, impossible to separate cleanly, each one somehow tied to the other.
By the time she closed her laptop, it was past nine. The building was silent. She packed her bag, slipped her coat on, and stepped out into the hallway. Her heels clicked lightly against the polished floor as she took the elevator down to the lobby. The security guard greeted her with a warm smile and a wave. She waved back, grateful for small pieces of normalcy.
Outside, the night was cool and quiet. Streetlights threw long yellow pools of light across the pavement. She wrapped her coat tighter around herself and started walking toward the bus stop. Her apartment wasn't far. And honestly, she preferred walking sometimes, it gave her a chance to breathe, to empty her thoughts, to feel the world moving without her.
Her phone buzzed again.
She didn't check it.
But this time the buzzing didn't stop. It continued persistently, vibrating in short bursts that made her jaw clench. For a moment she considered turning the phone off entirely, but something in the pattern of the calls, fast, repeated, urgent, made her hesitate.
She finally pulled it out of her bag, intending to simply silence it. Adrian's name flashed across the screen.
She answered immediately.
"Hello?"
"Liana," Adrian said, his voice strangely tight, "where are you?"
"On my way home. Why?"
There was a pause. A long one. A pause that wasn't normal, wasn't casual, wasn't the kind that preceded everyday conversations. Something in her chest tightened involuntarily, a faint echo of dread she refused to acknowledge.
"I didn't want to tell you like this," Adrian said quietly, "but… you need to know."
"Know what?" she asked, her pace slowing.
Another pause. Then:
"It's Ethan. Ethan Cole. He… he collapsed at his office this evening."
Her steps stopped entirely. The air around her felt thinner.
Collapsed.
Collapsed?
The word didn't make sense. Not when attached to Ethan. Not when attached to a man who walked through life like nothing could touch him, who held the world together with sheer force of will, who controlled every room he entered.
"What do you mean collapsed?" she asked, a breathless disbelief woven into the words.
"He's in the hospital," Adrian continued, softer now, as if sensing the shift in her. "Some sort of severe exhaustion, or that's what the preliminary reports say. It's serious enough that the board is in panic."
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. She felt her fingers tighten around the phone.
"That's… that's not possible," she whispered, the words escaping before she could stop them.
Adrian didn't challenge her. "I heard before leaving the office. I knew you'd want to know."
She didn't realize she had closed her eyes until she felt the slight dizziness of breath not fully drawn.
Want to know.Yes.She did.She shouldn't, but she did.
"Liana," Adrian said gently, "are you alright?"
She swallowed hard. "I'm fine. Thank you for telling me."
"If you need anything-"
"I'm fine," she repeated, a little too quickly, before ending the call.
The city noises dimmed around her. She didn't move. She didn't breathe properly. She simply stood under the streetlight, staring at nothing, her thoughts spiraling into places she had tried so hard to barricade.
Ethan. Hospital. Collapsed.
Her heart reacted faster than her mind, faster than reason allowed. There was a sharp pull in her chest, as if someone had tugged a thread she thought she had cut long ago. She hated herself for it. She hated the sudden sting in her eyes, the way her breath trembled, the unwelcome spike of fear that rose instinctively in her blood.
She shouldn't feel this. She shouldn't care.
He ruined her.He betrayed her.He broke her in ways she didn't know she could break.
But pain didn't erase love the way she wished it did.
A cold wind brushed past her, snapping her back into herself. She blinked hard, pushing away the tears before they could gather. Her legs felt unsteady, her heart untrustworthy.
She finally inhaled slowly.
Ethan Cole was in the hospital.
And Liana Rivera's heart, despite everything, trembled.