The weekend came, and I thought I could finally relax. Pero Ethan's presence lingered in my mind like an unwelcome—but somehow thrilling—shadow.
I decided to go to my favorite coffee shop, hoping for some peace and quiet. Sipping my cappuccino, I tried to focus on my sketchpad, drawing shapes and colors to calm my racing thoughts.
Then, out of nowhere, a familiar voice interrupted my concentration. "Lara?"
I looked up, and there he was—Ethan Rivera, casually dressed, but still radiating the same confident energy that made my heart skip every time.
"E-Ethan," I stammered, setting my sketchpad aside. "What are you—here—for?"
He smiled faintly, eyes scanning the small café. "I needed coffee. And I thought I might run into you."
I blinked. Run into me? Right. Fate, or bad luck? Either way, my pulse quickened.
He walked closer, standing just a little too close. I could smell his subtle cologne—woody, intoxicating—and my stomach churned.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said, hands casually in his pockets. "Just… seeing you here made sense."
"Uh… right," I muttered, heart hammering in my chest. "Makes sense… yeah."
He sat down across from me, leaning slightly forward. "So, how's the sketching going?"
"It's… fine," I replied, trying not to fidget. Every glance at him made me aware of how close he was. How warm. How… present.
He smirked faintly, noticing my unease. "You're tense. Something wrong?"
"Nothing! I'm fine!" I said a little too loudly, drawing attention from a nearby table. I cursed under my breath. Why was I so flustered? It's just Ethan. Just my "contract husband."
He leaned back, smiling faintly, almost amused. "You know, Lara, I don't usually enjoy seeing people flustered. But… you seem to make it unavoidable."
My cheeks burned. "Stop… that's not funny," I muttered, but the corners of my lips betrayed me—I couldn't hide my smile entirely.
"Maybe," he said, tilting his head, "it's because I'm closer than you expected."
I swallowed hard, aware of the tension building in the small space between us. One year. One contract. And yet, moments like this… felt dangerously real.
"Anyway," he said, standing, "don't let your heart get distracted by work—or by me." His words were calm, casual, but they hit me like lightning.
I watched him walk away, heart still racing, sketchpad forgotten. Contract marriage? Yes. But… every glance, every touch, every word from Ethan made pretending harder.
And I knew… the next week, and every week after, was going to be a test—not just of the contract, but of my heart.