God… I fought the urge to swear and tried to turn and leave. But my mom works for his family, so I had to swallow my pride and stand there, humiliatingly holding out two fingers.
Carefully, I pinched the disgusting underwear and lifted it.
Ethan had finished towel-drying his hair, arms folded across his chest, watching me with that cocky, taunting look.
I kept my eyes away from his and stretched my arm out as far as I could, trying to keep my body—and my fingertips—at a safe distance. “Anything else? If not, I’ll go downstairs.”
He snorted, clearly amused by how I was standing, and answered coolly, “Don’t be in such a hurry. Finish my milk first, then you can take the cup downstairs.”
My fingers were stuck—neither willing to toss it nor to keep holding it. Was I supposed to just stand there holding his filthy underwear until he finished his milk?
I resigned myself, put my arm down, and took the underwear with disgust. I told myself silently, “Fine. I’ll just wash my hands more later.”
Ethan’s mouth curled into a small, victorious smile. He walked to the desk, picked up the cup of milk, and drank very slowly—like a cat lapping at milk. Minutes passed and the cup looked untouched.
My palm, squeezing his underwear, was sweating. I kept wanting to throw it away, but he calmly sipped, taking one tiny mouthful every long while.
I suspected he was doing it on purpose.
No—I didn’t suspect. He definitely was.
“Where were you this afternoon?” he asked suddenly, right as my patience was about to snap.
This afternoon?
I was puzzled that he would blurt out something like that. I tried replaying my afternoon in my head. Nothing special—no classes, and my friend Hazel had dragged me to meet an online friend at the coffee shop across from Springfield Department Store. She insisted I come along. The guy had brought a friend, so the four of us chatted there for a while.
Did Ethan see me?
Couldn’t be that coincidental.
I frowned and decided not to admit anything. “I didn’t go anywhere. I came straight home from school.”
He set the cup down without a word, and his eyes swept straight to me—sharp, penetrating. I felt a chill down my back and shifted my stance without meaning to.
“Really? Didn’t go anywhere?” His voice was cold and distant, no warmth in it at all.
There was danger in his tone. Did he really see me at the cafe? But so what—I hadn’t done anything wrong. Do I have to ask his permission to drink a cup of coffee?
I stubbornly refused to give in. “Yes. I didn’t go anywhere.”
He looked at me, gave a short sneer, shook his head, picked the cup up again, and drank it down.
When he finished, I breathed a small sigh of relief and moved to take the cup and make my escape.
Like he knew my plan, he toyed with the empty cup in his hand and said lightly, “Claire, are you an idiot? I give you a chance to tell the truth and you won’t. You force me to handle this the hard way.”
Hearing that, every hair on my arms stood up. I tensed, watching him. “Wh—what are you going to do?”
He stopped playing with the cup. His eyes were dark and fierce, threaded with mockery. “You’re getting bolder. Going to mixers—how was the other guy? Was he to your taste?”
Mixer?
I was stunned. So he had seen me at the coffee shop and assumed I was on some sort of date.
I didn’t want to explain—let him think whatever. What I needed was to get out of the room before he crossed another line.
I nodded. “He was…to my taste. Are you done with your milk? Can I take the cup downstairs now?”
Ethan’s face grew darker; he set the cup on the desk without showing emotion. “I finished.”
What had I done to anger him now? My mother was their housekeeper—did I not have any personal freedom? Did I have to report where I went, who I saw? I wasn’t a prisoner.
Every time his mood veered, I felt uneasy. Somehow he’d become a dangerous presence to me.
I carefully took the cup and headed for the door. I’d barely reached for the knob when his arms locked around me from behind. I jolted; the cup nearly fell.
Ethan’s angular face filled my view. I could see my own terrified reflection in his pupils.
He spun me around and pinned me against the door.
One hand held the milk; the other still clutched his underwear. I was humiliated and trapped.
I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. “What do you want?”
He leaned in, breath hot by my face, lips inching toward mine. “What do you think I want?”
I remembered the last time he’d ambushed me like this and kissed me—he’d taken advantage and I’d been furious.
Why was I so stupid to bring him milk? Even if my mom asked me to, I should’ve made an excuse. I pressed my lips shut to prevent anything—this time I would not give in.
Ethan put a finger to my lips, tracing them with a teasing expression. “You think that’ll stop me? I want to see how long you can last.”
Then—he pinched my nose, cutting off my breath.
I’d never expected that. I stared at him, wide-eyed. The bastard. A pervert.
I was completely suffocating. If I kept my mouth shut, I’d pass out.
Ten seconds… twenty… thirty… I couldn’t hold it anymore and had to open my mouth for air.
The moment I gasped, Ethan released my nose and closed his mouth over mine.
“Mmm—” I tried to turn away but his hands cradled my face and pinned me. His tongue shoved into my mouth, clashing teeth sometimes. I was dizzy, nearly suffocated. He finally let me go.
I panted like I’d run a mile, lungs burning.
Ethan smiled, pleased, leaning his cheek against mine so close it felt intimate. In a low voice near my ear: “Going to mixers again next time? Is that guy more your type, or am I?”
My breathing steadied, but his question made my skin itch with disgust. I refused to answer.
He didn’t hurry. One hand found my waist, the other roamed toward my chest, lingering right where he shouldn’t.
Quick as a flash I blurted, “I won’t go. Happy?”
His smile deepened, his dark eyes watching me as if waiting for more. “Anything else?”
I closed my eyes and surrendered. “You’re more my type.”
His hand finally behaved—just a little more restrained.
He held me, one hand smoothening my hair like I was a pet. Ethan was tall—about six feet—and strong; under his grip I had no room to struggle. Any resistance might bring worse punishment.
When did he become like this? He used to be courteous, radiant—the kind of guy everyone liked at school. To the world he was still the perfect, arrogant Ethan Sinclair. But with me, he was a monster.
After a moment of quiet, I asked calmly, “Ethan, what do you actually want?”
His hand didn’t stop at my head; his voice darkened. “I want you to obey me.”
Obey?
I scoffed. “Why should I obey you? Am I your purchased robot? Do I have to go wherever you tell me, stop doing anything you forbid, lie there and let you take advantage of me? Is that what you want?”
He laughed, then looked at me with a straight face. “Could you be that obedient? If you could, I’d reward you.”
I was speechless with anger. Did he think money gave him the right to do anything? I wasn’t his servant or his plaything.
I glared. “Why don’t you just go die.”
Ethan actually smiled like he was thrilled—his eyes sparkling, his grin showing perfect white teeth. I thought he might be crazy, grinning at being told to die.
“Or we could die together. Where do you want to die? On the bed, or in the bathroom?”
He was such a sleazebag. I turned my head away, refusing to entertain him.
But the next second, he grabbed my face and forced me to look at him, his expression unreadable.
Then his thumb dragged lightly across my lips. I could see the desire in his eyes flare hotter. Just as his mouth leaned in again, I parted my lips and said softly, "Ethan, don’t forget—we broke up. You promised me you’d stop."
That stopped him. The heat in his gaze cooled back down.
I knew Ethan well enough. He was still that proud, confident, untouchable Ethan Sinclair—his dignity wouldn’t allow him to grovel after an ex, especially when that ex was the housekeeper’s daughter who had the nerve to break up with him.
He let go of me slowly. The smile on his face vanished, replaced by a flat calmness and indifference.
He stepped back, loosened the half-untied robe, took in my guarded expression and tossed me a look of utter disdain, as if I were nothing but trash, then straightened his robe and tied it properly.
"You reminded me," he said.
My body was free again. The glass of milk in my hand was intact; the pair of shorts I’d been holding in the other hand remained clenched in my palm.
But that look of disgust lodged in my chest like a stone. I wanted to scream, to shove, to do something, but there was nowhere to channel it.
Ethan turned to the bed, grabbed the towel he’d tossed aside, and continued drying his hair.
"Go shut the door for me," he ordered.
He’d kicked me out.
I stood up straight, took a deep breath, and told myself not to take it personally—call it the dog that bites you. I opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind me.
Downstairs, I fixed my hair in the powder room until I couldn’t see anything wrong, then went to the kitchen.
My mom was still busy, prepping dishes for tomorrow.
From the spread, Mrs. Sinclair must’ve invited some important guests to the estate again.
Before I knew it, Mom had worked for the Sinclairs for five years. I’d been tagging along for four of those. I moved into their house during my sophomore year of high school—Mom had just finished a year at the Sinclair house and, with their permission, brought me along. It was Mr. Sinclair who arranged my high school.
Honestly, having employers like them was rare, and Mom had been grateful, pouring herself into her work.
Ethan was a year older than me. When we first met he was a senior in high school.
To me, the term "golden child" fit Ethan perfectly—good-looking, born into wealth, father a businessman, mother an intellectual, the only child in the family. The whole package. I used to think people like him only existed in novels.
I remember the first time I saw him—he’d just come back from playing sports, his short-sleeved athletic shirt plastered with sweat, a face so handsome it could’ve been a K-drama lead.
Next to him I felt like an extra from a poorhouse scene.
Somehow, things shifted. What started as him barely acknowledging me turned into small conversations, then more. His parents were always traveling—Dad on business worldwide, Mom giving trainings and talks—so at home it was mostly him, the housekeepers, the nanny, and the gardener. Their villa was in an upscale neighborhood; each house had its own garden and pool.
When Ethan graduated high school, his grades were excellent. His parents arranged for him to attend an Ivy League university in the United States. All the paperwork was ready—but he refused to go. He insisted on studying domestically. His father was so angry he didn’t speak to him for three months.
By then I’d graduated high school too, and something ambiguous had flickered between us. I knew the divide between us was massive, so I tried to keep my distance at first. But that effort didn’t last.
Early in my freshman year, we started seeing each other—quietly, without our parents knowing. It was a sweet time, probably the best time of my life. Ethan was happy then; we shared little secrets and stories about our lives before we met. Though we lived in different worlds, he always listened to me as if I were telling a captivating tale.
On weekend nights when I delivered his milk, he’d hold me close, kiss me… but never go further. Part of it was fear, part of it his self-control. Back then Ethan was a gentleman—completely different from who he is now.
But even the most passionate relationships cool down. Like many young couples, we eventually broke up.
We didn’t make a scene. We still lived under the same roof and saw each other often. I assumed, as adults, we’d handle it.
Then he changed. I couldn’t understand why Ethan became someone else.
Last weekend I came back from school and found him in a terrible mood. We went to different universities, and we hadn’t seen each other for a week. It shouldn’t have been my fault. That night Mom was busy and told me to go upstairs.
Since the breakup I tried to avoid him without making it obvious—too much avoidance would raise suspicion. So I delivered the folded clothes Mom had prepared to his room. He snapped at me like he’d been bottling up emotions for ages, and it ended up like tonight.
I thought a week would cool him off. Instead, it got worse. Was he punishing me? I was the one who suggested the breakup. Ethan has always been proud; maybe he couldn’t accept it. Or maybe he was one of those unstable, possessive, "sickly" types who’d been hiding it all along.
I exhaled and stopped thinking about it.
The next morning, after washing up, I made a cup of lemon tea. Lately I felt a bit run down—my face even started breaking out.
My phone on the counter buzzed. It was a voice message from my friend Hazel.
I opened it. Hazel sounded excited.
"Claire, good news. The guy we met yesterday online messaged me this morning. He asked me to see a movie at Grandview Mall tonight, and he said his friend wants to invite you too."
I remembered the two guys we’d met—polite, gentlemanly. They didn’t seem like bad guys. But I wasn’t in the mood for dating.
I sent a voice reply. "I’m not going. You have fun, but be careful—it’s an online meetup. Call me if anything happens."
Seconds later, another message came.
"Claire, come on. His friend sounds great—good-looking, top student at Harborview University. Where will you find a guy like that? And I think he’s into you—just look at how he looked at you."
I rolled my eyes. Hazel playing love expert again.
"I’m not going. You know I’m not comfortable with strangers. We’d be awkward, we don’t know each other."
My phone chimed again. Hazel started pleading.
"Just come. If you don’t, it’ll be awkward for me and him. Four people is better than two. Less chance of dead air. Come on."
She’d almost worn me down. I couldn’t keep making excuses.
"Fine. When?"
"Seven tonight. He booked Hearth & Grill Korean BBQ. Dinner then movie. It’s a date—don’t stand me up."
I sent an OK back.
After finishing my lemon tea, I was about to head back when I froze—someone was standing in the kitchen doorway.
Ethan, in a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants, expressionless, just watching me. I jumped—how long had he been there?
Silence stretched for a few seconds. I spoke first. "Do you need something?"
His face went colder. His gaze was like a chill blowing over me.
"Where’s Mrs. Bennett?" he asked—no warmth at all.
I looked around. Mom wasn’t in the kitchen when I’d come in this morning. "I don’t know. Maybe she’s outside."
He stared at me as if he wanted to bore a hole through my forehead. I felt ridiculous and annoyed—who had set him off this early?
"I want bacon pancakes. Tell Mrs. Bennett," he said, then turned and left.
I let out a breath. Ethan’s moods were so unpredictable—if he were a girl, I’d swear he was on the rag.
A little while later, Mom returned with bags of high-end ingredients—she’d gone shopping at the market with the driver. I told her Ethan wanted bacon pancakes.
She didn’t hesitate and got to work. Mom could cook anything—Chinese or Western—and always made dishes that looked, smelled, and tasted amazing. That’s why she’d been able to stay employed at the Sinclair house all these years.
I noticed among the ingredients Mom had brought home were caviar, truffles, Australian lobster… and so on.
So tonight’s guests must be very important.
Ethan’s mother sometimes entertained at home. Some guests were professors, some chairs of foundations, and some were Robert Sinclair’s business partners.
I suddenly remembered the other housekeeper in the kitchen had taken time off these past two days for family reasons.
So this afternoon, it was only Mom in the kitchen?
“Mom, Mrs. Huang is on leave, right? Can you handle everything by yourself this afternoon?” I asked.
Mom nodded and smiled at me. “I think so. Mrs. Sinclair said there are only two guests this afternoon. It shouldn’t be too busy.”
I relaxed.
When the house had guests, Mom and the other ladies could get swamped; I’d help out in the kitchen sometimes. Over time I’d gotten pretty capable.
Early evening.
I’d washed my hair and stood in front of the closet fretting.
Would a T‑shirt and jeans be too plain?
It wasn’t exactly a date, but we were going to dinner at a restaurant and a movie afterward. Better not to look too casual.
I decided on a dress.
After thinking, I pulled a beige floral dress from the closet.
Over it I added a short purple knit vest.
I studied myself in the mirror.
Simple and elegant, slightly sweet.
The skirt hit just above the knee, not too long, not too short.
The waist was nipped in, showing a slender silhouette.
Not flashy, not dowdy.
Beige seemed to suit me—my skin looked fairer.
I was debating flats or a low heel when Mom opened the door and walked in.
She looked me over, then down at the two pairs of shoes on the floor. Surprised at first, she gave a knowing smile.
“Is my daughter going on a date?” she teased.
I shrugged. “Not really a date—just going out with friends for dinner.”
She made an “oh” on purpose, then asked, “Is your friend a guy?”
“There are guys, and girls,” I answered honestly.
Mom smiled knowingly, then offered a reminder. “You should put on a little makeup. Girls look better with a bit of color.”
“Really?”
I looked at myself in the mirror and considered it. Mom and I had always been close—probably because it had been just the two of us since I was little. No matter what work she did, she always found a way to have me with her through school, from elementary to university.
In the end I took her advice and did a little light makeup.
It did make a difference.
A car horn sounded outside. Mrs. Sinclair must be back.
Mom and I hurried out of the room into the foyer.
Sure enough, Ethan’s mother had returned.
With her stepped another woman about the same age, dressed simply in a well‑tailored black suit dress, a string of white pearls at her throat. She was slim for her age and moved with an air of graceful, stately elegance.
Then a young woman climbed out of the back seat.
She looked about twenty, delicate features, very pretty, tall, wearing a white princess dress.
Mrs. Sinclair saw us and smiled warmly.
“Claire, it’s Saturday—aren’t you out with friends?” she asked.
I returned her smile politely. “Not yet. A classmate invited me to a movie tonight.”
“I see.” She nodded, then turned to Mom. “Yvonne, where’s Ethan? With guests at home, he wouldn’t have snuck out, would he?”
“No, Master Ethan was just upstairs,” Mom replied. She liked calling Ethan “Master”—sometimes it amused me and sometimes I felt sorry for him, because he’d told her more than once not to call him that. Still, she never stopped.
“Well, that’s good.”
Mrs. Sinclair asked Mrs. Greene, who usually tidied, to call Ethan down.
As the guests settled on the sofa, Mom began to serve tea.
Soon the eldest Sinclair son finally descended the stairs.
“Ethan, it’s not even dark yet—you finally deigned to come downstairs,” Mrs. Sinclair chided, but the fondness in her voice was obvious.
“Is this your Ethan?” the other woman said admiringly, like someone looking at her own child. “He’s handsome—over six foot, isn’t he? Evelyn, I never expected you to have such a good‑looking son. He should be in movies.”
Hearing compliments about her son made Mrs. Sinclair pleased but modest. “Evelyn, don’t flatter him—his head will swell.”
She turned to Ethan. “Do you remember Aunt Evelyn? You used to eat at her house a lot when you were kids. This is her daughter, Aveline. I remember you two played together all the time.”
“Hello, Aunt Evelyn,” Ethan greeted politely.
He was always very courteous with elders.
Aveline stood, a shy smile on her face. “Ethan, it’s been a while.”
“Long time,” he replied with a faint smile.
The two older women watched them with satisfied expressions.
“Ten years have flown by. The kids have grown up,” Mrs. Sinclair sighed.
“We’re getting old too,” Evelyn replied.
Seeing this obvious matchmaking vibe, I quietly slipped back toward the kitchen.
Ethan had really hit the jackpot. Aveline was beautiful and from a family that clearly matched the Sinclairs’ standing. From their conversation it sounded like childhood sweethearts—perfect in every way.
I smiled to myself bitterly.
Dinner started not long after.
There weren’t many guests, and most dishes were prepared in advance, so Mom handled everything alone just fine.
I checked the time: 6:30. Time to leave.
“Mom, are you sure you don’t need my help?” I asked again.
“No, really. Go have fun. Don’t be late,” she urged.
I nodded, went to grab my bag, and headed out of the kitchen—when a voice stopped me.
“Claire, bring me a glass of water.”
I looked toward the dining table.
At the far end of the marble table, Ethan lounged in a leather chair like he’d been waiting. Mom heard his voice and came out of the kitchen. “Master Ethan, what would you like—”
“Plain water is fine. Claire, get it for me,” he said, then turned away.
Aveline sat not far from him; they were deep in conversation and seemed to be enjoying each other’s company.
Mom and I exchanged glances. She poured a glass of water from the jug and put it on a tray. “Claire, take this to Master Ethan before you go, okay?”
I took the tray and forced a smile.
At the table I handed the glass to Ethan. He didn’t look at me as he took it and sipped.
I began to turn away.
“I wanted ice water,” he called.
I blinked. He’d said plain water before.
“You said plain water just now,” I replied.
“I want plain water with ice,” he said calmly.
Did I mishear? Reluctantly I went back to the kitchen and poured a cup with ice.
That should do it.
He stirred the ice, then added, “Get me a straw.”
I was annoyed. I glared and hissed, “Ethan, are you doing this on purpose?”
He ignored me and turned back to Aveline. “Aveline, what did you say you’re studying in Melbourne?”
They flowed through conversation as if I weren’t there. I stood there, faceless, while they chatted and laughed.
I went back into the kitchen, grabbed a pack of unopened straws from the cupboard, returned and placed one in front of him. He opened the wrapper, shoved the straw into the glass, took a sip, then said, “The ice water is bland—slice two lemons and put them in.”
I snorted. With Mrs. Sinclair and guests dining here, I wouldn’t make a scene. I took the glass back into the kitchen, sliced half a lemon, put two slices in, and set it back down.
“Did you add honey?” Ethan asked without looking up.
Aveline, who’d started to notice the awkwardness between us, glanced from him to me, puzzled. Even the two chatting older women turned their heads.
I felt my face flush and a cold hollow spread through me.
Is this fun for you, Ethan?
Playing me like I’m a fool—fun, right?
After all, I’m just the housekeeper’s daughter. My dignity is worth nothing in front of people like you.
I didn’t bother to argue further. “Drink it or don’t,” I said evenly, then without looking back went upstairs, grabbed my bag and my phone, and left.
By the time I got to Hearth & Grill Korean BBQ, Hazel and the others had already ordered and were waiting for me. I felt awful for keeping them—especially because it was my doing. I was embarrassed.
That boy named Lucas was considerate as he tried to comfort me.
"It’s okay, Claire. We just got here too."
Then he carefully set the menu in front of me and asked what I wanted to eat.
I wasn’t very hungry, but I couldn’t refuse his kindness, so I ordered two vegetable dishes as a token.
After yesterday, Hazel and her online date were clearly much closer. They chatted like friends who’d known each other for years, never running out of things to say.
Lucas and I watched them with the same look of pleasantly surprised recognition, both of us feeling a little emotional.
We exchanged a smile.
"What do you usually like to do, Claire?" Lucas asked first.
My hobbies were the same as every other girl’s—reading, binging shows, shopping, working out. I named a couple of things casually, then asked him, "You?"
Once the conversation opened, the air warmed up.
Lucas had that gentle, reserved type of charm—delicate features, gold-rimmed glasses, very scholarly. He was a junior studying law at a well-known university, definitely a top student.
Quiet by nature but well-read, he spoke with a dry wit that made chatting with him pleasant.
After dinner the four of us went to see a movie that had just come out.
It’d been ages since I’d been to a theater—the last time was with Ethan.
Afraid my mother would find out we were dating, I never let us touch or behave like a couple at home. Our dates moved to secret meetups outside.
Ethan got his license at eighteen, and his dad gave him a nice little car. It made everything easier.
We’d plan our weekend excursions in advance. He’d drive me to nearby tourist spots, then we’d wander through night markets sampling food. Sometimes we’d catch a movie.
We always picked a secluded row, whispering through the film, kissing whenever we wanted, not caring that there were crumbs in his mouth. We’d kiss until we were breathless, clinging to each other, fingers intertwined, as if we wanted to melt into one another.
We were inseparable once—willing to do anything for each other.
But that was then. Things change.
I shook my head, trying to brush away old memories, and focused on the screen.
Hazel sipped her soda and leaned close to my ear. "See? I told you Lucas likes you. You didn’t believe me. Add him on WeChat later—what a catch. Don’t miss out."
I pressed a hand to my forehead, hoping Lucas hadn’t heard.
Hazel had been hunting for a promising boyfriend since freshman year. Her plan was to marry right after college, be a full-time homemaker—she’d be the pretty face, her husband would be the breadwinner. Looks like she might be on track.
By the time the movie ended it was 10:30. Lucas politely offered to walk me home. I was about to refuse when Hazel kept winking and mouthing to me.
I somehow understood: "Add him on WeChat."
In the end, Lucas and I got in the same cab.
On the way he asked for my social account—just another friend, he said. Or maybe it was time for me to start a new romance. Lucas had good prospects; why should I refuse?
We exchanged accounts. I couldn’t let him take me all the way to the mansion gate, so when we were near a bus stop by the neighborhood I told the driver to stop.
Lucas understood and kindly opened the door for me.
"Thanks for dinner and the movie," I said politely, smiling.
"You’re welcome." He sounded shy, but his eyes shone. "We’ll go out again."
"Sure." I waved as the cab drove off and walked back toward the Sinclair house.
I looked up at the sky. The stars were bright—probably a clear day tomorrow. My mood lifted; maybe I should make more friends. After all, nothing in life stays the same forever.
I opened the courtyard gate. The second-floor lights in the house were still on. Mrs. Sinclair must have guests over—they looked like they’d stayed the night.
I cut across the front yard to the back, about to go upstairs to shower and change, when I noticed a faint flicker on the garden bench.
Curious, I walked over. I expected to see the driver smoking. But it was Ethan.
I was surprised—I didn’t even know he smoked. There were five or six cigarette butts scattered on the ground. The yard was silent.
I almost kept walking, but stopped and asked, "Ethan, what are you doing out here?"
He finished the cigarette, tossed the butt, and looked at me with a cold expression. "This is my home. I can do whatever I want."
I mouthed a silent, oh well, and turned to go, but his voice followed me.
"Went on a date?"
I stopped and looked back. Ethan leaned against the bench with an arrogant, lofty air, as if I were some lowly servant and he the highborn heir. In a way, that was the reality.
"Yes," I said honestly. I wasn’t going to hide it.
His face didn’t improve. He frowned, his eyes sharp, and contempt flickered across his face like hatred. I found myself unnerved.
Why was he acting like he’d caught me in the act? What business was it of his who I dated?
"Even if I did, so what? You went on a blind date today, didn’t you?" I shot back calmly.
Ethan watched me, his expression softening oddly—the light in his eyes brightened. He stood and walked toward me, a corner of his mouth lifting. "Jealous?"
Yeah, right. I straightened my face. We needed to talk.
"I’m not jealous, Ethan. That girl—Aveline—she’s pretty, and they looked good together. We used to be together, sure, but that’s in the past. Life moves on. You have your relationships; I’ll have mine. Can’t we be rational and get along?"
"Rational?" He scoffed like I’d said something absurd. "Claire, I don’t understand your brain sometimes. Is that glasses guy you met yesterday better looking than me? Richer family than me? Or… better at kissing? Any woman who’s not out of her mind would choose me over him."
Ethan, the eldest son, really had a venomous tongue. I hated his arrogant tone, as if he were some untouchable.
If he wouldn’t talk seriously, I wouldn’t waste emotions on him.
"You’re right—his kissing is better than yours," I said with a smile, purely to rile him.
We both knew each other’s weak spots too well.
As I expected, anger flared in his eyes in an instant. "You kissed him?" he demanded.
"That’s none of your business," I shot back.
Next thing I knew, he acted like a wild animal. He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the dark tool shed nearby.
His sudden yank nearly dislocated my shoulder; the pain stole my breath. He was so strong I couldn’t break free. I glared at him, furious.
"Ethan, are you crazy?" I spat.
He ignored me, pinning me against the wall. In the darkness I couldn’t make out his face, but I could feel he was on the verge of losing control.
I regretted that I’d gonead for the sake of a retort.
"I am crazy, Claire," he said, his voice flat. He clamped a hand around my throat so tight I couldn’t move, and then he tightened inch by inch.
I started coughing, fighting to pry his fingers apart, but it was useless. Male strength was overwhelming, and he’d trained in taekwondo since childhood—there was no way I could win.
His grip kept increasing. I felt like I was going to die. For a moment, I truly feared he’d strangle me.
I struggled, kicking and thrashing.
"Where did he kiss you? The face? The earlobe? The lips…" Ethan’s voice was dark and vicious at my ear, like I was his archenemy.
I shook my head and forced out the words, "I… didn’t."
Perhaps sensing I was close to passing out, he slowly loosened his hand. I clutched at my chest and coughed as if I’d been brought back to life.
After a while I felt a little steadier. I looked at Ethan—tonight he seemed to have lost his reason. I had to get out.
I sprang up and made for the door, but Ethan easily grabbed me and pulled me back.
Then, in the dark, he found my lips and kissed me hard.
Rough. Forceful… like he was trying to press me into the wall.
I twisted and fought with everything I had, but it only made him more ruthless.
Ethan started pulling at my clothes.
The little vest came off over my head without much trouble.
Then he began undoing the buttons at the front of my dress.
Panic prickled up my spine. I called his name, trembling.
"Ethan."
He didn’t flinch. In a few swift motions he undid the buttons and slipped his hand inside.
My eyes went wide. My heart slammed against my throat.
He moved his hand to the small of my back and fumbled at the clasp of my bra.
I was at a loss—wanted to run, wanted to scream—but the last shred of reason told me I couldn’t.
Mrs. Sinclair and her guests were upstairs in the front parlor. If anyone noticed, even if I had a hundred mouths I couldn’t explain it away.
His hand covered the soft part of my chest.
I froze.
His movements softened a little; the sharpness drained from him as if from a blade dulled at the edge.
After a moment his hand started creeping under my skirt.
I realized what he intended and shuddered uncontrollably.
Desperation made me bite down hard on his lip. A metallic, salty taste flooded both our mouths.
Tears spilled out in hot, heavy drops.
Ethan finally stopped.
In the dark, we were like two beaten, trapped animals—breathing the only sound between us.
After a long silence, his voice, low and cold, sliced the quiet.
"Claire, do not test my limits. If you do, I’ll drag you down to hell with me."
His words sent a chill through me.
He left without another word.
I collapsed to the floor.
…Sunday.
When I woke up, I made a decision.
I couldn’t stay in the Sinclair house. I had to move out.
Mom would obviously ask why. I needed a perfect reason so she wouldn’t get suspicious.
What could I say?
I spent the whole morning avoiding the parlor and the front yard. When Mom called me to breakfast I made an excuse that I wasn’t hungry.
I was scared of running into Ethan. I didn’t understand how our relationship had turned into this.
Thinking about how he had almost gone mad last night and that line about dragging me to hell left me shaking inside.
By lunchtime I couldn’t stay in my room any longer.
I went to the kitchen. Mom was putting away dishes. The parlor was quiet.
"Mom, have the guests gone?" I asked.
"They left this morning," she said, setting down a plate of pasta and a fruit salad for me, a slight reproach in her voice. "Claire, you’re skipping breakfast again? Are you dieting? Skipping breakfast is bad for you. Don’t do this when you’re at school…"
"Mom," I cut her off. "Has Mrs. Sinclair gone out? What about Ethan?"
She looked puzzled.
"Mrs. Sinclair and Ethan both went out. Driver Wang just took them—maybe to the mall. Do you need something?"
Ethan wasn’t home. Perfect timing.
I couldn’t eat. I was trying to figure out how to tell Mom.
"Um… Mom, I’m thinking of moving out. Some classmates and I are going to rent together—it’s all girls. What do you think?"
She stopped in surprise and looked at me, her hands stilled.
"You’re moving out? Why?"
I scratched my forehead, grasping for words.
"I think I’m old enough to be independent. I can’t live at other people’s houses forever."
She weighed my words and hesitated. "Did Mrs. Sinclair say something? Or Ethan…"
I hurriedly shook my head.
"No. It’s not that. I went out with friends last night, and they gave me a ride home. They assumed I lived here. I don’t want people to think I’m a rich girl—it’s annoying having to explain. And… if I have a boyfriend later, living here would be awkward."
Somehow, panic made me invent that excuse.
Thankfully Mom seemed to buy it, smiling.
"You’re getting a boyfriend? Where’s he from? Is he a student? What’s he like? Why didn’t you bring him home for me to meet?"
Heat rose in my cheeks.
"It’s not like that. We just met. We’re still getting to know each other."
"Oh," she said, thinking it over. After a moment: "If you think it’s inconvenient to live here, then move."
Relief flooded me when she agreed, but I noticed she looked like she wanted to say more.
"Claire, I don’t mind you having a boyfriend, but remember—you’re a girl. If you go out with him, be careful. You’re still in school. You don’t want… you know."
It took me a beat to register what she was saying.
I wasn’t a child; of course I knew to protect myself.
"Mom, don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. I’ll go pack now and get a car."
"Today?" she asked, startled.
I nodded. Absolutely today—sooner the better, before Ethan came back.
Most of my everyday clothes were at school since I lived on campus during semesters, so I only needed two suitcases. Big items could be bought online later.
After packing, I called a car.
Mom and I dragged the two suitcases to the house number at the gate. She wondered why I was in such a hurry and why I skipped lunch.
"Maybe wait and say goodbye to Mrs. Sinclair? In case she asks…" she suggested.
"That’s fine, Mom. Tell her for me," I said.
I practically fled into the car, terrified Ethan might return. With his temper yesterday, who knew what he’d do—maybe he’d come after me.
…After leaving the Sinclair estate, I felt so much lighter.
I even regretted not doing it sooner.
I wasn’t in a rush to find a permanent place. I could stay at school during the week; I just needed something before summer break.
Hazel and her online boyfriend had officially started dating—I had to admire how fast that happened.
Lucas had started asking me to hang out—dinner, shopping, movies. He probably liked me.
I didn’t dislike him. Things were developing at a steady pace.
With the newfound free weekends, I considered getting a part-time job.
In my freshman year I had waited tables at a bar for a while, but when I started dating Ethan he didn’t like the environment and wouldn’t let me keep working there. After that I never took another job.
My spending was modest. Mom sent a monthly allowance. When I was with Ethan he’d transfer money to me often—more than Mom’s half-year allowance in a single transfer. I never accepted it all. Eventually he learned to send small red envelopes I would click open with a teasing "thanks, benefactor" emoji. He’d reply with a smug face.
Hazel nudged me. "How’s the job hunt?"
I blinked back to reality. "Got one—tutoring a middle-schooler."
"And you and Lucas?"
"Still getting to know each other. Taking it easy."
I flipped through a book. Hazel watched me with gleeful curiosity.
"Honestly, Claire, do you like someone? You don’t seem all that into Lucas."
I laughed. "How am I supposed to be? Like you—sweep someone up in three moves and claim him?"
She acted like that was perfectly normal. "Exactly. These days it’s about efficiency. Enjoy girlfriend perks sooner."
I shrugged. "I like being single too."
Hazel sighed. "You’re hopeless. You’ve enjoyed being single twenty-something years—go enjoy men for once."
Her loud proclamation drew glances. I wanted to pretend I didn’t know her.
Two months passed before long; summer break was near. I had to start apartment hunting in earnest.
My budget was small but I wanted a bright, clean place. I spent two weekends viewing apartments and most were disappointing.
Thursday afternoon I had no classes and planned to stop by my parents’ house—Mom had called earlier and said she’d made some kimchi to take home. I’d been out for over two months and wanted to see her anyway.
Hopefully Ethan wouldn’t be home—no such luck last time, and I doubted he’d just happen to be back now.
He wasn’t. Mom fussed nonstop.
"Claire, you look thinner again. Are you eating properly? This kimchi is great with rice or noodles—put it in the fridge when you’re not using it. Does your apartment have a fridge? If not, I’ll give you some money to buy one. You have to eat well."
I tasted the kimchi; it was delicious.
I nodded and flattered her. "I know, Mom. I’ll eat properly. Your kimchi is the best—no one cooks like you."
She thought for a moment and forced a smile. "I’ll get some containers. Wait here."
"Okay."
A little later Mrs. Huang, who helped Mom in the kitchen, walked in. "Claire home’s back!" she greeted.
She greeted me.
"Hello, Mrs. Huang."
I smiled at her.
"Is your mother not in the kitchen?"
Mrs. Huang glanced around the kitchen.
"Oh, she went up to the bedroom to grab some boxes to pack kimchi."
I noticed the clouded look on Mrs. Huang’s face and asked, "Is something wrong?"
"Not much. Tomorrow’s the weekend and Master Ethan should be back, so I was just asking your mother what to prepare for the weekend."
I felt puzzled.
"Isn’t Ethan only coming back tomorrow? Why start preparing so early? You can wait and cook whatever he wants then."
She sighed, looking helpless.
"I don’t know what’s gotten into Ethan lately. He’s so picky—nothing satisfies him. Chinese food, Western, Japanese—he takes two bites and that’s it. Sometimes he tastes just a tiny bit and pushes the plate away. Ugh, such a pain to serve."
My face went cold. It felt like a wind had blown straight through me.
Mrs. Huang kept complaining.
"Last Saturday, Mr. Sinclair and Mrs. Sinclair came home. But by dinner time, Master Ethan just had a cup of yogurt. His steak and pasta on his plate didn’t get touched. I overheard Mr. Sinclair telling Mrs. Sinclair that if the food didn’t suit Ethan’s taste, they’d replace the chef. So…"
She shook her head sadly, the tone full of reluctance.
"Driver Wang said Mrs. Sinclair has started asking him to find a licensed chef through an agency. I guess your mother and I won’t be here much longer."
My hands trembled faintly. My head buzzed.
Anger swelled so violently it felt like it would burst out of my chest.
Ethan… how could he do this to my mother?
My mother had been so good to him, pouring over recipes, trying every trick just to make his meals perfect every day.
He’d become so low. All of this just to punish me.
How could he… be so cruel?
I pulled out my phone, numb.
Mechanically I opened my contacts and found Ethan Sinclair’s number.
I stared at the screen for a long time.
I wanted to call—right then and there—recklessly, hysterically, to demand to know why.
Why treat my mother this way?
Why treat me this way?
But—
I didn’t call.
I don’t remember how I got back to school or how I made it through that day.
Finally, the next night came.
Lucas texted asking if I wanted to go to an art show the next morning.
I replied that I was busy the next couple days.
I took a cab back to The Willowridge Estates.
My mom was in the kitchen, cooking and juicing, the counter piled with ingredients.
She looked surprised to see me. "Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home today?"
"Mom, is Ethan back?"
I asked bluntly.
"Master Ethan? Driver Wang just brought him back."
Seeing my pale face, she asked worriedly, "Are you okay?"
I shook my head. "I’m fine."
She poured a glass of juice onto a tray.
I picked it up. "I’ll bring it to Ethan."
"No," she smiled and shook her head. "He’s been in a bad mood. Let your mother do it."
I stubbornly took the glass, voice flat: "It’s fine."
I went upstairs and stood in front of Ethan’s door.
I forced my anger down and knocked hard twice.
"Come in."
His voice answered quickly.
I opened the door.
Ethan really had just gotten home—his bag was still unpacked on the floor.
I stood for two seconds, then set the juice on his desk.
He put two books down on the desk as well.
Seeing me didn’t surprise him; it was as if he’d expected me to show up.
I stared at him coldly and cut to the chase.
"Ethan, what are you trying to do?"
He didn’t look up, methodically continuing to organize his bag, his tone cool and detached: "Which thing are you referring to?"
A deliberately stupid question.
I wanted to rip off his fake mask.
"You’ve been making things hard for my mother so she can’t stay at your house, forcing us to move so I’ll come crawling back and beg you."
He finally stopped what he was doing. A smug look spread across his face, condescending.
"So you know. But your attitude is a far cry from begging."
I was furious, practically biting my words, unsure how to strike back.
"You’re disgusting and shameless."
"Thanks."
He said it breezily, glanced at the juice I’d brought, sipped once and put it down, shaking his head.
"Aunt Yvonne’s juicing skills are getting worse. Take it away—tell her I didn’t drink it."
I wanted nothing more than to throw the whole glass in his face.
The thought formed, and the next second I grabbed the glass and hurled it at him without hesitation.
Splash.
The pale green liquid ran down Ethan’s chin, quickly dripping onto his clothes and the floor.
It splashed onto his desk and books behind him.
Even with juice all over his face, Ethan remained calm.
I wasn’t satisfied. I stared at him coolly and said, "I’ll tell Mom you drank it all—she won’t believe me otherwise."
For a moment, something like helplessness flickered across his face at the edge of my icy stare.
Then he reached for a box of tissues on the desk and slowly wiped his face clean.
"Fine," he said.
I took the tray and walked away, not bothering to clean the green splatters on the floor—let him deal with it.
"What do you want?" I asked one last time.
"Move back in."
He answered plainly.
I’d expected that.
"Never."
My voice was absolute.
A faint smile curled at the corner of his mouth, turning his features cold and brooding. His gaze, sharp as an arrow, pierced me.
"Claire Bennett," he said, "I won’t repeat myself. If you insist on not listening, you’ll bear the consequences."
I’d had enough of his threats. Consequences be damned. I turned and left the room without looking back.
Ethan didn’t eat dinner, of course.
After Mom finished cooking and came upstairs, her face was full of worry.
She said Mrs. Huang had delivered dinner to Ethan’s room that night, and found him in a foul mood—he had smashed his plates and cups everywhere, scaring her.
"Aunt Huang said she wonders if Master Ethan’s heartbroken. He used to be so polite; now he’s like a different person."
I listened without betraying emotion.
If it comes to it, Mom can stop working for the Sinclairs and go back home.
In two years I’ll graduate, get a job, make money. Then Mom can breathe easier.
I told myself that and felt less anxious.
The next day was much the same.
Ethan skipped breakfast, drove out in the morning, and didn’t return until night with a few friends.
They were about his age—probably classmates.
Mom and Mrs. Huang hurried over, eager to ask what they’d like to eat.
Ethan’s tone was icy.
"No thanks, Aunt Yvonne. We ordered delivery. It’ll be here soon."
Then he ignored them; the group went into the living room to play video games.
Mom and Mrs. Huang looked crushed.
They used to prepare huge spreads when Ethan’s friends came over; everyone ate happily. Now they insisted on delivery and wouldn’t let the women cook.
I went into the kitchen and found Mom gloomy, looking at the newspaper with a pen circling things.
Curious, I walked over.
The page was full of job listings.
"Mom, what are you doing?"
She hurriedly hid the paper, embarrassed: "Nothing—just browsing."
"Let me see. What have you circled?"
I grabbed the paper despite her evasive move.
Many listings were circled in red: housekeeping, cleaning, bedside nursing, even sanitation worker.
One was circled that read "public restroom cleaner."
"Mom…"
My stomach dropped; I didn’t know what to say.
She looked at me, cheeks flushed with awkwardness.
"Claire, I’m just looking. Don’t worry, I’m fine."
A cold sadness rose in me.
I had been naive. If the Sinclairs fired Mom, she wouldn’t go back to the countryside. She’d stay here to look for work to support me.
She was a simple laborer in her forties with no degree or skills beyond cooking. Where would she find better work?
This whole mess started with me—and I was the one who should be punished, not her.
It’s laughable. Last night I spoke so fiercely to Ethan, and now I found myself ready to surrender and beg.
Life really is ironic.
Ethan’s friends gamed late into the night. Around ten they finally went to bed, spread across the many guest rooms at the estate like they’d done it a hundred times.
Not knowing if they’d want late-night snacks, Mom and Mrs. Huang stayed up.
When the party broke up, both women sighed and went into the living room to clean. I went to help.
The table and floor were a wreck—unfinished takeout, cans, beer bottles, trash everywhere. A faint smell of smoke lingered.
Ethan stood alone by the floor-to-ceiling window, a lit cigarette in his hand.
When I first knew him, he was a good kid. Now he drank and smoked.
Mrs. Huang, who’d worked at the Sinclairs longer than my mother had, looked pained at the empty bottles and scolded him with concern, "Ethan, you’ve been drinking so much—it’s bad for you. And when did you start smoking? That’s not a good habit."
She’d practically watched him grow up; she cared for him like her own.
Ethan stubbed out his cigarette and dropped it into the ashtray when I said that.
“Mr. Sinclair, have you been dumped recently? Is that why you’ve been in such a sour mood?” Mrs. Huang asked, worry creasing her face. She couldn’t hold back the question any longer.
He gave a small smile and lowered himself into the armchair.
“Do I look that obvious?”
“Really?” Mrs. Huang’s eyes went wide. It almost seemed impossible to her—like some cosmic joke—that a man like Ethan could be on the receiving end of a breakup.
Her tone sharpened with outrage. “Who’s that little brat who did this to you? I’d love to see her—so I could yank every strand of her hair out myself.”
Ethan looked over at me with a faintly smug glint in his eyes.
“I’m curious to see what she looks like with her hair being pulled,” he drawled.
Mrs. Huang heaved a frustrated sigh, then went into full consolation mode. “Mr. Sinclair, you’re still young. You’ve gotta get past it. There’s a saying—there are plenty of fish in the sea. Don’t hang yourself on one tree. Snap your fingers and a whole flock of girls will flock to you. Don’t let this ruin you—don’t do anything drastic.”
Ethan listened patiently and gave a nod. “I know, Mrs. Huang.”
My mother and I gathered all the empty bottles and cleaned the table. My mom hesitated, then asked Ethan, “Mr. Sinclair, would you like me to make you a hangover soup?”
“No.” His voice went cold and he didn’t even look at us. “Mrs. Huang, make it for me.”
The room fell silent.
Mrs. Huang glanced between him and my mother, bewildered. My mother’s face went deathly pale—she finally realized he was targeting her.
I saw my mother part her lips, like she wanted to ask why he was acting like this. But in the end she stayed silent.
She couldn’t understand why the boy who used to call her “Mrs. Bennett” with such familiarity could be so cold to her now. It was all because of her daughter.
And I could do nothing but stand there, feeling utterly helpless.
The next morning.
Early, I waited at the corner where Ethan always ran in the mornings.
Before long, his tall frame appeared, sweated from the run but looking energized. His chestnut hair gleamed in the sunlight; his carved, perfect features looked like they’d been sculpted by an artisan. He might as well have stepped out of a manga.
I blocked his path. He took off his earphones and looked at me.
“Ethan,” I said calmly, “I’ll move back in.”
His voice stayed level. “I’ll have Uncle Wang bring your things back from school.”
“Not that fast,” I said. “I’ll move back before summer break, don’t worry.”
He wasn’t listening. “By noon today, Claire Bennett, I want to see your luggage.”
He said it like a command. Didn’t I get a say? Didn’t I have to explain things to my mother? I didn’t need Uncle Wang to move my stuff. What if this got back to Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair—how would I explain?
I hated how his word overrode mine. Did he think he was some domineering CEO straight out of a drama?
“No way—today’s impossible. How about next weekend? I mean it.”
“Noon today.” He didn’t budge.
“Ethan.” I felt a wash of failure and asked, desperate, “What do you want from me? What are you trying to get? Sleep with me? Fine—I’ll say yes—tonight or tomorrow—just leave me and my mother alone…”
“Then tonight. Is that okay?” he cut in.
“Okay.” I answered without hesitation, like someone walking to their doom.
His pupils narrowed; cold frost seemed to settle into his black eyes, radiating a chilling, resolute aura. “Claire, you really think you’re some precious little thing. Let me tell you—when a woman stoops to crawling into my bed, I’m sickened, not flattered.”
I almost laughed in spite of myself. Crawling into bed—who’d forced me into this? Was it really my own doing?
I scoffed and snapped back, refusing to go down easy. “So you like playing hard-to-get? No interest in what’s handed to you, must make people chase you? Fine—whatever role you want, I’ll play it, if it makes you happy.”
Great—we were both turning into the versions of each other we despised. It wouldn’t be long before whatever bond we’d had was completely ground to dust.
Ethan’s gaze went sharp. He put his earphones back in, clearly done discussing it. “I’ll say it again, Claire—noon today. Make sure your things are there.”
And that was that. I moved back into the Willowridge Estates.
Meals returned to normal. My mom and Mrs. Huang breathed easier. After all the moving in and out and Ethan’s moods, I didn’t know if my mom suspected anything. I kept my distance from Ethan, but now that it was summer break and we were under the same roof, running into each other was inevitable.
Soon I realized I’d been worrying for nothing. Ethan basically ignored me. Even when we crossed paths in the kitchen, he acted like I was invisible. I couldn’t have asked for more.
I went about my life. Lucas Reed would sometimes ask me to catch a movie—he’s local, so it was easy to meet up. My mom probed lightly about his family; I gave a vague accounting and she seemed pleased, asking when I’d bring him home to meet her. How do you tell your mother you’re not even officially dating? College relationships are unpredictable—better not to meet parents too soon.
Ethan, meanwhile, was getting closer to that girl Aveline. They looked like a steady couple; I’d often see them entering and leaving the villa together.
One night my mother folded up a pile of laundry and asked me to bring it to Ethan’s room. I almost refused, but then thought—Ethan’s been so cold, and he and Aveline were clearly in a honeymoonish phase; I didn’t need to make things awkward. So I agreed.
When I pushed his door open, music was playing softly. Aveline was there, holding an iPad, chatting with Ethan and smiling like she might burst.
I felt like an intruder, and I almost left, but I set the clothes on the bench at the foot of the bed and turned to go.
“Um—” Aveline looked up. “You’re Claire, right?”
I blinked, then nodded. “Yes.”
She smiled a polite, sweet smile. “Could you bring me a coffee? Thank you.”
Her politeness made me feel oddly embarrassed. “Of course—one moment.”
After delivering the coffee, I returned to the kitchen. Mrs. Huang and my mom were talking.
“I heard Aveline’s father is the CEO of Shengguo International. Their family must be filthy rich,” Mrs. Huang said.
“My, that doesn’t surprise me,” Mom replied. “Pretty and slim—only a girl like that would suit our Ethan.”
Thinking of Ethan’s pre-breakup mood swings, Mrs. Huang clicked her tongue. “He was a different person when he was heartbroken. But I think Aveline really likes him. I hope they stay together.”
Mrs. Huang truly worried over Ethan’s love life.
The next morning, Aveline arrived at the Sinclairs’ house dressed in a cream ladylike dress, a delicate bag over her shoulder—beautifully put together. Ethan kept it simple—black tee and dark jeans—but with his height and looks he still rocked it.
They were chatting happily at the breakfast table, planning a day trip.
I was skimming a foreign mystery I’d picked up while I helped my mom with breakfast. Soon my mom called me into the dining room—Aveline wanted me to join them.
I was surprised. “What?” I asked.
“My, she says she wants you to come with them,” my mom said, a little puzzled.
I dropped the book and went to the table.
“Hi, Claire,” Aveline greeted warmly. “A friend of mine opened a B&B today and Ethan and I want to check it out. Want to come with us?”
No, thanks.
I smiled politely and declined. “Thanks, Aveline, but I’ll pass. You two should go—have fun.”
“Come with us—what else are you going to do at home?” she teased, coy. “I promise it’ll be fun.”
Honestly, I barely knew Aveline—maybe three sentences exchanged—and I had no idea why she was so keen to include me.
“I have things to help my mom with. I need to make lunch,” I said.
“A lunch? Ethan and I aren’t coming back for lunch today, so your mom won’t be busy. Come with us—more people makes it livelier.”
I looked at Ethan. He’d already finished and was holding a glass of milk, neither supporting nor contradicting Aveline.
I didn’t want to be the third wheel between them. “Aveline, I really don’t want to go.”
“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Claire. I promise it’ll be great. You won’t regret it.”
Ugh. I admired how persistent she was. Was she going to keep pleading if I refused? I felt awkward saying no again.
“You’re not answering, so I’ll take that as a yes.”
She looked at me with a sly smile, then glanced over at Ethan, who had already finished breakfast.
“Ethan, let’s go.”
I still didn’t understand why I’d ended up tagging along with the two of them.
Ethan didn’t have Uncle Wang drive—he picked one of the SUVs he rarely used. Aveline rode shotgun, and I sat in the back.
The atmosphere was awkward. I pretended to scroll through my phone to look natural.
Thankfully, Aveline was bubbly and chatty, always full of topics and constantly checking in with her boyfriend.
Ethan answered patiently every time.
All I had to do was sit quietly in the back.
My phone buzzed.
I unlocked it.
Lucas had messaged—his friend’s birthday party was the day after tomorrow, at his place, and he asked if I wanted to come.
Summer break seemed to fill everyone’s lives with plans—all except mine.
I thought about it. Staying home and watching those two feed each other crumbs of affection wasn’t appealing. Better to go out and clear my head.
I replied quickly: “Sure.”
Lucas texted again.
His friend lived in the next town, so the trip might take a whole day; if it ran late, I might have to stay there overnight.
Maybe to prevent misunderstandings, he followed up with: “Of course, if anyone sleeps over, it’ll be guys with guys, girls with girls.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
Lucas was the quiet, gentlemanly type—he wasn’t the type to force anything. I was an adult anyway, and this was a law-abiding society.
So I answered, “Okay.”
He sent: “Then it’s settled.”
After sending the message I looked up and was surprised to find Ethan watching me through the rearview mirror.
When our eyes met, he casually looked away and stared out the front window.
I turned my head and looked out at the passing scenery.
Aveline chatted on and Ethan hummed a soft, noncommittal “mm.”
The drive took about two hours. We stopped in the countryside, somewhere with green hills and clear water.
Not far away stood a modern, minimalist house that caught the eye.
Three stories, white walls, huge floor-to-ceiling windows, clever design. A low fence ran around the yard. A dozen or so cars were parked—mostly expensive models.
Sitting in the car, I felt a little foolish for coming.
Ethan opened his door, stepped around to the passenger side, and helped Aveline out.
There was no helping it—I had to go, too.
People came out of the house quickly.
A young man with brown-dyed hair, designer clothes, and a flashy gold watch grinned from ear to ear.
“Aveline! Been waiting forever—so not punctual.”
Aveline looked very familiar with him and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, Henry, the traffic was bad.”
Henry sized Ethan up, then asked with a cocky tilt, “Your boyfriend?”
Aveline blushed and glanced at Ethan but neither nodded nor shook her head.
“Ethan, do you remember Zhao—” Henry’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Ethan Sinclair? No way, man, you got so tall!”
Ethan looked surprised too.
“You’re Zhao Song?”
Henry laughed. “Yep, that’s me. We haven’t seen each other in years. Come in, come in—let’s catch up.”
The place looked simple from the outside but inside it was lavish—polished marble floors, a crystal chandelier, uniquely styled leather sofas that screamed luxury.
To the left of the living room was an open bar lined with bottles. Most of the guests were young, grouped on sofas and lounge chairs chatting.
“Is this your B&B?” Ethan asked casually.
“Co-owned with Lin Yuebing—do you remember him? You used to brawl as kids. There he is.” Henry nodded toward a man in a gray shirt holding a wine glass at the bar.
Ethan glanced at him, uninterested.
“By the way, what do you want to drink? We’ve got everything. Aveline—and… this lovely lady?” Henry’s gaze landed on me with obvious curiosity.
Aveline, ever considerate, waved them off. “Go on, boys, have fun. We girls will manage.”
“Great—help yourselves. Ethan, you ride horses, right? I’ll show you the stables in back.”
Ethan was soon pulled away.
Aveline ran into two friends, and the three of them immediately got into a lively conversation about the latest clothes and bags.
I wasn’t interested in their chatter. I couldn’t just hover, either—so I scanned the room for a place to sit and casually opened a travel-food magazine.
Regret gnawed at me. I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t know anyone here and felt out of place. I might as well have stayed home and finished that mystery novel.
Just as I was about to turn the last page, someone called my name.
“Claire, could you get me a martini?”
I looked up; Aveline was smiling at me. Her friends quieted for the moment.
I glanced at the bar and understood why Aveline had been so eager to bring me—girls recognize when girls need to be included.
I set the magazine down and stood. “Sure.”
I asked the server for a martini, set it on a tray, and brought it back to Aveline, setting the glass on the coffee table beside her.
“Thanks,” she said politely. “Could you get me a coffee?”
The short-haired girl in the black dress to Aveline’s right added, “I want iced water.”
The ponytailed girl did too.
I smiled faintly. “Be right back.”
Just as I reached the bar, a low, mocking laugh came from behind me. I pretended not to hear it, finished setting the tray down, and asked the server, “Excuse me, where’s the restroom?”
The server pointed toward the back of the living room and I thanked him.
When I came out of the restroom, I went outside and sat on a bench. A small paddock with a few people riding horses was nearby. I hadn’t expected stables.
The breeze was soft, the sun mild. I sat there, lost in thought.
At some point a young man in a gray shirt approached.
“You must be the maid from the Sinclairs’ house,” he said, looking down at me with arrogant amusement.
Apparently my presence here had already been noticed.
“What do you want?” I cut straight to it—I didn’t want to talk.
He sat down beside me. I quietly scooted away.
He kept glancing over me from head to toe with a sleazy look in his eyes. I felt disgusted and didn’t want to stay near him.
I was about to get up when he said, “I heard you’re sleeping with Ethan Sinclair. Is that true?”
I straightened, cold anger flaring across my face. “Who said that?”
He shrugged, casual. “You just tell me if it’s true.”
“I’m not obliged to answer you.”
His interest only increased; dark desire glittered in his eyes as he leaned closer. “How much is Ethan paying you? I’ll double it.”
One hand slid onto my shoulder.
A prickly shiver ran through me like a millipede crawling. I clenched down on my anger and discomfort, stood up quickly, and said coolly, “You’ve got the wrong person.”
He sneered and stood as well, contempt in his voice. “Don’t act all innocent. You should count yourself lucky someone like me would even look your way. How much did Ethan give you—three grand? I’ll give you five. Say yes, and we can go up to the second floor right now.”
He fished a wallet out of his pocket, fanned out a stack of pristine bills and waved them.
I asked calmly, “Who exactly told you the rumor that I sleep with Ethan?”
“What?”
He pretended not to get it.
“The rumor about me and Ethan.”
“What do I know? Everyone here knows you’re hooking up with him. I’ve got some friends interested—if the price is right we can have a little fun together, you in?”
Heat rose behind my eyes. Tears threatened and I fought them back until my vision blurred.
I bit my lip so hard it hurt and let my eyes go red.
“Decide now—up to my room? Or should I call my friends too?” he taunted, oblivious.
“You and your mom can go up,” I spat, dropped the words, and turned away.
“Shit—” he cursed.
My legs shook but I walked briskly toward the parking area. Out here in the suburbs cars were sparse and there was probably no bus back to the city anytime soon—but I didn’t care. I couldn’t spend another second in that place. Walking home would be better than staying.
It was the first time someone had humiliated me so maliciously—my dignity trampled. I wanted to find whoever started the rumor and punch them.
Footsteps closed behind me and someone grabbed my arm.
Ethan, confused by my behavior, asked, “Where are you going?”
I wrenched my arm free and kept walking. “None of your business.”
He caught up again and pulled my arm, his voice commanding: “Claire, what’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” I snapped, anger bubbling over; I wanted to blame everything on him.
If it weren’t for his girlfriend dragging me out… if it weren’t for his girlfriend spreading rumors everywhere… would any of this have happened today?
"Ethan Sinclair, I really want to know what’s going on.
I haven’t been here half an hour and everyone already knows I’m a maid from your house. Everyone thinks I’m sleeping with you. Somebody even shoved five grand in my face and offered to sleep with me — even asked if I wanted to bring two more people. Every single man and woman here thinks I’m a prostitute. I want to ask you—what is going on?"
I forced the tears down for so long they finally spilled over. I tried to wipe them away like I didn’t care, but they kept falling.
Ethan stared at me, his eyes deep and unreadable. He didn’t say a word.
I turned and started to walk away.
He gripped my wrist tight enough to stop me.
"I’ll take you home."
He walked to his SUV, opened the passenger door and helped me into the seat.
I planned to sit in back, but he’d already buckled my seatbelt.
He climbed in, turned the key, and the engine roared to life.
"Who was it?" he asked suddenly.
I blinked, puzzled.
"Who offered you five thousand to sleep with him?"
His tone was flat.
I turned my face toward the window, miserable, and answered anyway.
"One of Zhao Song’s partners."
The car backed out of the space.
Then, without warning, Ethan slammed the gas. The SUV shot forward.
I grabbed the seatbelt, heart in my throat, not understanding what he was doing.
The vehicle barreled over the curb and headed straight for the front of the house.
People inside realized the out-of-control car was coming for them. Panic erupted. Screams cut the air.
"Stop the car, Ethan!" I instinctively cried.
He seemed not to hear.
Crack— the huge crash came with piercing screams.
The floor-to-ceiling windows shattered into a storm of glass. The SUV smashed into the living room and came to rest in the center. Half of the expensive leather sectional was ruined.
Silence fell like a weight. Everyone stared at the wreckage, stunned.
My pulse slammed against my throat; I was moments from a heart attack.
Thank God… no one was hurt.
The commotion drew the house’s occupants and anyone outside into the chaotic living room.
Zhao Song gaped, frozen, staring at Ethan in the driver’s seat. Aveline looked pale, clearly shaken.
Zhao Song’s partner, Lin Yuebing, stumbled in from outside, bewildered, unsure what had just happened.
Ethan didn’t get out until Lin walked in. He climbed out, expression hard, and walked straight up to him.
"Five thousand?" Ethan asked.
Lin went white. He glanced at me and lost his nerve.
"I—I only heard it from someone else."
"Who told you?"
Ethan’s question was brief, incisive.
Lin scanned the crowd. Some people avoided his gaze; others looked down at the floor.
He looked away and said nothing.
"You’re not going to say?"
Ethan nodded once. No emotion showed on his face.
"Fine. If you won’t say, you’ll bear the cost of your rumor-mongering. I assume you have no objection."
The next moment Ethan lifted a nearby metal stool and walked to the bar. He slammed it into the wall behind the counter.
Glass and bottles exploded with a clatter, and the bar erupted into chaos. Women screamed. Liquor sprayed everywhere.
A server, annoyingly calm, tucked a shaker under his arm and kept working.
Seeing the mess and Ethan’s fury, Lin finally snapped.
"Ethan, keep breaking stuff and I’ll call the cops."
Ethan’s eyes were cold and indifferent.
"Fine. I’ll wait for them here."
Realizing Ethan wouldn’t back down, Lin’s expression twisted. He pulled out his phone, hesitated about calling.
Zhao Song hurried over and whispered something in his ear. Defeated, Lin put his phone away. His face had lost its earlier smug arrogance.
"Ethan, you’ve wrecked the place. What more do you want?"
"I want you to apologize."
Ethan’s voice was light, but his words left no room for argument.
Lin looked around. The living room was full; everyone had their eyes on them. He hesitated.
"My patience is limited." Ethan warned, then grabbed another stool.
Lin grit his teeth and, finally, spat out, "Sorry."
"Not to me," Ethan said coldly.
He seemed almost reluctant as he walked around the SUV to the passenger side and faced me. "Say sorry."
I didn’t respond.
The room was silent again. Onlookers had nothing to say.
Aveline crept over to Ethan, playing helpless, as if she knew nothing and had done nothing.
"Ethan, what’s happening?"
He glanced at me. I looked back.
Finally he shook his head slightly.
"It’s fine, Aveline. Let’s go home."
"Okay."
She complied.
The drive back was much quieter than the morning. Ethan focused on the road. I watched the dark blur outside the window. Aveline scrolled through her phone in the back. We barely spoke.
By the time we reached the Sinclair estate, the three of us had been silent the whole way.
Mom and Mrs. Huang were surprised to see us back so early. They’d expected us to be out late and had not prepared lunch. When they learned Ethan hadn’t eaten, they hurried to the kitchen.
…On Friday, Lucas Reed took me to a friend’s birthday party.
I didn’t expect Hazel Morris and her boyfriend to be there.
They were thoroughly clingy — feeding each other, making everyone else envious.
It had been over twenty days since summer break started; Hazel and I hadn’t talked in a while. The first thing she asked was how things were going between Lucas and me.
"Pretty good," I laughed and sipped the lemon tea on the coffee table.
"Really? Have you two slept together yet?" she asked, eyes bright with curiosity.
Her question nearly made me choke. I had to wipe my mouth.
"You’re so direct."
From my reaction she deduced, "So—no?"
"Sorry to disappoint you. Not yet."
Hazel stared at me like I was a specimen, trying to read something off my face.
"Is it you or him?"
Embarrassed, I rubbed my forehead. "I think it’s both. We’re not actually officially dating. And who’s to say new couples must go all the way right away? Things should be gradual, natural, right?"
"No no no," Hazel objected, shaking her head. "You have to do it early. You need to test compatibility — what if he’s all bark and no bite?"
Talking with Hazel always lowered my standards a little. But she had a point.
"So your guy isn’t all bark?"
"Haha, of course not," she said proudly.
Her boyfriend was kind, funny, and doting. They met online and seemed steady. Lucas and I were both slower to warm up in relationships.
The party was lively. After dinner a big group played cards; later we went to a private club for drinks and karaoke. I can’t sing, so Lucas noticed my lack of interest and offered to drive me home.
"Weren’t you staying here tonight?" I asked.
"They did book rooms upstairs, but I thought it might be inconvenient for you. I’ll drive you back."
I Dumped My Possessive Billionaire
He'd driven his dad's car. I worried it might ruin his night, but he waved it off. Three hours on the road later, it was already eleven when we hit the city. I had nodded off and only woke when he said we'd arrived.
He pulled up where he'd dropped me off the first time.
"Sorry it's so late," he said, apologetic at the sight of my sleepy face.
"It's fine — I got a free meal," I teased.
He smiled and opened the passenger door to help me out.
"Thanks."
We stood on the quiet street, awkward, neither of us sure what to say. Cars were few and far between.
"Drive safe. I'm heading in," I said first.
He hesitated, then nodded.
I started to turn away.
"Claire."
He called my name.
I turned back. He looked like he had something to say, his expression caught between intention and nerves. I felt my own heart flutter.
"Can you—"
A bright beam of light cut across us. We both squinted toward it.
A dark SUV eased up the street. The plate looked familiar.
It was Ethan's SUV. Seriously?
I cursed my luck silently. Who drives around this late? Please, not Ethan.
I instinctively turned my face away, hoping to avoid being noticed. But as the SUV passed us, it slowed down noticeably.
It seemed my hopes were dashed. I let out a small, resigned sigh.
The car window rolled down slowly.
Thank God it was Uncle Wang driving.
I relaxed — until I realized Ethan Sinclair was sitting in the front passenger seat.
Then the rear window went down too.
It was Ethan’s mother, and beside her sat her husband — Robert Sinclair.
I honestly… don’t even know how to describe how I felt in that moment.
Uncle Wang, couldn't you have just sped past that stretch? Why make such a production out of it?
“Claire, it’s so late—what are you still doing out?” Mrs. Sinclair looked at me with genuine concern.
I felt embarrassed, as if I’d been caught doing something shameful.
“I’ll head home right away, Mrs. Sinclair.”
She nodded, then noticed Lucas Reed standing beside me. Her expression turned slightly puzzled.
“Is this young man your friend?”
I answered politely. “Yes.”
Lucas picked up on my deferential tone, looked a little surprised, but bowed his head politely in return.
Robert glanced at Lucas after hearing me, then spoke up.
“Wang, drive us back, then swing by and pick Claire up. It’s not safe for a young woman to be out so late.”
His words startled me — or rather, they flattered me.
I’d been living with the Sinclairs for years with my mom, but Mr. Sinclair was hardly ever around. He was the classic busy tycoon, always jetting between deals. Ethan barely ever saw him, let alone me. I’d only said a few words to him over the years.
Still, I’d always known he was kind and generous — he’d been the one to arrange for me to transfer here from my hometown high school when Mom moved us.
“No, Mr. Sinclair, it’s fine. I can walk back myself,” I said, waving my hands, afraid Uncle Wang would actually come get me.
But I’d forgotten: drivers treated Robert Sinclair’s words as law. Even he turned to me and said, “Claire, just wait here. I’ll come pick you up later.”
Ugh… I really just wanted to walk home alone.
Being fussed over like this made me feel awkward and exposed.
While I was squirming, Ethan’s voice cut through from the front seat. “Wang, it’s just a short walk. Nothing’s going to happen. Just let her go home on her own.”
Ethan sat in the passenger seat, not even bothering to roll his eyes at me. His tone was icy and detached, full of that high-and-mighty arrogance.
Even though he sounded so cold, he was on my side — and for that, I was grateful. If there were only two people on earth whose words Uncle Wang would follow without question, the first would be Robert Sinclair, and the second, unquestionably, was Ethan Sinclair.
Uncle Wang straightened up and replied respectfully, “Yes, Mr. Ethan.”
The car finally drove off.
I breathed out with relief and turned to Lucas, feeling apologetic. “I’m really sorry. They just worry about me — they didn’t think you were a bad person.”
Lucas waved it off with an understanding smile. “It’s okay. I get it.”
He really seemed like a well-mannered guy. I couldn’t help feeling I didn’t deserve someone like him.
I wondered what he’d been about to say earlier. Was he going to confess? If he did, would I accept? He was warm and kind — the kind of boyfriend any girl would dream of.
“They’re my mom’s employers. My mom and I live with them,” I offered, trying to be upfront. If Lucas wanted to date me, he deserved to know my situation.
“I’m not from the city,” I continued. “My family’s from a remote village. My parents divorced when I was young and remarried. It’s always been just my mom and me.”
Lucas looked stunned — maybe taken aback by my story. He nodded like he was gathering himself.
I smiled and added, “So now you know.”
He probably felt like he’d lost his composure earlier; he quickly nodded again.
I waved him off. “Well… I’ll head home now. Bye.”
“Claire—” Lucas called after me as if to explain something.
I cut him off. “Let’s both think about it calmly, okay?”
After a long beat, he said, “Okay.”
The next morning I woke up early.
When I walked into the kitchen I nearly jumped — the counters were piled with expensive ingredients: snow frog, foie gras, abalone, sea cucumber… Mrs. Huang and my mom were busy sorting utensils and prepping.
“Mom, do we have guests today?” I asked.
“Yes.” Mom’s hands never stopped moving. “Mr. Sinclair is hosting some friends and two very important clients.”
No wonder Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair had come back last night.
“Miss Aveline and her parents are coming too,” Mrs. Huang chimed in as she cleaned a sea cucumber. She always seemed to know these tidbits.
“Is that so?” I replied.
“Seems like Ethan and Aveline are pretty steady. Maybe an engagement next year.”
Mrs. Huang loved gossip. I found her kind of endearing. Mrs. Sinclair probably didn’t fuss over Ethan’s love life as much as she did.
We let our imaginations run. “If they get engaged next year, then maybe married the year after. And the year after that—wow—Ethan could be a dad.”
The thought made both of us grin. “That’d be fun. I like kids. It’d be hilarious to see Ethan holding a crying baby.”
We were mid-laugh when Mom glanced toward the kitchen doorway.
“Ethan, are you down?”
The laughter died.
I grabbed a sea cucumber and turned on the faucet to wash it like nothing had happened.
Mrs. Huang wasn’t fazed. “Ethan, we were just talking about you.”
Ethan stood at the doorway, tall and languid, looking mildly bored. “I heard. You were talking about my son.”
I kept rinsing the sea cucumber calmly.
Mom set down what she was doing. “What do you want for breakfast, Ethan?”
“Anything,” he answered.
Mom hesitated. “Anything” could mean anything, especially since Ethan had been picky lately. She was extra careful around him.
“Pasta? Or toast?” she offered.
“That’s fine.” Ethan’s voice was cool. “I’ll eat downstairs. Claire, bring it down.”
A little while later I carried toast and milk to the dining table.
Ethan didn’t seem very hungry. He took a sip of milk and then turned to me. “How serious are you with that glasses guy?”
I bristled. “Why are you asking?”
He snorted, casual and teasing. “Just chatting.”
I didn’t want to talk about it. I set the tray down and tried to leave.
But he kept at me, his gaze probing, like he meant to dig up every detail. “Tell me — how far along are you? Kissing? Touching? Sleeping together?”
The way he spoke — crude and brazen — made my skin crawl. When did Ethan become so… lecherous?
“That’s none of your business,” I snapped.
“How is it not my business?” He smiled with utter shamelessness. “I’m your senior. We’ve already… taken the first steps together.”
My forehead throbbed in anger. Did he have a screw loose, bringing this up first thing in the morning and dredging up the past? I couldn’t help replying, “When did I ever take a second step with you?”
Ethan’s smile widened, heavy with meaning as he looked at me. “Claire, you know exactly whether we did.”
I was furious. I didn’t know whether to curse my own bad luck in choosing people, or to call Ethan disgusting and twisted.
I stormed back to my room without eating.
By evening, two SUVs pulled into the estate and the dinner party began.
With so many guests there was a lot to prepare. Mom and Mrs. Huang worked nonstop from the afternoon and I kept helping them.
The guests were several blond, blue-eyed European men — likely clients from overseas. Aveline and her parents did show up; Aveline’s father seemed to know those European guests.
Ethan wore a tailored black suit that night. His hair was styled, his sharp, handsome features made him look like a princely aristocrat. Some people were just unnaturally magnetic.
The dinner was lively. The guests praised Mom and Mrs. Huang’s cooking nonstop.
Ethan and Aveline were the focus of attention — a beautiful couple everyone loved to admire.
Their parents beamed with pride when guests complimented the pair. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair and Aveline’s parents clearly approved of the relationship.
The party wound down around ten and the guests left for their hotels. The living room finally quieted.
Mrs. Sinclair walked them out, then stood on the marble step outside the parlor and affectionately ruffled her son’s hair. “You were wonderful tonight, sweetie. By the way, Mr. Daniel invited our whole family to his vineyard next week. Will you go?”
“I’ll see,” Ethan said lazily, clearly not thrilled.
Mrs. Sinclair tried upping the ante. “If you go, I’ll buy you a new car when we get back. Your father has great hopes for this deal with Senda. Aveline’s parents will be there too.”
"If you want, you two can go tour the Louvre or stroll down the Champs-Élysées to shop—Mom will cover the expenses."
"No thanks. Shopping is a woman's hobby, not mine."
Ethan still looked uninterested. He climbed the stairs and headed for the living room.
Mrs. Sinclair stared at her son—so calm and indifferent, like a sage who'd given up worldly desires—and couldn't help wondering.
"Ethan, are you and Aveline okay?" she asked.
"We're fine. I'm going upstairs to shower," he replied.
She wanted to press the subject, but he walked straight upstairs before she could say more.
Back in the living room, Mrs. Sinclair handed out big red envelopes to Mom and Mrs. Huang—and even one to me.
"Mrs. Huang, Yvonne, thanks for your hard work today. Claire did well too."
The lady of the house was always generous. After hosting guests she'd always give out red envelopes.
"Thank you, Mrs. Sinclair," I accepted it politely.
She smiled warmly at me, then seemed to remember something. "That young man last night—was he your boyfriend?"
My face froze; I didn't know how to answer.
Mrs. Huang looked shocked. "Claire has a boyfriend? Since when? Why didn't you tell us?"
"Just a male friend," I hurried to explain, worried I might make it worse.
Mrs. Sinclair said "Oh" and didn't press further.
When we returned to the kitchen, Mom looked like she wanted to ask about Mrs. Sinclair's question but held back since Mrs. Huang was still there.
After a while Mom asked me to bring a glass of milk upstairs to Ethan.
I thought about this morning and really didn't want to go, but the kitchen still needed work, so I agreed.
I carried the milk up to the second floor.
I pushed the door open.
Ethan was standing by the wardrobe, undoing the buttons on his shirt cuffs and taking off his watch.
Looks like he was getting ready to shower.
Because of our awkward parting that morning, I didn't say anything. I just set the milk down on his desk.
Uncertain whether he'd drink it now or later, I thought maybe I'd come back for the cup in the morning.
He started unbuttoning the other cuff.
I couldn't help stealing a glance.
Then Ethan took off his suit jacket.
The top button of his shirt was stubborn; he tugged at it impatiently.
I turned my head away.
A moment later, for reasons I couldn't explain, I looked again.
Noticing me, he asked, "What is it?"
Heat rose to my face and I averted my eyes awkwardly. "Nothing."
But he kept staring at me.
I felt more and more guilty under his gaze.
"Why are you blushing?" Ethan asked, a hint of a smile flickering in his eyes.
I reflexively looked into the wardrobe mirror and saw I wasn't blushing at all—yet he'd called me out.
"So what are you guilty about?" he continued.
"I'm not guilty of anything."
"You're clearly guilty."
I've always had a weakness: when someone guesses my thoughts, I can't deny it.
Fine—I'll admit I was a little embarrassed.
Ethan watched me calmly, as if waiting for a confession.
I had to explain. "It's nothing… I just—don't usually see you in a suit."
"Is that it?" He sounded skeptical.
I felt even more foolish.
"Claire, don't tell me you're into the whole uniform thing."
My face burned. That was impossible.
"You're overthinking it. Take the cup downstairs in the morning yourself. I'm leaving now."
He blocked my way, teasing, "Or are you blushing because I look so handsome in a suit tonight?"
"You're such a narcissist."
I couldn't stand his arrogance.
He closed the distance without making a show of it, leaning down slowly. His eyes locked onto mine, deep and endless.
I didn't know what he was going to do. I stepped back without thinking.
"Should we kiss?" he asked suddenly, seriously.
"Huh?"
I was stunned.
He moved closer—his handsome face inches from mine, his lips only a hair from my nose.
I stared into his eyes and felt like I could drown in them. His voice, soft and intoxicating, washed over me.
"Claire, you miss me too, don't you? Just like I miss you…"
"We were so close before… I never could forget…"
Ethan murmured those sweet words in my ear and took another step forward. I took another step back, resisting his closeness as best I could.
Soon I was backed into the corner by the wardrobe.
He eased his arms around me, pressing his cheek to mine like a whisper.
"Claire, I want to kiss you."
My body twanged like a plucked string. My heart pounded so fiercely I thought it might burst.
The next second his lips fully covered mine.
Soft. Feather-light.
My thoughts scattered.
I even tasted a faint hint of champagne on his mouth—the wine he'd had at the banquet tonight.
Banquet… Wait.
Aveline… My mind snapped back and I shoved him away.
We can't do this.
Ethan's intoxicated expression broke at my push. His eyes dimmed and disappointment crossed his face.
I hurried to fix my hair and, flustered, said, "Um… I'm going downstairs first."
Then I fled the room.
Because of their work, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair rarely stayed long at home when they visited. This time they stayed close to a week.
On Friday, the couple and Ethan flew to France.
With the household heads all away, work at the villa felt lighter.
It was early August and the heat was relentless. Mom decided we should go back to our hometown to visit Grandma.
We hadn't been back in over a year—Grandma missed us.
Country life was slow and easy.
I hadn't walked barefoot on river stones in ages. I hadn't dug lotus roots from the thick mud or picked mushrooms on the mountain or foraged wild greens in the fields in a long time. Sometimes I thought living in the countryside like this wasn't so bad.
No money, but no pressure either—sunrise to sunset.
But that was just a thought.
Mom and I stayed five days. On the sixth day we took the high-speed train back.
The villa owners still hadn't returned from France.
August 12 was Mom's birthday.
She never cared much about her own birthdays and rarely bought a cake. Every year I would give a small gift or a red envelope.
I don't know how Mrs. Huang found out this year, but she insisted we properly celebrate. I thought that was a good idea and went ahead to order a cake.
Just as I chose a design, my phone pinged. It was Lucas.
We hadn't been in contact since we last met—over ten days. I half thought we wouldn't cross paths again. With his background he could find a girl ten times better off than me.
He asked to meet the next day.
I hesitated, then typed back. "Tomorrow might not work; it's my mom's birthday."
His reply came quickly. "It's your mom's birthday? Can I come over?"
I blinked. He wanted to come? To celebrate with Mom?
I couldn't say no. It felt sincere.
"Okay," I replied.
The next afternoon Lucas drove to the Sinclair villa.
He got out carrying a ton of things—fruit boxes, health supplement sets, cartons of milk, tea, even seafood.
He looked a little shy. "It's my first time meeting elders; I wasn't sure what to bring, so I grabbed a few things. I hope your mom doesn't mind."
I hadn't expected him to bring so much, though I knew he wouldn't come empty-handed.
Because I'd warned Mom, Mrs. Huang, and Uncle Wang ahead of time, they were waiting in the living room.
Lucas put the gifts down and introduced himself politely. "Auntie, hello. I'm Lucas Reed—Claire's friend. I heard it's your birthday, so I'm here to celebrate."
Mom looked pleased, smiling warmly. "Lucas, come have a seat. We're about to start eating."
I introduced Lucas to Mrs. Huang and Uncle Wang; he greeted them courteously.
Mrs. Huang immediately launched into conversation. "Lucas, where are you from? Are you studying or working?"
Lucas smiled. "I'm from the city and I'm attending Harborview University—going into my senior year."
"Is that so?" Mrs. Huang was impressed. "That's a top school; I've heard Harborview grads find jobs easily."
"It's alright," he said modestly.
"Claire, I didn't expect your boyfriend to be so handsome and such a scholar. You should have brought him to meet us sooner."
I glanced at Lucas; he looked at me in return. I didn't correct Mrs. Huang's "boyfriend." He seemed happy to hear it.
At the table, Lucas tried Mom and Mrs. Huang's cooking for the first time and widened his eyes.
"Is something wrong?" Mom asked, anxious. "Doesn't you like it?"
"No, no." He waved his hands. "It's just that your cooking is so good—compared to my mom's, it's like night and day."
Everyone laughed.
"Is it that dramatic?" I smiled.
He nodded. "Not at all. Maybe one day you can try my mom's cooking—without a comparison, you wouldn't notice, but with one… it's painfully obvious."
"If you like it, eat more," Mom said, spooning food into Lucas's bowl with the serving chopsticks.
After dinner, everyone chatted for a while longer.
Night was falling.
Seeing the time, Lucas stood up to say his goodbyes.
My mom immediately reminded me to walk him to the gate.
We left through the villa’s front gate. His car was parked across the street.
“Thank you so much for coming to celebrate my mom’s birthday. She was really happy. So was I,” I said sincerely.
Lucas shook his head and looked at me.
“I should be thanking your aunt. The food was amazing.”
I wanted to say that if he liked it, he could come by next time and my mom would cook for him again.
But… this wasn’t my home. Who was I to offer that?
So I changed it to: “If you want, next time I’ll have my mom make it and I’ll bring it to you.”
“Really?” he brightened.
“Of course.” I nodded.
We stopped at the iron gate of the villa.
“Claire.” Lucas called my name all of a sudden.
I was surprised.
He looked a little embarrassed. “Your aunt calls you that, and I… I want to call you that too. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” I smiled.
He breathed a relieved sigh, then added, “You said last time we should both calm down and think it over. I’ve thought it through.”
I stared at him in shock.
He looked at me so gently, his voice serious: “I still hope you’ll agree to be my girlfriend. I want to be with you. I want to look after you—and your mom, too.”
He spoke with such earnestness and gravity that something swelled in my chest.
For some reason my nose stung.
I didn’t understand why Lucas treated me so well—I’d done nothing for him. I was poor, living with a mom who worked as a house cleaner for other people. Life was tight and humiliating.
He knew all of it and still chose to be with someone like me.
My eyes burned and I lowered my head. A tear slipped down and hit the ground.
He must have noticed. Nervously he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. If you haven’t decided, just pretend I never said anything.”
I shook my head; the tears came faster.
He fumbled to wipe them away with his sleeve, then his palm.
His hand was big and warm.
I didn’t know a man’s hand could make you feel so safe and calm.
My tears slowed. His gentle palm slid up my cheek.
We naturally met each other’s gaze. A breeze brushed by.
He leaned in slowly. His fingers brushed my lips.
“Beep! Beep! Beep!” —a sharp, grating horn blared behind us.
We both jumped. My whole body trembled. Lucas instinctively shielded me.
We turned to look.
In a red sports car, Ethan sat at the wheel, one hand on the steering wheel, the other slamming the horn. He looked cold and unfamiliar.
Aveline sat in the passenger seat.
Lucas seemed to recognize Ethan and glanced at me.
The car rolled closer.
Ethan stared straight at me; a knife-edge chill flashed through his eyes—icy and blank. Aveline, by contrast, was all smiles, as if nothing bad had ever happened between us.
The window rolled down.
She greeted me cheerfully: “Claire—long time no see. Is that your boyfriend?”
I nodded faintly, saying nothing.
Aveline batted her eyelashes playfully. “Ethan, let’s go. They’re on a date.”
Lucas and I both stepped back.
Ethan didn’t look at me again; the car drove into the parking lot.
After seeing Lucas off, I went back inside to the main hall.
Mom had already finished cleaning the living room.
Two suitcases sat beside the sofa—Ethan and Aveline must have just gotten off the plane.
I wondered why they hadn’t had Uncle Wang pick them up and had driven themselves back.
When Mom learned Ethan hadn’t eaten, she and Mrs. Huang hurried into the kitchen.
“Aveline, I’m a bit tired. I’ll have Uncle Wang drive you home,” Ethan said flatly, then nodded at Uncle Wang.
“Yes, Master Ethan,” Uncle Wang responded at once.
Aveline looked a little disappointed but obediently agreed. “Alright, Ethan. Get some rest.”
Once Uncle Wang and Aveline left, only Ethan and I remained in the living room.
Since his dinner would be just for him and the kitchen didn’t need my help, I planned to go wash up early.
“Get me a glass of water,” Ethan said coldly, then walked into the small sitting room off the dining area.
He didn’t call my name—but there was no one else around, so of course he meant me.
I poured a glass of tap water and carried it in.
Ethan sat in the chair looking thoroughly icy.
“Cold” didn’t capture it. There was a storm-brewing gloom in his eyes, a sharp, forbidding chill that made me want to back away.
I set the glass in front of him and was about to leave when he grabbed my wrist with a quick twist.
I yelped, tried to pull free, but couldn’t.
“What, you were so forward outside, but when you’re in front of me you turn into a pure little maiden?” Ethan snapped, his gaze cutting cold as steel.
Mom and Mrs. Huang were in the kitchen; I didn’t want to argue, so I kept silent.
Seeing me shut up only stoked his anger. He stood up so abruptly the chair clattered.
He loomed over me, voice frosty: “Not saying anything now?”
“Say what?” I asked calmly.
He laughed bitterly, rage flashing in his eyes. “Claire, I never expected you to be this bold—bringing your filthy man back to my house to make out with him.”
I didn’t want to explain. Say whatever he wanted.
Losing patience, he grabbed my chin and forced my face up to look at him.
“You slept with him?” he demanded.
His fingers hurt. It felt like he was going to crush my jaw; I could barely breathe. I clutched at his arm with both hands and, using every ounce of strength, wrenched his hand away.
His brutality made my blood boil.
“What gives you the right to ask? Who do you think you are to me?” I retorted through gritted teeth.
“Claire, before I completely lose my temper, you better answer me every single question,” he hissed.
Lose his temper… I scoffed. The irony was rich. He had been in France with Aveline for who knows how long and they’d just landed today—yet he had the nerve to act like only he could do whatever he wanted.
Fine. I decided to give him what he wanted.
“Yes. We slept together.”
Ethan’s eyes flashed red, murderous. He looked as if he might tear me apart. For once, I wasn’t afraid.
“Well, do you want me to tell you the positions? I was on top—do you want to know how many times? Three, five—I don’t remember. How long? Maybe half an hour. He’s got great stamina.”
“Crash.”
The glass of water on the table flew from my hand and smashed into the floor-to-ceiling window.
The brittle pane shattered, a large hole blown through it, a long crack snaking away.
Ethan stared at me, veins bulging, his handsome face contorted. His lips trembled. I saw a ripping, maddening pain flash across his eyes.
That pain gave me a thrill.
I pushed harder, not caring what came next.
“So? Are you going to kill me now? Or will you keep threatening my mom? Do whatever you want, Ethan. I’m going to have my mom quit. From now on, we’re leaving your family and getting as far away from you as possible. I want absolutely nothing to do with you.”
We stood there, two desperate people glaring at one another as if all past ties had been severed in an instant.
Passion turned into infinite hatred—we had become enemies.
Ethan, like a man possessed, gripped my face and murmured, “Claire, do you think you can escape me? Don’t you remember what I warned you? Even if I go to hell, I’ll drag you down with me. And that man of yours—I won’t let him off.”
His voice was a devil’s taunt.
A chill ran through me—not because I didn’t believe him, but because I did. Ethan said things and then did them.
“What are you going to do?” I asked, panicked.
“If you keep seeing him, you’ll find out soon enough.”
I felt like I’d fallen into an ice cellar. Was I to be controlled by him forever? Was my life over, with no freedom at all?
“You don’t have the right to do this to me,” I said.
“Try me,” he replied, cold as a judge about to pass sentence.
I was furious—so angry I wanted to drag us both down with him.
There was a knock at the door. Mom’s voice floated in. “Master Ethan? Claire? Are you okay in there?”
There was hushed chatter—Mrs. Huang must be outside too. They’d heard the shattering.
Ethan glanced at me but said nothing.
I answered as calmly as I could: “We’re fine, Mom.”
“Oh, good.” Relief in her voice. “By the way, Ethan—dinner’s ready. Want it now?”
After a long pause, Ethan said icily, “I’ll come out now.”
He opened the door and left.
Mom looked at me, worried. Mrs. Huang came in and stared at the huge hole and the long crack in the window, then at Ethan as he left. They exchanged a look.
“Claire, did you argue with Master Ethan?” Mrs. Huang asked.
“He started it,” I said flatly.
“Why were you fighting?” Mom asked.
I shook my head. I didn’t want to say more. “Nothing. Mrs. Huang, I’ll clean this up.”
Later that night, after Mom finished her chores, I went into her room.
It was her birthday today, and after a little hesitation I said the words I’d been holding back.
“Mom, let’s leave the Sinclairs. Let’s go.”
She looked stunned—she couldn’t understand.
“Why?” she asked.
I didn’t know how to explain it to her. “You could go back home, or find another job. I’ll graduate in a couple years and can work, so you won’t have that much pressure anymore. Can’t we just leave the Sinclairs together?”
“What happened, Claire? Why did you and Mr. Sinclair fight today?”
Mom asked sternly.
“Nothing happened,” I denied. “Ethan’s always had a bad temper—you know that.”
“But you two used to get along so well. Why has it suddenly turned like this?”
I had no reply.
“Claire, answer me.”
She was clearly suspicious about Ethan and me.
So I grabbed at an excuse.
“It was when Ethan, Aveline and I went to that guesthouse. Aveline and I had an argument, and after that he’s had it in for me.”
“You argued with Miss Aveline?” Mom sounded shocked. “Why would you two fight?”
“Because she’s a manipulative snake,” I said bluntly. It was harsh, but true.
“A manipulative…?”
The topic was spiraling. “Mom, can we please just leave the Sinclairs? I really don’t want to stay there.”
“Your cooking is so good—you can find work elsewhere, right?”
Mom hesitated a long time, then sighed. “Alright. I’ll talk to Mrs. Sinclair in a couple days.”
I hugged her, forcing down the guilt rising in my chest. “Thanks, Mom.”
Mom quickly told Mrs. Sinclair about resigning. She felt guilty—Robert and Margaret Sinclair had been good to us; they were very generous employers. Mrs. Sinclair tried to persuade her to stay but finally agreed as long as they found a suitable chef to hand over to.
I started looking online for a place: a basic two-bedroom that wasn’t too expensive. If all went well, maybe we could move by the end of the month.
Mrs. Huang was surprised Mom wanted to quit—why leave when everything was going fine? Mom only said she wanted a change.
Uncle Wang began looking for a new chef through agencies. But things stalled. Mrs. Sinclair didn’t have harsh demands—she only wanted someone whose cooking suited Ethan. And because of that single requirement, they couldn’t finalize anyone.
The agency recommended over twenty chefs to the estate. Each one was rejected by Ethan. Some were Michelin-starred. I knew he was doing it on purpose—his tastes were picky, but how could Mom compare to Michelin-level chefs?
Ethan and I hadn’t spoken in days. Even when we crossed paths in the living room we ignored each other. His anger toward me hadn’t cooled; I could feel the dislike in his eyes. He hated me but wasn’t willing to let me go.
That afternoon Lucas texted me, asking if I wanted to go to an anime convention. I changed clothes and got ready to leave.
Just as I reached the estate gate, Uncle Wang pulled up beside me. “Claire, where are you going? I’ll drive you.”
I was so upset. “Uncle Wang, can you please stop following me? I want to take the bus by myself.”
He looked troubled. “Claire, I can’t help it. Mr. Sinclair insists I go with you. Why don’t you talk to him?”
I was furious—though not at Uncle Wang. I hadn’t left the house for days. Every time I tried, Uncle Wang would show up in his car to escort me. The estate felt like a prison; I was suffocating.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I stomped up to the second-floor door and pounded. The door opened quickly.
“Ethan, I’m going out.”
“Have I stopped you?” he said, standing in the doorway, cool as ever.
“I mean I want to go alone.”
“Where are you going? Doing what?”
I wanted to scream. I wasn’t a prisoner—he wasn’t a warden.
“I’m going to buy sanitary pads. My period’s here. Is that a valid reason?”
He actually glanced down at my pants.
“You can have Uncle Wang go buy them.”
Ugh.
“Ethan, this is imprisonment. It’s illegal.”
“I said you can go.”
He left it at that—no room for argument.
I bristled. “Fine, then let Uncle Wang come with me.”
I turned to leave.
“Claire,” Ethan said again. “If you dare meet that glasses guy, I’ll have Uncle Wang break his legs.”
He said it calmly, as if stating something mundane.
My face went white. Was he bluffing? Would he actually do it?
I sat in the car, Ethan’s words echoing in my head. Panic rose in my chest. Uncle Wang was driving quietly. Lucas texted asking where I was. I hesitated, then replied, “Just left.”
“I’m at Starbucks,” he replied quickly.
Uncle Wang probably knew about my fight with Ethan; he stayed mostly silent.
“Uncle Wang,” I suddenly said.
“Yes, Claire?”
“If Ethan told you to do anything, would you do it without hesitation?”
He looked surprised but nodded. “Probably.”
“If he told you to kill someone—would you do it?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head this time.
Relief flooded me. Maybe Ethan was only trying to frighten me. In a law-based society, who would risk prison for a job?
“If it’s just breaking legs, that would be okay,” Uncle Wang added casually.
What. The. Hell. To commit crime for work—it was unthinkable.
“Aren’t you afraid of going to jail?”
“You could make it look like an accident,” he said seriously.
Cold sweat beaded down my back. Though it was August, I felt a chill. Ethan wasn’t joking—if he said it, he could do it.
The car reached Springfield Department Store. Uncle Wang parked. “Claire, we’re here.”
I looked at the crowd outside and the Starbucks below but didn’t have the courage to get out. Lucas texted again: Are you here? I powered my phone off after a long pause.
I had Uncle Wang drive out to the Riverbend Bridge beyond the fifth ring and stopped. I opened the window and just sat, staring at the ferries and the calm river. Time slid by—three hours, maybe five. Uncle Wang asked several times if I wanted to go back; I shook my head each time.
Night fell. Uncle Wang’s phone rang; he stepped out to take it. The wind picked up, tossing the river into ripples. A ferry horn sounded in the distance.
Soon Ethan pulled up.
“Uncle Wang, drive my car back. I’ll stay here,” he said.
“All right, Mr. Sinclair.”
Uncle Wang took the keys and left.
Ethan opened his car door and sat in silence. I watched the streetlights sparkle on the water and said softly, “Ethan, I’m tired.”
“Then go back,” he said shortly.
“Why did things between us come to this?” I asked, half to him, half to myself.
He didn’t answer.
“I was thinking—what would happen if I jumped from here?”
“Are you threatening me?” Ethan’s voice finally held some emotion as he looked at me.
“Why not?” I turned to him. “You do things like this to me all the time.”
“For some random man, you’d come here to kill yourself?” Ethan sounded almost amused, a sneer tugging his lip. “Claire, your acting is awful.”
“Awful?” I laughed bitterly, then opened the car door and got out.
Ethan didn’t move; his eyes remained fixed on me. The greasy wind tossed my hair. I shoved it back, and it blew again.
“Ethan, let’s just let each other go.” My voice was steady. “I want a clean break. Let’s act like we never met. From now on, we go our separate ways.”
“And then be with that glasses guy?” His gaze darkened. His tone was sharp. “Claire, cut that thought off. I’d rather die than let you two be together.”
“Ethan.” I looked at him calmly, my heart steady. “Did you ever really love me? Why have I never felt respected or happy around you? What am I to you—a toy? A pet? I don’t want to live like this anymore.”
“So you choose death, and you abandon even Mrs. Bennett?” He suddenly mentioned my mom.
I froze at the thought of Mom.
“If you’re willing to give up your mother for that glasses guy, then I have nothing to say.” Ethan’s face was indifferent.
Nothing to say… I nodded and walked toward the railing.
Riverbend Bridge was long and wide, the deck tens of meters above the water. I’d seen news stories about people choosing this place when their lives fell apart. I never thought I’d feel like that.
Night was thick. The water below was black and deep—I had no doubt that if I jumped, my body might never be found. I stood at the railing, feeling no fear. I closed my eyes and began to climb the guardrail. One foot found a slot; my body shifted upward. I felt like I might leap at any moment.
A car door slammed open.
Ethan shot forward like an arrow, wrapped his arms around me from behind, and wrenched me down hard. We both hit the ground. He held me tight; our bodies trembled—whether from shock or adrenaline, I didn’t know. I could feel both our hearts pounding wildly.
A long time passed before Ethan finally let go of me.
I smiled through my words. "Weren't you the one who said my acting was terrible? Guess this is pretty convincing."
His face was ashen, threaded with a deep, bitter fury—like he hated me with everything in him.
"You like him that much? You'd even be willing to die for him?"
I nodded. "Yes."
He looked at me for a long time without speaking, a finality and sadness settling over his features.
"And what about me, Claire? What am I to you? What were those days we spent together worth to you? How can you just flip a switch and change?"
I was silent a beat, then said softly, "Isn't that how relationships work? If you like someone, you stay together. If you don't, you split."
"Is that so?"
Ethan laughed suddenly.
"Not liking someone, and then leaving—so that's it. I never realized. So you never had feelings for me at all."
He abruptly tilted my face toward his, teeth gritted. "Claire, I seriously wonder—did you have some kind of emotional switch installed? Turn it on when you like someone, flip it off when you don't."
I didn't answer.
"I'll do as you asked. We'll break up. We'll go our separate ways."
He slowly released my face.
I'd never seen Ethan like this—his eyes flooded with sorrow, every word steeped in loneliness.
I even saw the corners of his eyes redden, his lashes growing wet.
When our gazes met, he instantly looked away.
…The agency found a new head chef to come interview at the villa—a Le Cordon Bleu graduate, or so they said.
Mrs. Sinclair must have spent a fortune to accommodate her son's tastes.
This time Ethan didn't stop it deliberately.
But because the chef's current job ran through September, Mom's resignation couldn't take effect until then either.
I quickly found an apartment and moved out of the Sinclairs'.
Two bedrooms, a living room, lots of light.
I ordered essentials and appliances online and began decorating bit by bit.
Furniture stores were expensive, so I shopped secondhand.
Lucas practically spent every weekend with me scouring the downtown thrift markets until we found pieces I liked.
My place was on the fifth floor with no elevator—so he helped lug boxes up, one by one.
September came fast. School was starting again.
Lucas was a senior and busier than before, but our campus wasn't far from my apartment, so except for weekends we'd still grab a movie or walk the streets together at night.
Our relationship was going smoothly.
Lucas had so many good qualities—considerate, gentle, even-tempered, and smart. He knew so much.
Hazel teased us that we finally made it official and kept prying about when we'd take things further.
"I think I'll call you Little Minx from now on," she joked. "It's perfect for you."
"Ha. I should throw you a 'losing your virginity' party if you're going to be like this—are you that cold?"
She was offended, but I can't help loving her nosiness.
"Can you stop obsessing over this? I'm begging you, okay?"
"Nope. You're a rookie. I have to pass on veteran tips and war stories."
"Thanks a lot."
"No problem."
One Friday night after a new movie, Lucas walked me home.
We lingered in the quiet hallway outside my building, talking until it was almost late. The stairwell was empty and still.
He looked reluctant to leave.
"Want to come up for a bit?" I asked.
He hesitated—probably worried it would be awkward this late—and shook his head.
"No, you should go get some rest."
Hearing that, I let it be.
"Alright, you be careful getting home."
He nodded.
We stood frozen for a moment. Lucas's eyes were dark and deep as he leaned in and wrapped me in his arms, cupping my face gently.
He seemed a little nervous, but his eyes were full of expectation.
His lips brushed my nose and then my mouth.
His kisses were soft, careful, like handling something precious. So gentle.
Completely different from Ethan.
Ethan kissed me with a possessive force—like laying siege—until I was breathless.
Yet, when I obeyed him, when I complied, he could be tender and whisper sweet things.
My mind drifted back to the bridge that day—the ache in Ethan's eyes, the bleak words he said.
"Claire, I seriously wonder—did you have some kind of emotional switch installed? Turn it on when you like someone, flip it off when you don't."
Ethan…
My chest felt dull and heavy, a sorrow almost swallowing me whole.
Lucas pulled away, puzzled. "Claire, are you okay?"
I wiped my cheeks, confused to find they were wet with tears.
By late September, Mom's notice period was almost over.
I picked a Friday night to help pack at the Sinclair villa.
Her suitcases were mostly ready—just a few big items left to bring back to my apartment.
I took the bus and arrived after dark.
Through the front yard, I headed to Mom's room. She was wrapping up the last of the large pieces.
I thought there wouldn't be much left, but there was more than I expected.
"Mom, there's a lot. We need a truck," I said.
"Uncle Will told me he'll drive it," she replied.
Uncle Will? I hesitated. "Is that… okay?"
She smiled, waved it off. "He's a good man. He went out this afternoon and said he'd be back later to help load."
Alright then. I didn't press it.
While Mom kept packing, I slipped out to the backyard. Living away for a month made coming back feel strange.
I'd lived in that house for over four years—every good and bad memory tied to it. I probably wouldn't come back much after this.
I went to the glass conservatory to sit for a moment.
When I pushed open the door, someone was already sitting in the chair.
Ethan.
I froze, embarrassed. I turned to leave, then realized I couldn't just walk away. So I stayed.
He watched me quietly.
"I'm just here to pick up my mom's stuff," I explained, awkward.
He nodded and raised a cigarette to his lips. Oh—he'd been smoking. No wonder the house smelled like it. There were almost a dozen butts on the floor.
I couldn't help blurting, "Ethan, you've been smoking so much—aren't you worried about getting sick?"
He snorted—his voice rough with smoke. "Do you still care about me?"
I didn't know what to say.
His throat sounded raspy. The air in the conservatory was suffocating, so I opened a nearby window to air it out.
There were no lights on inside, but the glass let in the yard's lamps, so I could make out everything.
We didn't speak. The silence was awkward.
I wondered if Mom had finished. Uncle Will should be back soon, I figured. Checking the time, I said, "I should get going. You can sit here a little longer."
"Claire," he called.
I thought he had something to say. "Yes?"
He was sitting close; he reached and took my hand.
I stood there stunned.
Ethan held my hand and rubbed the tips of my fingers gently. He looked beaten down—dark circles around his eyes, clearly sleep-deprived and listless.
I remembered the young man I met years ago: carefree, radiant, the kind of guy who'd be showered with flowers after a pickup game. Proud and bold. I had loved him fiercely once, with everything I had.
He pressed my palm to his cheek. My fingers stroked his hair—an automatic, tender motion. He paused, then looked up at me with eyes shining.
Before I could process it, he pulled me into his arms. I toppled into him and his mouth was on mine, urgent and fierce.
"Ethan…" I tried to speak, but he silenced me—one arm around my waist, one hand pressing the back of my head—kissing me hard.
I knew I couldn't fight him. I let myself be carried into it.
Then, I started to kiss back.
When he felt my response, his intensity softened. We kissed as if nothing else existed.
He lifted me onto his lap, tucking me into him, then kissed along my jaw, earlobe, neck—down to my chest. I couldn't help the little sounds that escaped.
"Ethan," I whispered.
He hummed softly.
"I'm a little scared," I admitted.
He smiled—or maybe it was something else—then, lowering his voice, said, "You're always so bold, always going against me. Now I finally found your weakness."
Then he kissed the other side.
My head felt like it would burst. My body trembled and my fingers tangled in his hair. When my voice thickened with sobs, Ethan finally eased up, trailing kisses back to my lips.
We were still wrapped up when a noise came from outside. Suddenly, the conservatory was flooded with light.
I jumped. Ethan was faster—he straightened my shirt before I could think.
I glanced toward the door.
Uncle Will stood there, eyes wide, stunned at the sight of Ethan and me.
He was terrified. "S-s-sorry, Mr. Sinclair, I didn't see anything—my eyes went blind!" he stammered.
Uncle Will scrambled out apologies, then something occurred to him. He hurriedly shut off the power and headed toward the yard.
He even stumbled a little.
I covered my face in embarrassment—I'd finally lived through that legendary social-death moment.
"This is over," Ethan murmured and chuckled low, nuzzling closer to my temple.
"Over? Uncle Will said he didn't see anything," I snapped.
"You said that!" I was annoyed—if not for him, I wouldn’t be so humiliated.
Then he leaned in toward my lips again.
"No—I have to go." I tilted away.
Uncle Will had already come back; Mom’s things should be packed up by now.
"Where are you going?" Ethan cupped my chin, his voice soft and possessive.
He'd forgotten why I came tonight. Then he remembered.
He stopped kissing me and looked up. "Claire, you aren't going back to that glasses guy, are you?"
Hearing Lucas's name flooded me with shame, regret, guilt…
I felt like I'd turned into a bad woman.
Ethan saw me stay silent and suddenly grew serious.
"Answer me."
My head was a mess. Faced with his interrogation, I reflexively tried to avoid it.
"I don't know—let me think."
His expression darkened.
"Claire, what was that earlier to you—cheating, betrayal? Am I supposed to be your other man?"
His words made my head spin. I tried to stand, but his hand on my waist pinned me down.
"I'll give you one day to break up with him and have Uncle Will move your things back."
Hearing him say he'd have Uncle Will move my stuff back made me panic.
"No."
"Why not?"
Ethan frowned.
"My mom already quit working for your family. Of course I can't move back in."
"That's easy—have Mrs. Bennett not quit." He sounded so casual.
"That's impossible, Mrs. Sinclair… Your mom approved my mom's resignation. The new cook is starting soon, isn't she?"
"That's not your problem. You just break up with the glasses guy."
I stayed quiet. Of course this was my problem; my mom's resignation was done and couldn't just be undone. Why would she change her mind now?
Ethan's eyes darkened when I didn't answer.
"Claire, don't forget you're sitting on my lap. Your body's reaction to what happened earlier was honest as hell. You can't be with him anymore."
I sighed. I already knew I couldn't be with Lucas—I didn't deserve someone like him.
"I'll break up with Lucas, but I won't move back in with you. My mom won't either—she's resigned. We can't just pretend that never happened; Mrs. Sinclair would think we're doing nothing."
When I said I'd break up, something soft flickered in Ethan's eyes. He thought for a moment, half joking, half serious. "Then let's get married. You can move back, and Mrs. Bennett won't have to leave."
I rubbed my temple. "What a brilliant idea. Thank you."
"You like it, don't you? How about Monday afternoon—we go to the clerk's office?" Ethan spoke as if whims were plans.
I almost choked. Then I remembered something important.
"Ethan—aren't you dating Aveline?" I asked.
He gave me a disdainful look, clearly exasperated. "Claire, what do you take me for? If I were dating Aveline, would I have kissed your chest like that?"
My face flamed. I clapped a hand over his mouth. "Don't say that."
"What lie? You don't remember what happened earlier." He looked at me, amused, voice greasy with implication. "You can't deny we went a step further, can you?"
Heavens—I did not want to discuss that.
"I really have to go." I rose again and was held down by both his hands at my waist.
"Ethan." I pretended to be angry.
"Where are you living now?" He wasn't scared of me being angry at all.
"Why are you asking?" I found it strange.
"Then I'll walk you home and bring your luggage back."
I sighed helplessly. "Ethan, you can't just do what you want. Consider my side—my mom already quit. I have no standing to move back into your house."
"Didn't I say not to let Mrs. Bennett quit?" he said.
"How do I explain it to her?" I asked.
"You tell her we're dating."
I couldn't be as breezy and optimistic as Ethan.
He suddenly grew serious. "Claire, you're not just planning to mess around with me, are you?"
I laughed through my nerves. "That's my line."
"Then why won't you tell Mrs. Bennett we're together?"
He'd cornered me; I had to surrender. "Can you give me a few days? Don't force me."
He wasn't pleased—he looked skeptical. After a long beat, Ethan sighed softly, stroked my cheek. "Alright. I'll give you a few days. Tonight, have Uncle Will take you home."
When I got back to the apartment, everything was packed.
"Claire, where did you go? Uncle Will was looking for you," Mom said, phone in hand, about to call.
I felt guilty and glanced at Uncle Will beside her.
"Nowhere—just in the yard."
Uncle Will was more embarrassed than me; his face was flushed as he scratched his head. "Maybe it was too dark out there. I couldn't see clearly. If nothing else, I'll go. You two get some rest."
He was about to leave.
Mom, puzzled, asked, "Mr. Will, where are you going? Weren't you supposed to help load the luggage?"
He instinctively looked at me. "Are you two leaving?"
"Of course. It's all packed."
Mom stared at Uncle Will, wondering at his odd behavior tonight.
"Okay, I'll put the luggage in the car then."
…And so after Mom resigned, we moved into my rented place.
The rental was worlds away from the Willowridge Estates my family had once been connected to—one was heaven, the other, well, not. We’d been renters before Mom worked for the Sinclairs, so we adjusted.
The November break was approaching and school would be out soon. I had to meet Lucas.
We met in a coffee shop.
Soft music drifted through the air.
Lucas and I sat in the window booth. The coffee in front of us had gone cold.
Silence stretched between us. After a long moment, I spoke honestly. "Lucas, I'm willing to take all your blame and insults."
He looked hurt, a bitter smile tugging the corner of his mouth. "Because you don't want to be with me, I should scold you?"
"No—because I acted badly. Because I'm a bad woman." I didn't know how else to express my remorse.
Lucas shook his head. "Claire, you already like someone else, don't you?"
I was surprised. "Why do you ask?"
He forced a smile. "The employer at your mom’s job—him?"
I was guilty and startled. "How did you know?"
"A guy's intuition. The way he looked at you—he seemed angry at your mom's birthday."
I'd thought I hid it well. I was foolish.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hide it from you. Back then I had already broken up and wanted to start anew." But it hadn't worked out.
"I understand. You can't force feelings." Lucas was gracious in a way that made me ashamed.
"Looks like we can only be friends," he said with self-deprecating humor.
"No—don't be friends with me." I looked straight at him. "Lucas, if a girl ever hurts you, don't be friends with her. You deserve sincere, wholehearted love. I hope one day you find a wonderful, perfect girlfriend and let those who hurt you—let them regret it, including me."
He softened at my earnestness. "All that because you dumped me? No need to flatter me."
Thankfully, he could still joke. We both laughed, relief in our eyes.
Monday afternoon, school sent students home for break.
That evening, I was with Hazel on Main Street, grabbing food.
"You broke up with Lucas?" she gasped, dropping her beefball.
I nodded.
"Why? Was it…not compatible?"
"Not that. Maybe I just didn't love him enough." That's all I could say.
"Who do you like then?" Hazel was curious.
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. Ethan had texted.
"Where are you?"
I was about to reply when another came in.
"I'm downstairs at your building."
I jumped, grabbed my bag, and told Hazel goodbye.
"Who is it? Someone you're excited to see?" she said, eyes bright. "Is it him?"
I didn't have time to explain. I ran out, hailed a cab, and rushed to my building.
Ethan's SUV was parked along the narrow residential lane—its polished weight stood out in our shabby complex.
I hurried over. The door opened and Ethan sat in the passenger seat, composed.
"How did you find this place?" I asked.
"Uncle Will brought me," he said.
"Where is he?"
"He already took a cab home."
Okay.
"You live here?" Ethan looked the neighborhood over, his disdain obvious. "This place is a wreck. What floor?"
"Fifth."
I buckled in. "Drive us somewhere else first."
His car was too noticeable. If Mom came downstairs she'd recognize it and my explanation would be impossible.
Ethan parked on a commercial street behind the complex. Once the car stopped, the first thing he asked, "Did you break up with him?"
I sighed and nodded. "Yes."
A smile spread across his face. He leaned toward me and ruffled my hair. "Good girl. How about I take you to somewhere nice to eat?"
I tilted my head to the side. "No, I already had dinner."
Ethan's hand froze in midair. He looked at me, puzzled. "What's wrong?"
I had to explain. "I washed my hair last night."
His eyes darkened as he looked at me, then he nodded as if it was nothing.
"Okay, I won't mess with your hair."
The next second he unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned forward across me, cupped my face, and started kissing me.
I froze in the passenger seat, unable to move.
There was a faint, sweet scent on his breath—like xylitol gum.
Gradually I began to respond.
We kissed for a long time.
I finally had to stop because the way I was sitting was getting uncomfortable.
He still held my face, a teasing smile tugging at his mouth.
"Claire, did you just have ice cream?"
I felt awkward and didn't know what to say.
I should've followed his example and popped a piece of gum—who knew he'd suddenly kiss me?
The smile at his lips deepened. "It's fine. Even if you'd eaten garlic, I'd still kiss you."
I shoved him back into his seat, shooting him a displeased look.
"Feeling better now?"
He asked again.
"I'm not in a bad mood," I shot back.
He snorted. "Claire, you're not regretting breaking up with him, are you?"
"Where did you get that idea?" I said, incredulous.
"I'm feeling guilty. This was between us—I shouldn't have dragged someone else into it. I feel bad about Lucas Reed."
"You're feeling bad for him?"
Ethan sneered; his expression soured.
"Ethan, you don't really think I slept with him, do you?"
He turned to me, confused by my words.
"What do you mean?"
I didn't answer; I just stared at him.
Slowly comprehension dawned on him. He couldn't quite believe it and widened his eyes.
"So… you two didn't sleep together at all."
"What do you think?"
First joy flashed through his eyes, then it shifted to puzzlement.
"Then why did you lie to me?"
"Who told you to go around threatening me all the time and grilling me about whether I slept with him?" I snapped.
He suddenly got it.
Then he glowered at me—actually angrier than I was.
"Claire, you dared to lie to me about something like this? Do you know how I've felt these past few days? I've had thoughts about cutting you both up."
"That's normal."
I could understand where he was coming from. "Sometimes I thought about going down with you too."
He paused, then, not pleased with the topic, asked, "So that night—what was he doing at my house?"
"It was my mom's birthday. He came over to celebrate with us," I explained calmly.
"You said it was Mrs. Bennett's birthday. How come I didn't know? Who's 'us'?"
"Why would you know my mom's birthday? 'Us' meant my mom and me, Mrs. Huang, and Uncle Will."
"So you all celebrated Mrs. Bennett's birthday at home and didn't invite me?"
Ethan looked genuinely baffled, like he'd missed some huge social slight.
"I would've invited you, but you were on a plane getting cozy with Aveline. I couldn't exactly fly up there and drag you down," I said, feigning regret.
He was finally silenced.
After a moment he sighed. "Fine. Tomorrow I'll take you and Mrs. Bennett out and make it up to her."
"No need—my mom wouldn't agree. Besides, she already quit working for your family; she definitely won't go," I told the truth.
"Then bring Mrs. Huang and Uncle Will too. I'll take you to somewhere fun, okay?"
He tried to sweet-talk me.
"No."
I stayed firm.
"I don't care. Since you didn't invite me last time, everyone has to go this time."
When charm failed, he got pushy.
"Ethan, are you three?" I asked.
"Anyway, I'm not taking no for an answer."
I couldn't watch him throw a tantrum any longer.
That night.
Back at our place, after a shower, I told Mom Ethan wanted to take us out.
"Ethan Sinclair?" she said, surprised.
She was making the bed—sunlight had dried the bedding earlier, so she was tucking the quilt back into its cover.
"Why does he want to take us out?"
I helped stuff the comforter into the case. "He said he missed your birthday last time and wants to make it up. Mrs. Huang and Uncle Will will come too."
Mom paused, astonished. "Make it up? Why?"
I had no answer. "I don't know. He said everyone has to go."
At the idea of everyone going, Mom didn't look as resistant as before.
"So… where is he taking us?" she asked.
I shrugged. "I don't know."
Early the next morning, Uncle Will drove over to pick up Mom and me and took us to the Willowridge Estates.
Mrs. Huang was already waiting, beaming when we arrived.
"Claire, we're in luck—Ethan said he's taking us to a beach resort to celebrate your mom's birthday properly," she announced.
"A beach resort?" I hadn't expected that.
There’s no sea near the city—the closest coast is at least a four-hour drive away, nearly nine hours round trip. When would we get back tonight?
Mrs. Huang seemed to read my worry and added, "Ethan said we'll be back the afternoon after tomorrow."
"Staying overnight?" Mom and I asked in unison.
"Of course—you didn't know?" Mrs. Huang looked at us puzzled.
Ethan hadn't told me anything; I hadn't even packed a change of clothes. And clearly there wasn't time to go back.
Soon Ethan came downstairs. He looked casual: white T-shirt with a gray plaid shirt over it, sleeves rolled, hem tucked in. Black cropped straight pants that made his legs look miles long. He held a pair of gunmetal sunglasses.
With his looks, nine out of ten girls would probably want to walk up and say hi.
"Everyone's here," Uncle Will said.
Ethan nodded. "Good. I've sent the navigation. You go ahead; I'll get my car."
"Okay."
Uncle Will drove forward and parked. Mrs. Huang opened the back seat for Mom and said to me, "Claire, sit front. Your mom and I haven't seen each other in a while; we'll sit in back and chat."
"Okay."
I opened the passenger door and slid in.
Just as Uncle Will was about to pull away, Ethan cleared his throat from the steps. He glanced at me, like he understood something, and called out, "Uh… Claire… the passenger seat in my car has been giving me trouble. The adjustment's broken. You should go ride with Ethan instead."
I looked at Ethan on the steps and didn't buy Uncle Will's excuse at all.
Mrs. Huang kindly offered, "Claire, why don't you sit in back? I'll take the front seat."
She started to get out.
Uncle Will panicked. "No, you should sit in back. If you sit up front you'll block my mirror."
Mrs. Huang bristled. "What, are you calling me fat?"
"Just sit in back," he said, then locked the rear door. He turned to me. "You really should go to Ethan's car."
I had no choice but to get out and wait for Ethan's car.
When I climbed into Ethan's car, he wore a smug, conspiratorial look that made me deadpan, "You and Uncle Will have practiced this, haven't you?"
He grinned. "What are you implying?"
"Hmph," I snorted—a pointed sound that I left for him to interpret.
He reached for my hand.
"You're driving," I reminded him.
He let it go.
"Why didn't you tell me about staying overnight? Now I don't have a change of clothes."
"I didn't say overnight because I thought Mrs. Bennett might refuse," he said honestly.
"What am I supposed to do tonight? It's October; I'll need to shower. Not having a change of clothes is miserable."
"You can buy something there, or… you can wear mine," he said with a naughty smile.
"Dream on."
I scoffed.
"Do you want to sleep? It's going to be a while," he asked. I had been up early and did feel sleepy, so I nodded. "Wake me when we get there."
"Okay," he answered softly.
I don't know how long I slept. When I opened my eyes, light flooded in—probably noon. The car had stopped.
I rubbed my eyes, still groggy.
"Are we there?" I asked.
Ethan was propped against the window, a strange smile on his lips. "We've been here a while."
"Why didn't you wake me?"
"You were sleeping so soundly you drooled on the seat. I couldn't bear to wake you."
My jaw dropped… or maybe my soul left my body. I instinctively touched the corner of my mouth. Nothing felt odd.
He had successfully pranked me, smiling wider.
"Immature," I shot back, then climbed out.
Before me was an endless sea, stretching beyond sight.
The sky was a brilliant blue, a few white clouds scattered, the water glittering—sea and sky meeting in the distance.
It was my first time seeing the ocean.
It was more beautiful than I imagined.
I ran to the shoreline, wanting to kick off my shoes and splash in.
Ethan grabbed my hand. "We should have lunch first. We'll play in the water this afternoon."
I was reluctant. "The ocean is so beautiful—it's more than I expected."
He took my hand and we walked back toward the cars.
"Do you want me to teach you to surf this afternoon?"
"Really? Is it fun?"
"Of course."
"But I don't know how to swim," I admitted.
He looked incredulous. "You can't even swim?"
In the distance was a row of three-story villas—white walls, huge windows, each framed by a few palm trees.
The middle house had a dark SUV parked in the driveway.
So Uncle Will and the others had already arrived.
I deliberately pulled my hand away from Ethan Sinclair, but he held on tighter on purpose.
We were getting closer to the house.
"Ethan, my shoelace came untied. Let go of my hand for a second."
I said helplessly.
While he was looking down, I slipped my hand free with a practiced flick.
The next moment he realized he'd been fooled and shot me a teasing look. "Claire, you're lying to me again."
I smirked and bolted toward the house.
We ran in one after the other.
Only Uncle Will was in the living room.
There was also a man in a uniform who looked like a server.
"Uncle Will, where are Mom and Mrs. Huang?" I asked.
"They're upstairs in their room. Mrs. Huang said she wanted to change and then they'll go down to take photos by the sea," he replied.
Fair enough—that was exactly the kind of thing Mrs. Huang would do.
A lavish lunch was already laid out on the table, and on a nearby cart sat an elegant cake box.
I only then noticed the whole living room had been set up like a birthday party.
So Ethan had arranged all this in advance.
The young man in uniform gave Ethan a polite salute and said, "Mr. Sinclair, the house has been arranged per your instructions. Lunch is ready. You and your guests may start."
"Thank you," Ethan said, handing him a tip.
The server thanked him and left.
Before long, Mom and Mrs. Huang came downstairs. Sure enough, Mrs. Huang had changed into a new dress.
"Mrs. Huang, your new dress is beautiful," I couldn't help but compliment.
"Thank you, Claire," she said, pleased.
"Everyone's here—wash up and let's eat," Uncle Will said.
After a bit, Ethan walked to the table, pulled out the chair at the head, and told Mom, "Mrs. Bennett, you're the guest of honor today. Sit here."
Mom was shy but touched and took the seat.
"Thank you, Mr. Sinclair," she said.
Ethan came around and pulled out another chair. He looked at me with an unusually gentle expression. "Claire, sit here."
Mom and Mrs. Huang both glanced at him.
He didn't change his expression but his tone softened a bit. "I'll take care of serving today."
After I sat, he pulled out another chair on the other side. "Mrs. Huang, sit here."
Mrs. Huang was nearly moved to tears. "Thank you, Mr. Sinclair."
Before Ethan could react further, Uncle Will had already sat down next to Mrs. Huang on his own initiative.
Ethan sat in the chair next to mine.
There were only five of us, but the table was laden with more than twenty dishes—mostly seafood, plus a few fruit salads and such.
After being in the car for hours, I was starving and suddenly ravenous.
Seeing I was digging in, Ethan plucked a particularly large garlic oyster from a platter and placed it in front of me. "Want to try this? It should be good."
Mom and Mrs. Huang simultaneously looked over at us.
Ethan's hand froze for a beat, then he naturally took one for Mom and put it on her plate. "Mrs. Bennett, try one. And Mrs. Huang too."
He then put one on Mrs. Huang's plate.
Only Uncle Will was left. Before Ethan could reach, he hurriedly stood and served himself one.
I shot Ethan a silent warning look to not be so obvious.
He slipped a hand around my waist and gave me a gentle pinch.
After lunch, it was time to play.
Because the meal had been so rich, the birthday cake would be saved until tonight.
Ethan asked the server to bring a set of fresh clothes and a swimsuit each for Mom and me.
Not long after, the server returned with them.
Luckily, the swimsuits were fairly modest.
I went upstairs.
Besides the first floor, the second and third floors were all guest rooms, each spacious. Draw the curtains and you could see the blue sea; step out on the balcony and the ocean breeze hit you straight on—refreshing.
It seemed Ethan had booked the whole house; there were no other guests, and with only five of us, the rooms were more than enough.
I changed into my swimsuit and stared longingly at the sea.
When I walked out, Mom was still in her clothes.
"Mom, why didn't you change into a swimsuit?"
She waved it off, embarrassed. "I'm not changing. I can't swim anyway—I'll just watch you all."
"That's not an option—we're at the beach. You have to get in. Mrs. Huang brought a swimsuit, didn't she?"
"My figure isn't like hers. I don't want to make a scene," she protested.
No matter how I tried to persuade her, she refused.
So it was settled. The three of us—Mom, Mrs. Huang, and I—went down to the shore.
The weather was beautiful and the beach was fairly busy.
The water was crystal clear.
Mrs. Huang pulled out a selfie stick and started coaxing Mom to take pictures.
Ethan had already changed; a surfboard lay on the sand and he was securing the ankle leash.
"Want me to teach you to surf?" he asked, interested.
I shook my head. Surfing looked hard.
I saw Uncle Will nearby, about to wade in for a swim. "I'll let Uncle Will teach me to swim," I said.
I've always been a total landlubber—couldn't even doggy-paddle properly.
I thought swimming would be easy, but the sea quickly taught me otherwise. I swallowed mouthfuls of salt water.
Uncle Will patiently coached me. "Claire, you need to relax and try to float. Then paddle forward."
I tried again and again without getting it right.
He finally cupped my abdomen with his hands. "Lie flat, stretch out… move your arms forward, kick your legs back, tilt your head slightly up."
I felt like I might be getting it.
Just then a surfboard drifted toward us.
Ethan hopped down, brows knit and voice tight. "Uncle Will, what are you doing?"
Startled, Uncle Will pulled his hands back. I lost my balance and swallowed several more mouthfuls.
"Mr. Sinclair, I was just helping Claire learn to swim—that's all," he explained, water dripping off him.
"Let me do it," Ethan said, loosening the leash on his board and handing it to Uncle Will.
"Okay," Uncle Will said, taking it and moving off as if escaping.
"Ethan, what was that about?" I said from the water, annoyed.
"What were you doing?" he shot back.
I splashed water in his face, not fooled by his behavior. "Uncle Will is like my dad—why are you making this so awkward?"
"Did I do something?" he pretended ignorance.
I splashed him again. He retaliated.
Soon we were bantering and playing like kids.
Ethan cuddled toward me, and I glanced toward the shore.
Mom was taking photos of Mrs. Huang; Mrs. Huang was posing and didn't notice us.
Ethan and I were face-to-face, dripping wet.
"I want to kiss you," he said, ardent.
"No, what if Mom sees?" I protested.
He sounded annoyed. "Have you decided? When will you tell Mrs. Bennett about us?"
"Is this the time to discuss that?" I dodged and hooked my foot around his leg in the water to distract him.
His expression changed at once, something unreadable crossing his face. "Claire, you're playing with fire."
I couldn't help laughing. Romance novels really do borrow from life.
Mrs. Huang finished a set of poses and moved a few steps down the beach to take more shots. Mom's eyes followed forward.
I quickly told Ethan to support me and sank back into the water. "I'm practicing swimming with you so Mom won't get suspicious," I said.
"Oh, I see." He propped under my back with one hand while another drifted across my chest to my stomach and then grazed the inside of my thigh.
"What are you doing?" I flushed.
"Teaching you to swim," he said with an innocent tone.
What a hypocrite.
Seeing Mom and Mrs. Huang preoccupied with photos, I stood and leaned my hands on Ethan's shoulders, casually kicking my leg between his. He had a solid, well-cut body—strong and lean.
He felt a shift in my movements and a smug smile curved his lips. "Claire, you insist on teasing, don't you?"
His gaze tightened and his voice roughened. "Who started it…"
Before I could finish, he scooped me up and submerged us, pressing a fierce kiss to my lips.
We broke the surface after a long time, both panting. Ethan wore a wicked little grin.
…After dinner we cut the birthday cake and sang.
Mom was moved—she hadn't had a proper birthday in years, and this seaside celebration was so lively.
Ethan had even prepared a gift for her.
With everyone watching, Mom opened the delicate box.
Inside was a stunning pearl necklace; each pearl smooth and luminous.
She was taken aback and almost tried to give it back.
Mrs. Huang laughed. "Claire, just keep it. Ethan gave it to you—he's not taking it back."
After some coaxing, Mom accepted it and thanked him sincerely. "Thank you, Mr. Sinclair."
Ethan answered earnestly, "You're welcome, Mrs. Bennett. You've been with our family so long. There were times I was stubborn and unfair to you. Thank you for your patience."
I was surprised—Ethan was unusually humble and considerate tonight. It was almost disarming.
After cake, Mrs. Huang mentioned there would be a bonfire party on the beach that night, with people singing and dancing, and enthusiastically invited Mom and me to go.
I was about to agree when Ethan pinched my waist lightly.
I shot him a sly look and nodded to Mrs. Huang. "Okay, Mrs. Huang."
"Let's go now," she said.
Ethan pinched me again, harder this time—an obvious warning.
I didn't flinch. "Okay, I'm going upstairs to grab my bag."
He squeezed harder.
This time he was serious—he'd been squeezing my waist until it hurt.
I had no choice but to sit back down sheepishly and change my tone. "Mrs. Huang, why don't you go with my mom? I might be tired this afternoon and want to rest a bit."
"Alright then."
Seeing I was resolute, Mrs. Huang could only leave with my mother.
After they left, it was just me, Ethan Sinclair, and Uncle Will in the room.
Uncle Will sighed and asked obediently, "Master Ethan, do you want me to stay in the room or go outside?"
"Inside is fine."
Ethan didn't bother with formalities—he took my hand and we went out.
Soon we were walking on the soft sand.
The distant stars, the sticky sea breeze—everything felt so freeing.
I suddenly laughed.
Ethan looked at me, puzzled. "What are you laughing at?"
I shook my head and smiled. "I just feel kinda bad for Uncle Will. He's in such an awkward spot because he walked in on our… affair."
"Affair?"
He didn't like the word at all.
"Aren't we?" I teased.
Ethan started tickling me; I had to beg for mercy while trying to run away.
We chased each other along the beach, laughing.
After a little while we were tired and collapsed onto the sand together.
When our breathing calmed, Ethan flipped over and pinned me down, kissing me.
I realized we both loved kissing—we were intoxicated by each other's scent and couldn't get enough.
Moved, he kissed down my jaw, my neck, my collarbone.
Lower.
When his lips brushed my collarbone, I cupped his face in protest. "Ethan, I'm not your mom."
There was a deep pleading in his dark eyes, like a silent request.
He even rubbed his chin against my bra over his shirt.
My resolve softened. I hesitated—
Then sand worked its way into my neck and made me uncomfortable.
I flipped him over and pinned him down instead.
He sighed, disappointed he couldn't continue.
"I want to be on top," I muttered.
Lying down had too much sand.
He gave a wicked smile. "That depends on whether your waist's okay."
Ugh.
I snapped, "It's the sand making me itchy—where are you going with this?"
He adopted a serious tone. "Claire, I'm an adult."
I laughed at his solemn face. "So?"
"Seriously—let's plan this out."
He gently stroked my cheek.
"What?"
I played dumb.
"What do you think?"
He winked. "Where do you want it? A five-star hotel, a luxury cruise, a seaside villa—anything but the moon, and I'll agree."
He kept escalating.
"Is that all you think about?"
"Pretty much."
He actually admitted it. "If you don't agree soon I'll be a freak."
He said it like it was nothing.
"What did you do before then?" I couldn't help poking his nose.
"Guess."
He smiled meaningfully and took my finger.
"It's settled then. Next weekend I'll get in shape and I'll get you a gift."
I hadn't even agreed.
I put on an act. "Am I that shallow? Who cares about your gifts?"
"The first ten times come with gifts."
Of course the Sinclair heir was extravagantly rich.
I covered my face.
How could Ethan be so shameless talking about this like it was casual?
Then I sat up and got serious. "Deal."
His face lit up.
The sea breeze made us dizzy with happiness and we kissed again.
After the long holiday, Mom planned to go back home for a while.
She couldn't sit idle—after leaving the Sinclair household she felt out of sorts doing nothing every day.
Last time we visited, Grandma wasn't well. Mom wanted to stay and take care of her for a while before coming back.
With her gone, the apartment felt even emptier.
My tutoring job had ended—my ninth-grade student had gotten into his preferred high school in September—so I’d been thinking about picking up another part-time job.
Tuesday.
I had no afternoon classes. Hazel and I were at the campus library flipping through study materials and didn't notice it was already five.
She asked what I wanted for dinner.
"Anything's fine."
I answered absentmindedly, scrolling my phone. Open WeChat—just system messages, public account updates, group chat stuff—nothing personal.
Two days had passed and not a single message had come through.
Hazel and I had a light hotpot near campus and then went our separate ways.
Back at the apartment I took the clothes off the balcony and headed to shower. Mom video-called to ask if I'd eaten; I nodded and asked about Grandma. She said she was better, and we chatted a bit before hanging up.
The water heater was slow. While waiting, I sent Ethan a message asking what he was up to.
Not long after, he replied with a photo. Judging by the background, he was at the gym.
My cheeks warmed. I remembered his promise to "get in shape." Fine—let him do as he pleased.
Wednesday, the whole day went by with no messages.
Thursday night.
After evening study I finally finished class—already past eight. On impulse I messaged Ethan again: "What are you doing?"
Answer: "Working out."
Of course—either at the gym or on his way to it.
I walked home, washed my hair, showered, put on a sheet mask, ready for bed. I drank a cup of honey tea and just as I stepped into the bedroom my phone buzzed.
"I'm downstairs."
No way.
I opened my bedroom window and looked down. There he was, standing by the flowerbed.
I hurried to the bathroom, peeled off the mask, washed my face, removed the hairclip, tousled my hair, threw on a jacket, and headed downstairs.
The hallway was quiet. Standing by the flowerbed I asked, "Ethan, how did you get here?"
"Taxi," he said cheerfully.
"From school?"
"What else?"
Ethan was a senior—his schedule was light and he had plenty of free time.
"Why come so late?"
I couldn't understand.
"Weren't you the one who messaged me?" he arched an eyebrow. "I thought you missed me."
Okay, I had nothing to say in my defense.
There was no one else around in the large complex—just us. This neighborhood wasn't busy; few people lived here, and it was especially quiet at night.
We couldn't just stand there forever.
"Want to come up and sit?" I asked hesitantly.
Ethan's expression brightened like he'd been waiting for those words. "Yes."
We went up to the fifth floor and into my apartment.
"Want something to drink?" I opened the fridge—basically nothing appealing. He shook his head and scanned the living room, clearly unimpressed.
"Mrs. Bennett gone for a few days?" he asked.
"Three."
Seeing he wouldn't drink anything, I closed the fridge. I planned to sit with him on the couch and chat.
"Where's your room?" he asked, then surprised me. "I'm going to sleep."
"What are you doing?"
"Sleeping." He was blunt, repeating himself like it was the most natural thing.
I was stunned. "Ethan, you didn't come all this way just to sleep at my place, did you?"
He walked over, eyes half-amused, tone soft. "Relax, Claire. I won't do anything to you. I don't want to use my 'first time' in such a shabby place."
I was mortified. "That's still not allowed."
"But I'm really tired." He started playing the pleading card. "I can barely keep my eyes open, and your place is so far from mine."
My voice softened despite myself.
"Who told you to come so late?"
"Because I wanted to see you." He went serious again.
I sighed. It was almost ten—late enough. I relented. "Fine. You can sleep in my bed and I'll take Mom's room."
He hesitated then nodded.
He was obedient for once—I stroked his cheek as a reward.
I went to Mom's room to open the door, but Ethan scooped me up, pushed open the other bedroom door, and carried me to the bed. He locked the door from the inside, lifted me into the covers, and crawled in beside me.
His smooth, decisive moves left me dazed. When I came to, he had me wrapped up under the comforter with him.
So his earlier compliance was just to make me let my guard down.
"Ethan, could you be any more devious?" I snapped.
He chuckled softly, slid an arm around my waist, and drew his face close. "I swear I won't touch you. Okay?"
"You better keep that promise," I warned.
"Okay." He said it without hesitation.
He sounded so sincere I lay down, half-trusting, half-wary.
The room light was off, but the moonlight was strong, and across the way a neighbor still had their lights on, so I could make everything out faintly.
I still had the jacket from downstairs over a thin camisole nightdress. Maybe I should sleep with the jacket on.
Ethan turned on his side beside me, one arm propped under his head and tucked close—it felt intimate. He had already closed his eyes and seemed about to fall asleep.
I usually sleep lightly; any little noise would keep me tossing. Tonight promised to be a rough night.
Still, I tried to close my eyes and rest.
After a while it was pointless. I wanted to shift my position but didn't dare disturb him.
I blinked and found Ethan awake, quietly watching me.
Our eyes met. No one spoke.
He looked at me for a while, then his gaze drifted down my neck and stopped at my chest.
I glanced down reflexively.
My nightdress was a camisole with a low neckline. The silky fabric clung, outlining my shape, and I could even see the slight outlines of my nipples. I had been in such a rush I hadn't closed my jacket.
Heat surged to my face. I hurried to button my jacket.
Before I could move, Ethan crushed me into his arms and rained down a flurry of kisses.
As he kissed me, he started pulling off my coat.
Then his hand went straight where it shouldn't.
I stared at him, wide-eyed.
He looked up at me, those animalistic desires flickering in his eyes.
"I want to kiss you," he said plainly.
Dizzying.
I had no idea when he'd developed this obsession.
"Ethan, did you just say you don't remember earlier?" I asked.
He ignored me, his fingers gently pinching at the edge of my clothing, making my whole body tremble.
His breath feathered against my ear, voice slightly blurred with longing.
"I won't do anything else. I just want to kiss you."
I bit my lip. I didn't believe him for a second.
When I still wouldn't relent, he began to plead, whispering over and over, soft against my ear.
"Just a little, Claire, please."
My ear tingled; I couldn't help but scoot closer.
He kissed along my cheek, my earlobe, then down my neck and collarbone.
Slowly, seamlessly, he trailed lower.
My body shuddered against his touch.
At last, he got what he wanted.
I couldn't help a small whimper.
He lingered, sucking and kissing, teasing with his tongue and teeth.
I felt overwhelmed, instinctively arching up and tangling my fingers in his hair.
He kissed for a long time, then reluctantly moved to the other side.
I felt like I couldn't take it anymore.
"Ethan."
My eyes blurred with tears as I looked at him. "I'm uncomfortable."
I meant it.
He paused and lifted his head to meet my gaze; his eyes glistened.
He leaned in toward my lips, voice husky.
"I'm even more uncomfortable than you."
Seriously?
I glared at him in annoyance.
His deep eyes held me, earnest.
"Do you want me to help?"
"What?"
My voice sounded small and pleading.
He left a kiss at my lips, then bent down again.
This time he kissed my lower belly, and then slowly slid downward.
It felt like he bit through my underwear with his teeth and gently pulled them off.
When my brain finally registered what he was going to do, everything went blank. I couldn't think.
His mouth—his lips and teeth—met the center of me, kissing and licking.
I felt like I was floating on an ocean, reaching for something I couldn't grasp.
All I could do was let him consume me.
Wave after wave crashed over me.
I melted into a limp, hollow heap.
He sensed the change and at last stopped, coming up to the pillow beside me.
He brushed damp hair from my forehead and asked, unsure, "Is it okay now?"
I was too weak to form words and nodded without thinking.
A triumphant smile spread across his face, and he murmured something in my ear.
I flushed, embarrassed, and answered, "It's okay."
"Just okay?" He sounded dissatisfied.
Alright—I lied.
I pinched his earlobe playfully.
"Great."
"Then it's your turn next."
He looked at me like a kid waiting for candy.
Uh… I felt shy, but I nodded.
"Deal."
He beamed.
Friday, noon.
Hazel and I had finished ordering at the campus cafeteria and just sat down when Ethan texted.
"Seaside Grand Hotel, presidential suite 1808."
My heart inexplicably sped up. I quickly put my phone away.
Hazel noticed my odd expression and asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
I kept eating.
Another message came.
"Want me to have Uncle Will pick you up?"
I replied fast.
"Definitely not."
If he called Uncle Will to drive me to the hotel, wouldn't people figure out what we were up to?
"Fine. Then take a cab yourself."
He replied quickly.
Hazel narrowed her eyes at me. "So what are you grinning about?"
"I'm not grinning."
I protested.
"Clearly you are," she insisted.
I fumbled for an excuse. "Well, Friday and the weekend are coming. Aren't you happy about that?"
She snorted. "You don't act this happy on a usual Friday."
After my last two classes I left campus to change clothes. Just outside the gate, a dark SUV was parked across the street.
Uncle Will's car.
No way. Didn't I tell Ethan not to involve him?
I trudged over. The window rolled down as I approached.
Before I could say anything, Uncle Will said, "Claire, Mrs. Sinclair would like you to come by the villa."
My face fell.
The car drove into The Willowridge Estates.
I went inside the house.
Mrs. Sinclair sat elegantly on a European sofa, a cup of red tea on the table. She'd clearly been waiting.
"Mrs. Sinclair," I greeted politely as I approached.
"Claire." She smiled with a practiced warmth. "Have a seat. Would you like some tea?"
I shook my head and sat properly in a single chair beside her.
"How's school? I heard your mother has gone back home."
She made small talk. I nodded, keeping humble.
"She's gone for a week," I said.
"Oh."
She lifted the teacup, took a sip, then set it down. Her smile faded.
"Claire, are you two back together?"
I couldn't meet her eyes and lowered my head.
After a moment my voice answered. "Yes."
Silence.
She sighed softly. "I thought we made things clear last time. Didn't you promise me you'd break up with Ethan?"
Her words made me feel ashamed and helpless. I didn't know how to explain.
"I did break up with him at first, but then—"
"But you got back together," she finished for me.
She was right. I couldn't deny it.
Her tone turned serious. "Claire, do you know when my agency hired your mother for an interview five years ago, she wasn't even on my list. She didn't have a chef's certificate and her skills weren't exceptional."
She paused, looking me in the eyes. My fingers tightened; a cold dread pulled at me.
"But when I gently told her she should go back, she asked me to keep her. She told me she was a single mom with a daughter in high school to support and that she needed the job. So I kept her."
"Later, your mother wanted to bring you to study here but ran into household registration issues. When I knew about it, I told Ethan's father, and soon you transferred here."
She finished and set down her cup, watching me coolly.
"But Claire, your behavior now makes me regret that decision."
My face flushed and paled in turns. She hadn't used such harsh words before. Now she said she regretted helping us. Could I blame her? If my son had fallen for the housemaid's daughter, I'd be furious too.
"You're a good girl, Claire. I know you love Ethan, but sometimes love isn't everything. You and Ethan aren't right for each other. I think this is better for both of you. Maybe I should have done this sooner."
Her voice grew distant; perhaps the tea had gone cold.
"Do you understand?"
My face burned with shame and unease. My body felt cold, colder inside. I nodded stiffly.
"Have Uncle Will drive you back."
I stood slowly, stunned. "No, I'll go myself."
I left The Willowridge Estates as dusk fell and walked toward the bus stop. My phone buzzed—it was Ethan.
"Where are you?"
I hesitated, then my phone rang. I answered.
"Where are you?" Ethan's annoyed voice said. "Don't you know I've been waiting a long time?"
I didn't know what to say.
"Claire?" he asked, sensing something was off. "What's wrong?"
I forced a calm tone. "Nothing."
Silence. Then, "Where are you?"
I scanned the area. "On the street."
"Send me your location. I'll come get you."
I sighed. "No need."
A brief pause. "So?"
A taxi passed; I waved it down. It stopped.
"To the Seaside Grand Hotel, please."
I told Ethan, "I'm on my way."
The Seaside Grand was more opulent than I imagined—gleaming marble, crystal chandeliers. Men in suits, some foreign faces. I felt shy asking the front desk for room 1808. The clerk asked politely, "Miss Claire Bennett?"
I nodded. She escorted me to the 18th floor and stopped outside 1808. I thanked her and rang the bell.
When the door opened, Ethan looked less stormy—waiting had softened him. He'd been there for hours; Ethan hated waiting.
I stepped into the suite. It was lavish—large screen, European bed strewn with rose petals, a half-opened bottle of red wine with two glasses on the bar. The light was dreamy and gentle. The whole room felt like a fairytale set.
"Where did you go?" he asked.
"Your house," I answered honestly. "Your mother had Uncle Will bring me. She told me some things."
"What did she say?" he frowned.
"She knows about us, Ethan."
I didn't dance around it. He was silent, his expression slowly draining away.
Ethan asked me, "So? Are you breaking up with me again?"
I was surprised. "You knew?"
He scoffed, the tone edged with mockery. "Claire, what era are you living in—matchmakers and parental decrees? Do you think I'm that kind of man?"
I was at a loss for words.
Mrs. Sinclair's voice echoed in my head.
"But, Claire… your behavior now makes me regret what I did back then."
"Ethan, maybe we—"
"Don't forget, Aunt Yvonne isn't with our family anymore."
Ethan cut me off coolly. "You don't need to listen to my mother anymore."
"And…"
He stared at me, expression blank but chilling, every word a warning. "Claire, if you tell me you're breaking up with me today, we never have to see each other again. I mean it. If that doesn't bother you, you can walk out that door."
He was threatening me again.
But I knew—this might be the last time.
If I walked out that door today, even if I begged on my knees later, he'd never look my way again.
Thinking I'd never see him in this life, picturing him marrying someone else and having children… all of Mrs. Sinclair's words were suddenly gone from my mind.
I couldn't help myself. I stepped forward and kissed Ethan.
He wrapped me in his arms and answered with an equal heat.
Clinging to his waist, I started unbuttoning his shirt.
He stripped my dress like peeling bamboo shoots—quick and efficient—undid my bra and was about to kiss my chest.
Then I remembered I hadn't showered.
I clamped my hand over his mouth. "Ethan, I'm going to shower first."
There was a flash of feeling in his eyes; his voice huskier than usual. "I don't mind."
He leaned in again.
"No, I do mind."
I covered his mouth a second time and almost laughed. Honestly, we were like two matches waiting to ignite.
"Wait ten minutes—no, five—okay three minutes."
"I can't wait a minute."
He pulled my hand away to protest.
I grabbed a random outfit, wrapped it around me, and rushed into the bathroom. Behind the door I heard him grinding his teeth. "Claire, you're messing with me, aren't you?"
Ethan and I had opened a whole new world—kissing everywhere, discovering so many firsts.
At the peak of it, I looked into Ethan's eyes; they were bright and gentle, sweat beading on his forehead, a lingering tenderness on his face.
"I love you," he murmured.
I was touched. Ethan had never really said "like" or "love" outright. Even when we agreed to date, he only ever said, "Shall we be together?" Proud as he was, it felt rare and real.
I didn't hesitate to kiss him back.
Morning came; the first ray of sunlight slipped through the curtains. I woke lazy and sore—every muscle aching like I'd been run over—and my body was covered in marks.
"You awake?" His voice made me scramble to pull the covers up.
Ethan was propped on a pillow beside me, wearing that suggestive smile, watching me.
"When did you wake up?" I asked, tugging the blanket up though my shoulder remained bare.
"Why so shy? We saw worse last night," he said, flashing those perfect teeth.
My cheeks burned; I wanted to drop the subject. "I'm going to shower."
He leaned down and kissed me, voice intimate. "Later, okay?"
I knew exactly what he meant, but my body felt like it might fall apart if he kept going.
"No. Who told you to work out every day and never spare me?" I pointed at a bruise on my arm.
Ethan looked sheepish for once, gently touched the bruise. "Does it hurt?"
"You tell me," I said, glaring.
"Want me to blow on it?" he offered.
"No, I'm showering," I said and padded into the bathroom wrapped in a towel.
Not long after my shower, I came out to find four boxes of varying sizes on the bed, beautifully wrapped.
"What are these?" I asked.
"You forgot? I said I'd get you gifts," Ethan said, sitting on the bed with a pleased face.
Oh—right. He'd given presents for the first ten times. I went to open the first. A rose-gold bracelet, simple and elegant, gleaming. I checked the box—Cartier. My eyes widened. Ethan looked a little glum.
"Don't like it?" he asked.
I shook my head and opened the second box. Bigger—an expensive bag. I checked the label—Chanel. I sighed. Rich, indulgent Ethan.
"Not enough?" he asked, nervous.
I shook my head again. I stood by the bed, loosened my robe's sash, and gave him the most flattering, seductive smile I could muster. "Ethan, I don't feel any pain anymore. How about we talk in bed for a while? Why so many clothes—take off the robe."
I ripped his clothes off, cupped his face, kissed him—then stopped mid-kiss. "By the way, you have the other six presents with you, right?"
"Of course," he said, pressing my head to his and kissing me deeply.
When the car pulled into the Sinclair driveway, a surge of panic hit me like I wanted to jump out. "Ethan, why did you bring me here?"
He held my hand, exasperated. "You're not planning to never see my mother forever, are you?"
"If I could…," I muttered.
"Don't worry. I'm just going to make my stance clear to her," he said, sounding reassuring.
The car stopped in the courtyard. Ethan and I walked into the foyer. Mrs. Huang looked surprised to see us together. "Master Ethan, Claire—what brings you here?"
"Where's my mother?" he asked.
Mrs. Huang was about to answer when footsteps sounded on the winding staircase. Mrs. Sinclair descended with composed grace, glanced at Ethan, then at me, and sat on the sofa. Mrs. Huang, sensing the mood, quietly stepped back.
"Ethan, do you need to speak with your mother?" Mrs. Sinclair asked calmly.
Ethan didn't say anything. Instead, he took my hand in front of her.
Her brow tightened. She looked displeased. "You two…"
"We were together last night," Ethan said flatly.
Mrs. Sinclair didn't expect such bluntness; she stared at us uncertainly. "So…"
"Just as you imagine," Ethan added.
"Claire, I thought you understood my meaning last night," Mrs. Sinclair's voice went colder. In all the years at the Sinclair house, she'd never spoken to me with such severity.
"It's not her fault—I've been pestering her," Ethan said seriously. "Mom, you and Dad didn't really manage me these years, so why step in now? I don't want you meddling in my love life."
Mrs. Sinclair's tone was heartfelt. "Ethan, you were doing well with Aveline. Her parents like you, and your father and I think the match makes sense."
"I've always seen Aveline as just a sister. I would never marry her. If you're aiming for an alliance, you should ask Dad to have another son," Ethan's tone cooled.
"You…" Mrs. Sinclair was clearly upset by his words. They glared at each other for a moment.
"Fine. I'm leaving." Ethan pulled me out of the living room.
"Leaving like that?" I asked, stunned.
"I'll drive you home," he said.
At the garage he buckled my seatbelt. "Your mother seemed pretty angry."
"This'll blow over."
"But what if she gets angrier?"
"Claire, you're worrying too much," Ethan said, looking at me. "If you'd told me when my mother first demanded you break up with me, none of this would've happened."
I didn't know how to respond.
"Why bring this up now?" he said more seriously. "I just want you to understand that things you think are huge really aren't to me. Don't make unilateral decisions next time."
He had a point. I fell silent.
"Why so quiet?" he asked.
"Nothing. I just think you're handsome," I replied.
"Flatterer," he said.
"Even more handsome," I added.
We both laughed. And just like that, the proud Mr. Sinclair and I were back together.
Mid-November was Ethan's birthday—he was a Scorpio. Though it was a month away, I was already fretting.
Of course I needed a gift. He'd been showering me with big-brand presents lately—things he'd promised me as his earnings—but you can't give a miserly present to a man like him on his birthday.
Something expensive was out of my budget. I remembered seeing a set of Lego in his room and decided to get him one.
I browsed online and nearly choked. Legos were expensive—thousands of dollars for a model, some over ten thousand.
Fine. Thousand or not, I paid. My wallet depleted, I knew I needed a part-time job.
A few days later I found work at a members-only café as a server. Monday to Friday, evenings from 6 to 9—three hours. Weekends I worked half-days, with four days off each month. The clientele at the members-only place were decent; most servers were also students on the side.
But with the job, my free time evaporated. Sometimes Ethan invited me to dinner and I had to refuse.
Finally Saturday came and I was scheduled for an early shift—only for the manager to change me to the late shift at the last minute.
I’d promised Ethan we’d watch a movie together that night, but I had to stand him up again.
His voice on the phone was clearly off; I could only soothe him with soft words.
Sunday afternoon, the café wasn’t very busy.
Linlin and I were tidying the counter and chatting idly.
The glass door opened and two customers came in.
“Welcome.”
I said out of habit.
When I looked up, I froze for a second.
Of all places, Aveline was here.
Isn’t she supposed to be in Melbourne now that school’s not out?
Aveline blinked when she saw me, surprised for a moment, then recovered and sat with her friend in the window booth.
We both lowered our heads like it was no big deal.
Linlin was putting away a tray. I straightened the order cards, picked one up, and walked toward the window with a polite, timely smile.
“Good afternoon. What can I get for you two?”
“I’ll have a latte. Aveline, you?”
Her friend asked.
“Anything,” Aveline said without looking at me. She frowned for a moment, then added, “Cappuccino.”
“All right. Would you like any pastries?”
“What kind of desserts do you have?” her friend asked.
I was about to answer when Aveline’s phone rang.
She looked at the screen and her expression brightened—her lips lifted into a sweet smile—and she answered.
“Ethan.”
I paused with the order card in hand, then tucked it away and stood quietly to one side while she talked.
They didn’t talk long. It sounded like they’d made plans to meet this afternoon.
After she hung up, Aveline was visibly happy, the smile lingering at her mouth.
“Your Ethan finally called? Look at you, you’re floating,” her friend teased.
Aveline pouted playfully. “I didn’t say he did.”
“Where are you guys meeting later?”
“Southridge Mall. You wanna come?”
“Of course. I’ve been dying to see what your prince charming looks like.”
After I sent the order, I went back to the register to punch it in.
Linlin finished stacking trays and asked casually, “What did that pair order?”
“Latte and cappuccino, and some desserts.”
“Oh.”
We finished the rush, and a message popped up on my phone. It was Hazel sending a clothing link, asking if the style was cute. I replied quickly—“Not bad.”
Under Hazel’s avatar, Ethan’s name showed. Because I’d stood him up that morning, I’d sent him a pleading, put-upon sticker asking for forgiveness; he replied with a slightly annoyed cartoon. I drifted for a moment, a little distracted.
Linlin noticed. “You okay?”
I locked my screen and smiled. “Yeah, fine.”
Night. After my shift I grabbed an easy bowl of beef noodles and walked home.
After showering and collapsing into bed, my mom called with a voice message: she’d bought a train ticket for next Friday and would arrive at 6 p.m. I told her to get off the train and wait at the station exit—I'd pick her up on time.
I turned off the light and dozed. At 10:55 p.m., my phone buzzed again.
It was Ethan. “Are you asleep?”
I locked my phone and went back to sleep.
The next day at 6 p.m., I’d just gotten to the café when Ethan messaged, “Where are you?”
We were slammed; Linlin and I were running around and I didn’t have time to answer. More customers came in and I had to drop my phone.
Busy until nine, I finally clocked out. In the staff room, I changed into my street clothes and my phone rang. I answered.
Ethan’s voice came through, low and tense. “Claire, what are you doing?”
I slid my uniform into the locker as I replied, “Nothing. What’s up?”
“I called you a dozen times.”
I hadn’t noticed—my phone had been tucked away behind the counter.
“Oh. Anything wrong?”
There was a pause. The atmosphere felt weird.
“I’m downstairs at your building.”
I sighed. “Wait for me. I’ll be right there.”
I couldn’t stop to eat, so I booked a ride and went down to the complex.
Ethan’s car was parked by the flowerbed. I stepped out of the ride-share and he rolled down the passenger window, signaling for me to get in.
I had no choice and climbed into the car.
“Why did you drive here so late?” I asked.
He stared at me without answering.
When the ride-share I’d just left turned and drove off, he watched the car disappear and asked, “Who was that?”
“What?”
“The person who drove you home.”
I blinked. “How would I know? I ordered it online like always.”
Ethan kept studying me. “Claire, have you been seeing other men lately?”
I chuckled and feigned thought. “I’ve been meeting quite a few guys recently—who do you mean?”
His expression darkened instantly. He looked guarded and annoyed.
“I’m serious. What have you been up to? Not answering calls, not replying to messages.”
He was grilling me; I hadn’t even asked him about Aveline.
“Busy,” I said.
“Busy with what?”
He pressed.
“Part-time at a café as a waitress—three hours on weekdays, half days on weekends.”
He hadn’t expected that. I’d planned to keep it to myself; my bar gig had been fine, but he didn’t like it, so I quit.
“When did you start working at a café?” he asked, eyebrows knit.
“Not long. A week. I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d be bothered.”
He fell silent for a bit, then asked, “Have you eaten?”
“No.” I wasn’t particularly hungry, just tired.
He looked exasperated and started the car. “I’ll take you to eat.”
“No thanks. I’ll grab some noodles at home.”
He ignored me and turned into traffic. He parked in front of a well-known congee chain. He led me inside.
It was late and the place was noisy—lights bright, people eating late-night food.
“What do you want?” he asked.
I’d never been there and I’d been drifting off, so I said, “Whatever. You choose.”
“You tired?” He pinched my earlobe like he always did.
“Maybe pack it to go?” he suggested.
“Okay.” I nodded.
He ordered: crab congee, shrimp congee, marinated chicken feet, salt-and-pepper duck jaw, and braised beef. When he picked up a dessert menu, I stopped him quickly. “That’s enough, Ethan. We can’t eat all that.”
He put the menu down.
When the food was boxed, we went back to the complex. Upstairs, he set the containers on the table and started opening them. He glanced at his watch and shook his head.
“It’s 10:30. Eat quickly and go to bed.”
“Aren’t you eating?” I asked.
“I already ate.”
You already ate—and ordered all of this? So it was all for me? Was I a garbage disposal now?
“Hand me your phone,” he said suddenly.
“For what?”
“Spot check. See if there’s anything suspicious on it.”
I handed it over, biting my tongue. While he scrolled, I asked casually, “Ethan, is there anything you want to tell me?”
He didn’t seem focused, not sure what he was looking for. “Tell you what?”
“Anything. Whatever you want to say.”
He looked up, handed my phone back, and, in that overbearing tone he used, said, “Don’t hang up on me. Reply to my messages on time. And don’t contact other men.”
I snorted. “What if you contact other women?”
“Me?” He toyed with me, a smirk—like he was laughing at my jealousy. “Then you can deal with it.”
“Good.”
Friday.
At 6 p.m. I arrived at the station and was about to call Mom when she beat me to it.
“Claire, Uncle Will already picked me up. If you haven’t left yet, you don’t need to come get me.”
How did Uncle Will know she was coming?
“Mom, where is Uncle Will taking you?”
“He said Ethan sent him. I’m already in Uncle Will’s car.”
How did Ethan even know Mom was back?
Before I could ask, the call cut off.
I felt unsettled and called a car straight to the Sinclair estate.
When I got there, Mom and Mrs. Huang were chatting in the kitchen. Thankfully Mrs. Sinclair wasn’t home—Mrs. Huang said she’d gone to the States a few days ago.
“I brought some smoked bamboo shoots and sausages from home. I remember Ethan liked dried bamboo shoots,” Mom said, setting a big string of sausages on the counter and pulling out the bamboo shoots from a box.
So Mom had come with gifts for Ethan.
“Mom, if you have something for Ethan, you could just give it to me. Why have Uncle Will pick you up at the station?” I asked.
A tall figure stepped up behind me.
“Why give them to you? Aunt Yvonne can hand them to me directly, can’t she?”
Ethan stood with one hand in his pocket. He’d apparently just come home. When our eyes met he raised an eyebrow.
“He’s back,” Mrs. Huang said, putting down what she was doing. “What should we have for dinner tonight? Stir-fried beef with the bamboo shoots Aunt Yvonne brought?”
Ethan nodded and then asked my mom, “Aunt Yvonne, how was your hometown? How’s Grandma’s health?”
That’s weird—why are you being so affectionate? That’s my grandmother you’re talking about.
I glared at him.
He didn’t even notice.
Mom laughed. “Out in the countryside there isn’t much to do, but the air is better. It’s rare that Ethan even thinks about it—Claire’s grandmother is doing much better now.”
“Is the air really that good?” I asked.
Ethan gave me a casual look, then turned back to Mom. “Mrs. Bennett, if you’re going back to your hometown for the New Year this year, I’ll come with you. Let’s call it a trip. Are there any other sights around there?”
What on earth is he scheming?
I watched Ethan warily.
Mom sounded surprised. “Ethan wants to come to our hometown? The transport isn’t great out there and there isn’t much to do. You probably wouldn’t last long.”
I quickly spoke up. “Mom, he’s just joking. Don’t take him seriously.”
“Who says I’m joking?” Ethan’s face was serious. “I’ve decided—if Mrs. Bennett goes back home for the New Year, I’ll go with you.”
“We have to take a slow train for over twenty hours to get home. Are you sure you can handle that?” I teased him on purpose.
“If you can ride it, why can’t I? Besides, doesn’t your city have high-speed rail now?” Ethan curled one corner of his mouth, looking proud, as if saying, try lying to me without preparing first.
I didn’t expect him to even know our city has high-speed rail—seems like he’d come prepared.
“If Ethan really wants to visit our countryside, you’re welcome,” Mom said. “Claire can even take you to climb Mount Five Thunders—that place is pretty famous.”
Mom actually agreed to have him come to our home.
Ethan winked at me and declared his victory. “Mrs. Huang, make extra dishes tonight—let’s all eat together here.”
No way.
I was about to protest when Ethan, predictably, cut things off with finality. “Done.”
Ugh—he's deciding for everyone again.
I noticed the new cook was absent; Mrs. Huang told me he had the day off.
At dinner, we all sat together in the dining room.
Usually it was rare for Mom, Mrs. Huang, Uncle Will, and me to eat at the main table unless it was a holiday or Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair were away. Ethan hated being alone for holidays and always insisted we join him at the main table.
They served many dishes tonight. The smoked bamboo shoots stir-fried with beef was especially popular.
Mom remembered something and said to me, “Claire, I brought a lot of those smoked bamboo shoots. Take some to Lucas tomorrow, and the sausages too—he’s coming home this weekend, let his family try them.”
I fumbled and muttered a noncommittal “okay.”
I still hadn’t told Mom about breaking up with Lucas.
It wasn’t that I wanted to hide it—it was that I didn’t know how to bring it up.
While I sipped water, I suddenly felt a heavy glare on my head.
I couldn’t help looking up.
As expected, Ethan’s expression was a mix of anger and displeasure.
Mrs. Huang, curious, smiled and asked, “Claire, it’s been ages since I’ve seen your boyfriend. Why didn’t he come tonight? Last time he praised my cooking so much.”
I had no idea what to say.
Ethan’s face darkened. His stare made me feel like I was in front of an air vent—cold all over.
“Ethan hasn’t met Claire’s boyfriend yet, right? He’s a senior too—top of his class at Harborview University. So proper-looking—perfect for Claire.”
“Cough, cough.” Uncle Will put down his spoon and began to cough.
Mrs. Huang didn’t notice. “Old Will, you’re choking on something—there’s no fish tonight.”
“Perfect for her?” Ethan drained his glass and set it down, voice cool. Then he knocked the empty glass hard against the marble table; the sharp sound startled everyone.
“Ice water.” He looked at me, blunt.
Mrs. Huang was about to get up to pour it.
Bang, bang, bang. Ethan knocked the glass on the table again, eyes still fixed on me.
I sprang up, grabbed the crystal pitcher at my side with a smile on my face. “I’ll pour it for you.”
He glanced at me icily. “Harborview’s top student?”
I put my hand to my forehead. “Proper-looking?”
I could only force out a laugh.
I poured the water, sat back down. Luckily Mom and Mrs. Huang didn’t notice anything odd.
I just wanted to finish dinner and go home.
After a long struggle, dinner ended and I intended to help Mrs. Huang clear the table before heading out with Mom.
Then Ethan asked, “Claire, where did you put that book—The Judas Window—last time?”
What The Judas Window? I looked at him blankly.
“I looked in the study and couldn’t find it. Help me find it.”
Ethan could lie with no hesitation—no blinking.
I put down the dishes and smiled apologetically. “Okay, I’ll find it for you right away.”
We went into the study and the door closed behind us.
I wandered to the bookshelf and pretended to think. “Which book did you say again? Give me a second to remember where I put it.”
Ethan stood with his arms crossed, saying nothing, quietly confronting me.
“The Judas Window, right?” I remembered—yes, that one should be on the third shelf on the right.
“Wait a second. I’ll find it.” Sure enough, there it was, quietly standing on the shelf.
“There—found it. If there’s nothing else, I’ll go. Ethan, get some rest. Good night.”
I was about to slip out when Ethan’s hand was fast—he grabbed my arm.
“Learned how to play dumb?” he said lightly.
“Not at all,” I replied humbly.
“When are you going to tell Mrs. Bennett about us?” Ethan asked, blunt.
“Well…when the time is right?” I asked carefully, seeking his opinion.
His dark pupils narrowed and the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smile.
Oh no—he’s mad again.
“When will the time be right? Tomorrow? Next year? After you graduate college? Or when we’re both in some senior citizens’ class?”
I broke out in a sweat. “Do we really have to wait until senior-citizen school?”
“Claire.” His face went cold, forcing me to confront the question. “Tonight, you must tell Mrs. Bennett about us. Not a day later.”
I sighed. From what I knew of Mom, she probably wouldn’t approve of me dating Ethan. In her mind, someone like Lucas might actually seem more suitable.
“Ethan, it’s not that I don’t want to tell Mom, I’m just afraid she won’t accept us. Then we’ll be surrounded—from your mom, my mom, your dad—you get it?”
Ethan seemed surprised and didn’t quite believe me. “Why wouldn’t Mrs. Bennett accept us? She doesn’t like me?”
“It’s not about like or dislike. It’s about fit.”
Prideful Ethan looked struck—as if remembering the dinner table scene earlier.
We were silent for a moment. He released my arm and made a decision.
“I’ll tell Mrs. Bennett myself if I have to. Even if it means facing everyone.”
I didn’t think him telling would go any better than me telling. “No—let me do it. I’ll say it.”
Might as well face it sooner rather than later.
“You sure?” he asked.
I nodded.
Then Ethan pulled me into a hug, his chin resting lightly on my forehead. I hugged him back. The study was quiet.
He leaned in and kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, then my lips. There was a faint, clean scent on his breath—mouthwash, I realized. He probably rinsed after dinner.
I pushed him away quickly. “What’s wrong?”
Ethan looked surprised. “You don’t like that I used mouthwash?”
He nodded. I noticed how sly he was—always prepared: gum, mouthwash—then he’d ambush me with kisses while I wasn’t ready. I’d just eaten smoked bamboo shoots and beef—no way I wanted him smelling that on me.
“I’m going to brush my teeth first.”
He grinned wickedly. “I don’t mind.”
“I care. Keep this up and you’ll get tired of me in a month.”
“You forget how after hotpot you still kissed me.” He dredged up old examples.
My face flushed instantly.
It was nine o’clock—time to go. “I have to go.”
Ethan sighed, knowing it was late. “I’ll have Uncle Will drive you home.”
“All right.”
“You have to tell Mrs. Bennett in the next two days.”
“Okay.”
After going home, showering, and washing my hair, it was already past ten.
Mom had finished packing and pulled out the extra smoked bamboo shoots and sausages, reminding me not to forget to call Lucas.
I set down the hair dryer and told her truthfully, “Mom, Lucas and I broke up.”
She didn’t react right away—stared at me.
“When did this happen?” she asked.
“A month ago.”
She looked shocked and asked hastily, “Why? Did you two fight? Or was there another reason?”
I couldn’t find the right words, so I said it all at once. “I’m with Ethan now.”
Mom’s eyes widened. She was speechless for a long time. Then she asked slowly, “You mean you’re dating Ethan Sinclair?”
I nodded.
She sat down on the couch, looking like she couldn’t digest what I’d said. “I’m sorry. You should’ve told me earlier.”
I felt guilty. “I should’ve.”
She shook her head slowly. “Claire, Ethan and you—this probably isn’t going to work out. Before Mrs. Sinclair and Mr. Sinclair find out, you should break it off.”
Mom didn’t realize that Mrs. Sinclair already knew.
I answered helplessly. “What if I can’t break up with him?”
“Claire.” Mom’s voice turned stern and serious. Since I was in high school, I couldn’t remember her ever speaking to me so gravely.
"You two have to break up. Mr. Sinclair and Mrs. Sinclair have treated us very well all these years. If they find out you're seeing Ethan, they'll think I purposely brought you to their house. We may be poor, but we won't accept being blamed like that."
I'd expected Mom to object to me dating Ethan, but I hadn't expected her reaction to be this extreme.
Now it really felt like Ethan and I were trapped, attacked from both sides.
Because of my adjusted schedule, I didn't have to work at the café today.
I hadn't strolled down the shopping street in ages. After class that afternoon, Hazel dragged me along to shop for clothes.
Women and shopping—one bag led to shoes, shoes led to outfits, and before we knew it it was evening.
Ethan texted, asking if I'd told her.
"I told her," I replied.
A moment later: "What did Mrs. Bennett say?"
My thumb hovered over the screen a long time before I answered.
"She didn't say much."
No more messages came after that.
Hazel and I had coconut chicken for dinner, then she suggested we get our nails done.
A set of nails would cost at least eighty or ninety bucks. I didn't want to enjoy something that would hurt my wallet.
"I'm not going. You go."
I transferred the dinner money to Hazel.
When I opened my Alipay to send the transfer, something felt off. I checked my balance and almost jumped.
"What's wrong?"
Hazel noticed my expression and peeked at my screen. Her eyes widened.
"No way—ten, hundred, thousand, ten… ten thousand."
She stared at me, astonished. "Claire, you have a hundred thousand yuan on your card. Why are you still slaving away with a part-time job?"
I remembered that day Ethan had taken my phone under the pretense of a surprise check. Turns out he'd made a transfer.
He'd known my payment password for ages; I'd never bothered to change it.
And after transferring, he'd deleted the record.
I'm not stupid—money suddenly appearing in my account had an obvious explanation.
While my mind raced, my phone rang.
It was Ethan.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"On the shopping street."
"I'll be there soon."
Before I could say anything else, the call ended.
"Who was that?" Hazel quizzed, buzzing with gossip.
"Uh, my boyfriend," I said, smiling at her.
"What? For real? Since when? How come I didn't know?"
Hazel clapped her hands over her mouth, leaning forward and ignoring the passersby. "He said he's coming? I want to see what your boyfriend looks like. I'm dying to know—what kind of guy would make you give up someone like Lucas Reed?"
Me: …Not long after, Ethan's car pulled up at the shopping street entrance.
"Your boyfriend drove here?" Hazel whispered as she peered at the dark SUV.
I nodded.
"How old is he?"
Before I could answer, Ethan had already opened the door and walked toward us.
He wore a simple light-blue shirt and black jeans—tall, clean-cut, minimalist.
"Have you eaten?" he asked, stopping in front of me.
"Just now. You?"
He nodded.
Hazel tugged at my sleeve, then remembered herself. "Oh—this is my friend Hazel."
Ethan offered his hand with impeccable manners. "Hi, I'm Ethan Sinclair."
Hazel smiled and shook his hand lightly. "I expected you to be handsome, but I didn't expect this level. No wonder—"
Ethan shot me a puzzled look.
I laughed awkwardly. "She likes to joke."
"Okay, I won't be a third wheel—have fun," Hazel teased, winking, then turned and left.
Ethan and I climbed into the car.
"You two seem really close," he said.
"Do you know her?" I suddenly remembered that day I went to meet someone with Hazel and met Lucas Reed—Ethan had thought I was on a blind date.
So he must have seen Hazel before. I still couldn't understand how he'd happened to spot me at the café that day.
"Ethan, what were you doing at the Springfield Department Store café that day?" I asked.
"Passing by," he replied shortly as he started the car.
I didn't buy "just passing by."
"Really just passing by?"
"What else would you think?"
He flicked on his turn signal and glanced at me, eyes calm.
I thought about it—he couldn't have known whether I had class that afternoon. It probably wasn't a planned encounter.
"Going straight home?" he asked.
"Yeah."
I was worried my mom might notice Ethan's car when she came downstairs, so I asked him to stop a bit away from the house.
He did.
"What did Mrs. Bennett say?" he asked—the reason he'd come, I guessed.
You can't hide that kind of thing—my mom's attitude would be obvious the second we went upstairs.
"She told us to break up," I said, meeting his eyes.
Maybe because I'd warned him the night before, Ethan didn't look surprised.
"Do you remember what I said before?" he asked, his voice suddenly gentle.
"What?"
"Don't make any decisions on your own."
A warmth flooded me. My mouth lifted into a smile.
"Ethan, are you afraid I'll break up with you?"
A flicker of unease crossed his face; he sounded evasive.
"Better to be," he replied.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned toward him.
"Don't worry. I won't be swayed by anyone or anything anymore."
We were close—eye contact locking.
"Oh, and I just chewed gum when I got in," I blurted.
Ethan's eyes darkened, his breath paused.
He cupped my chin and kissed me.
We kissed like we'd been starving for it.
He undid his seatbelt; I swung over and sat in his lap.
Our mouths tangled, the car full of heat.
He started to tug at my clothes—my tee made it hard to get anything off, so he tried to lift from underneath.
His hand slid to my back, reaching for my bra strap.
I laughed and stopped, cupping his face. "Ethan, do you have a thing for a certain spot? Why are you so obsessed with kissing there?"
His eyes were wet with intense affection and a small, animal hunger.
"Because I found a treasure. It drives me wild."
"Smooth talker," I murmured.
"It's true." He kissed my jaw, voice low and indulgent. "Claire, want to go to a hotel?"
I wanted to say yes, but staying out late would make my mother suspicious.
"I'll get a call from my mom," I said with a sigh.
He seemed a little sad at that.
"We should hurry up and get married," he said.
"Huh?"
"For my mental and physical health."
"Okay."
Ethan stopped kissing me and looked very serious.
"You promise?"
When I met his eyes, I felt moved. "I… think so."
"Then it's decided."
"Fine."
For Ethan's birthday, I gave him the LEGO set I'd picked out long ago.
"Why LEGO?" he asked.
"You don't like it?" I protested—I spent forever picking it out.
"Of course not. I like anything you give me." He smiled. "Dinner at my house tonight?"
Every year Mrs. Sinclair personally helps throw Ethan's birthday dinner. Thinking about that made me hesitate.
"Running away won't fix anything," Ethan said, watching me with a steady face.
I felt torn—Mrs. Sinclair's last words to me were still fresh. I had no idea how tonight would go.
"We will get married," Ethan said, patting my head with certainty.
That night we drove through the glittering streets to The Willowridge Estates.
I expected Mrs. Sinclair to be home, but I hadn't expected so many people tonight.
Laughter and conversation filled the living room.
Mr. Sinclair was back, and there was Aveline Clarke—beautiful as a princess—and her parents.
Mrs. Sinclair chatted with Aveline, smiling sweetly.
The table was laden with food; a big three-tiered cake sat on a serving cart.
When we appeared, the room went quiet.
Mrs. Sinclair looked surprised, then her brow knitted.
Everyone stared.
Ethan held my hand so tight I couldn't bolt.
Mr. Sinclair reacted first, calm. "Ethan, what's going on?"
Ethan stayed composed. "Dad, Mom, I'm dating Claire. I brought her for dinner."
Mr. Sinclair's gaze shifted from me to Ethan. "You… weren't you seeing Aveline? How are you with Claire now?"
"Dad, I was never with Aveline. You only thought so."
Aveline went pale at that. Her parents looked at her in confusion.
"Aveline, weren't you accepted as an exchange student at their school?" her mother asked.
Aveline, face white and embarrassed, bit her lip, stuck for an answer.
Her parents' confusion deepened.
"But didn't you two go to Paris together?" her father pressed.
"We went because Mr. Daniel invited us," Ethan replied evenly. "Aunt Evelyn, whether in childhood or now, I've always seen Aveline as a little sister."
Ethan's tone was sincere. Aveline's parents exchanged looks.
Silence settled over the room.
"I think we'd better go now," her father said to break the awkwardness.
Mrs. Clarke started to decline. "Oh, don't worry, stay and have a meal—the food's ready."
"Min, I think we should leave," Aveline's mother insisted more politely.
Aveline, who hadn't said a word all evening, looked hurt as she gazed at Ethan, then left with her parents.
Quiet returned to the living room.
"Claire, you really disappoint me," Mrs. Sinclair said, voice calm and steady—devoid of emotion, and the hardest to face.
"Mom, you're just as disappointing," I heard Ethan say before I could answer.
"I already told you last time—don't interfere in my love life. If you and my father are trying to arrange a marriage for me, you can stop right now. I won't marry Aveline, and I won't marry any of the girls you introduce."
Mrs. Sinclair looked at her son with a troubled expression.
"Ethan, you and Claire aren't right for each other. You're both blinded by feelings. If you really get together, you'll regret it later. I'm saying this for both your sakes."
"Don't hide your control behind 'for your own good.' I'm not a child, and you can't understand how I feel. I won't say anything unnecessary—here's the important part: we're going to get married."
Ethan said it in one breath.
Mrs. Sinclair stared at us in astonishment.
Mr. Sinclair couldn't help but be surprised too. "You… are getting married?"
"Yes. If you agree, of course I'm happy. If you don't, it won't change anything."
I stared at Ethan, incredulous. I knew he was stubborn, but this was ruthless.
"Ethan, is this how you discuss big life decisions with your parents?"
Mrs. Sinclair's irritation surfaced; she looked stern.
"You repeatedly ignore advice—school was one thing; you refused to go to America, and now this. You keep rejecting the ideal matches we've chosen. Who did we work so hard for? Do you think marriage is a joke?"
"Precisely because I know it's not a joke. If we have kids, I'll learn from what you're saying. I'll set the right boundaries where needed, and I absolutely won't interfere where it's not my place."
Ethan spoke calmly, looking at his mother.
Mrs. Sinclair was momentarily at a loss for words; she wanted to argue, but Mr. Sinclair interrupted.
"That's enough. I have a question for Claire."
He asked me?
My palms warmed—Ethan squeezed my hand lightly.
"Claire, do you also intend to marry Ethan? Is this a decision you've both thought through?"
After only a two-second pause, I answered with certainty.
"Yes, Mr. Sinclair. I'm going to marry him."
By now I wasn't running from it. The questions would come; I might as well face them and carry whatever blame came my way.
"A bit young to marry. You're not graduated yet. If you'd like, get engaged first."
I was stunned.
Ethan looked surprised too.
Mrs. Sinclair exclaimed, "Darling, what are you saying? You actually agree to their marriage?"
"There's nothing to oppose. Claire's a good girl. All these years we've worked so hard so the next generation can live a little freer. Marriage isn't a bad thing."
Mr. Sinclair spoke as if it were the simplest of matters—status and family differences meant nothing to him.
Just moments ago I thought he'd side with Mrs. Sinclair, advise against the match, and suggest we break up. I always knew he was a good employer, but I didn't know he was this understanding.
Ethan was overjoyed; he probably didn't expect his father to agree so easily.
"Thanks, Dad."
Mrs. Sinclair glared at her husband, then looked at her surprised son and me—helpless despite her resentment.
The engagement ceremony was set for the first Saturday of winter break.
They planned a simple affair with few guests—mostly immediate family.
The house buzzed with activity.
Uncle Will brought his son. Mrs. Huang's daughter came too. They had both worked for the Sinclair family many years; whenever there was a celebration, their families always came together. It had become a tradition.
Upstairs.
I wore a pale pink round-neck dress and, worried I'd be cold, chose a longer skirt.
Turns out I worried for nothing—the house was warm, upstairs and down, almost too warm.
Mom fussed over my makeup and outfit, giving occasional reminders.
Mrs. Huang brought a glass of juice up.
"Claire, are you thirsty? I made fresh orange juice."
"Thank you, Mrs. Huang."
As I reached for it, another figure popped in.
"Claire!"
It was Mrs. Huang's daughter, Nora. She's a high school junior—four years younger than me—we'd met before.
"Long time, Nora."
I smiled.
"Congrats on your engagement, Claire!"
Nora looked a lot like her mom—tall, big-eyed, cheerful.
"Thanks. Want some chocolate?"
There were pretty boxes of chocolates on the vanity; I offered.
"Yes!"
Nora tore open a wrapper and grinned at me.
"Claire, you look gorgeous today. Your story's like a novel—prince falls for Cinderella, the young master falls for the maid. So romantic, more than any book."
Her innocent, effusive praise made me laugh.
"Is it that exaggerated?"
"Not at all. Ugh… I should've come to live with my mom here. Ethan is so handsome. I wish I could find a boyfriend like him."
Her comment cracked up Mrs. Huang and my mom.
Mrs. Huang shook her head, laughing.
"You silly girl. No wonder your grades aren't great—thinking about boys already, and dreaming about Ethan? His standards are sky-high. He'd never look at you."
"Mom, are you saying I'm ugly?"
Nora protested.
We were all chatting when Ethan walked in.
He wore an excellent dark suit with a light shirt—tall, poised, everything about him commanding.
Mrs. Huang greeted him with a smile and then, without being told, she, Mom, and Nora left the room together.
Just the two of us remained.
"How was it—did the shine blind you?" Ethan asked.
"What?"
"I know you like the uniform thing, so I specially picked this suit."
Damn. How could I not humor him when he went out of his way?
"You're so handsome I nearly lost my composure. Happy now?"
Ethan's eyes flickered; a sly smile touched his face.
"I advise you to say that less."
"Why?"
"I'm worried I won't be able to control myself."
I made an innocent face—after all, he asked for my opinion first.
Ethan took a pale green jade bangle from his pocket—crystal-clear, smooth and flawless.
He asked for my right hand and slid it onto my wrist.
"It's beautiful."
I admired it. "Where did it come from?"
"My mom gave it to you. It's what she received from my grandmother when she married my father."
So it was a family heirloom.
Ethan kissed the back of my hand. "Do you like it?"
"Of course."
"Wearing this means you're Ethan Sinclair's wife."
Ethan's wife.
I thought of five years ago, down in the living room, when I first saw this proud, sharp-featured boy.
Fate was strange and wonderful.
Today I would become his wife.
"Why are you quiet?"
Ethan lifted his eyes to mine.
I sighed softly. "This feels a little like a dream."
"That surprised?" he teased, wickedly. "Didn't expect you'd love me this much."
"Should I love you less so you won't be so arrogant?"
"That's not allowed. You have every right to be proud of having me."
Ethan looked at me tenderly, and the affection in his eyes made me intoxicated.
There was a knock at the door—my mom calling us downstairs.
"Let's go, Mrs. Sinclair."
Ethan reached for my hand.
I placed my right hand in his palm. The gentle squeeze felt like holding the whole world.
"Okay, Mr. Sinclair."
