My Younger Boss Stole My Heart

My heart dropped and slowly rose back, unset. "So why are you asking me? To collect a debt?"

"Haha, pairing with me is such a downgrade? Debt to pay?"

I couldn't parse how Henry mixed honeyed warmth with a sarcastic sting. "Fine. Unblock me on WeChat and I'll send you my info."

He hung up. I hunched in the chair and typed my details, then muttered, "Ethan Walker, bastard." I was supposed to be one of the top in the math department—pairing with him was the insult, not the favor.

On competition day I went to Lab 418. People glanced as I entered, then looked away. Ethan's thin lips were pressed tight—annoyance plain on his face.

I assumed he'd teamed up with Zheng, but it turned out he was with Jason King.

I sat with Henry and our other teammate, Ryan Carter, opened my laptop and asked, "Didn't you say Zheng?"

"I said Zheng something—must've misread," Henry said without looking up. The screen glow made him gentler, almost beautiful.

When time hit, Henry downloaded the problems, went to Room 417 to print three copies, and handed them to us.

The lab buzzed. Teams debated. Our group was quiet, everyone on their own.

"Any ideas?" Henry leaned closer, breaking the silence.

"A little. I'll try modeling," I said.

"Senior, you're amazing," Henry murmured with a half-smile. Teasing, but his tone was so soft it could pass for praise.

I ignored him and started drawing, looking things up as I went.

"Break? It's two in the morning." Henry's voice came again.

I glanced up—most people had left. "In a bit—almost done."

By the time I handed everything to Henry it was 8 AM. I was exhausted and could barely stand. I collapsed on the desk. "I'm going to sleep."

"It's cold with the air on." Henry draped his jacket over my shoulders. I hadn't realized he'd brought one. "Why'd you bring a coat?"

"I'm weak." He tapped the desk with long fingers and kept his eyes on the papers I gave him.

I squinted at his thin profile. "I figured that out."

He chuckled softly, "You will, sooner or later."

I woke around noon, sore everywhere. "I'm going back to shower."

Henry pushed a boxed meal toward me. "Eat first. It's still hot."

I tore it open and ate half, then the thought hit me—can't accept favors blindly. "How much?"

Henry's eyes narrowed fractionally. He glanced at me with a rare prideful look. "This? It's on me."

His tone—so cocky it would've been Ethan's—left me speechless.

I finished quickly, tossed the trash, and headed out. The sun was brutal outside; the lab's blinds stayed down and the hallway lights made everything feel pale and hollow. For some reason I felt weak, paranoid, and I hurried.

Familiar footsteps fell behind me. I turned—Ethan.

I froze instinctively. Ethan strode past me without pausing and kept going. I watched his back, irritation prickling up.

He glanced back at me and sneered, "Not following?"

So he's aware I'm timid. There's still something human in him; he couldn't hate me completely—or else why care?

I quickened my pace to match his, and he mocked, "Going to cozy up to Henry now?"

"Weren't you the one who said you wouldn't team with me?" I shot back, burning with indignation.

For a beat, Ethan looked stunned, then his face twisted into a strange sneer. His jaw clenched; he muttered "Fuck," then sighed, "You've got nerve."

He turned his silence into a parting gift and left me with his back.

Realizing this was about Henry, my brain rebooted. I wasn't going to be scared of the creepy hallway any longer and hurried out.

When the sunlight warmed my shoulders, I reached a conclusion.

Henry wanted to move up, and Ethan was jealous.

Good. Let him be jealous.

06. Henry worked fast. By the time I came back from the shower, made up, his code already had a prototype; Ryan was busy polishing the paper, helping the two of them with details, and the modeling competition finally wrapped up to everyone's satisfaction.

The whole lab buzzed with small pockets of chatter—lively but relaxed. I braced my hands on the table to stand and leave, but Henry grabbed my arm.

"Lucas says we should all go unwind. Karaoke?" he asked.

If Henry was going, Ethan wouldn’t stay behind.

"Sure."

I answered almost without hesitation.

The karaoke room was dark and intimate. Nine of us crowded around a table playing games and drinking, Henry shuffling and dealing.

A and 9 had to accept the punishment suggested by the person with the five—whoever refused had to drink three shots of whiskey.

I was staring at Henry's long fingers, suspicious, and when I realized I’d been dealt the 9, I couldn't help leaning in and accusing, "Did you mess with the cards?"

He'd seemed off while shuffling, but I couldn't prove anything.

Henry looked at me, lifted his hand to show his card—7.

No words, no defense. His actions proved it wasn't him.

The student with the 5 grinned and flipped his card, taunting, "At the start, the 9 sat on A’s lap and fed him a chocolate stick—how much harm is that?"

Ethan turned his card over: A.

The noise in the room cut off the instant I revealed the 9.

People had heard rumors about Ethan and me; it got awkward.

But the kid who picked 5 had some tact, quickly breaking the silence, "Oh look, handsome and pretty—how perfect!"

I didn’t mind at all. I smiled at everyone, bent to grab a chocolate stick, and walked over to Ethan to meet his gaze.

Ethan’s lips were thin, his dark eyes roiling with feeling—like he was asking whether any A would do.

I had started to rest my hand on his shoulder, then instinctively pulled it back.

He wanted to refuse me.

Realizing that, I put the chocolate between my lips and reached for my drink—our hands bumped, and we practically said in unison, "I’ll drink."

His grip on the glass tightened, but he snatched it away and gave me a sharp look, a sarcastic smile pulling at his mouth. "Sit down. I’ll drink for you."

Half mad, half annoyed, I grabbed an empty cup, "I won’t let you take the fall alone. I’ll drink too."

I tossed my 9 onto the table, poured whiskey, and downed it in one.

Though prickly, the mood peaked after Ethan and I both drank. The game got rowdier.

I didn’t draw A or 9 again.

Thinking it over, I was sure Henry had rigged it—he knew Ethan’s temper would make me look bad, and he did it on purpose.

I squinted at my play-acting Henry and pinched the cards in my hand.

Serves him right!

The game moved on to the classic never-outdated Truth or Dare.

No one could resist asking about my Confession Wall incident, so it wasn’t long before the question came: "Is the Confession Wall thing true?"

"Half true, half false," I said. "But rich people still have daughters."

I shrugged. I’d grown up with affection missing, not money—if they called me a gold-digger, I couldn't accept it.

We brushed past that topic with dry humor and watched the rest of the scene for a while, until my dare card flashed: "Gently kiss the Adam’s apple of the person to your left."

I froze, staring at the card. I strongly suspected Henry had tampered again.

I looked at his eyes. They were warm, gentle, and amused. Henry lifted his cup with a look of mild trouble and an oddly tender tone, "Sorry to put you on the spot. I’ll drink."

Not on the spot; I was just amazed at what sort of bag of tricks Henry was—what could he hold?

I pressed my hand to his wrist with a smile. "Can’t let you suffer, can I?"

Then I leaned in and brushed his Adam’s apple with a soft kiss—barely there.

When I looked up, his dark eyes swallowed me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his throat roll slowly—sharp and sensual.

Cheers drowned out the music. I withdrew my hand from his wrist and sat back. While tilting my head to gulp water, I glanced at Ethan.

He was staring.

Dark, intense.

His expression and the look in his eyes had clearly reached the limit of his patience. It would only take one little thing to set everything off—he could drag me out and wreck me, or go after Henry. There seemed no middle ground.

I couldn't help the small corner of a smile. Serves him right.

07. My phone vibrated. It was just past two in the morning—my dad actually called me. I slipped out of the private room and answered.

"Claire, your mom is on a business trip and got sick at your place. She's been taken to the hospital. Go see her."

My chest tightened at the news. "How long has she been here?" I blurted.

Silence on the other end. When I realized she’d probably been there for a while, I laughed—angry and helpless. "She visits her daughter for school and doesn't call? She’s so busy she works through being sick? I won't bother her. I’m hanging up."

I cut the call and listened to the line hum. I crouched against the wall.

She had money to spend and no one to spend it on. Why did it have to be this way?

Composing myself, I pushed open the door and saw Henry pouring drinks—he hadn’t lost a round tonight, and he hadn't been drinking. I glanced at my phone: 2:13 a.m., and hurried over to catch his wrist.

"I’ll drink for him," I said.

I took his glass and looked at everyone. "Hey, is senior worried Henry’s allergic to alcohol? It’s fine. He’s light—he won’t die." "Right, senior, just let Henry drink—it's rare he loses." They teased.

Henry looked up at me, his eyes folding into a small smile. "What’s up?"

"Can you drive me to the hospital? I’ll drink for you."

"Okay."

We spoke quietly; it sounded like a whisper to everyone else.

Ethan set his glass down on the table with deliberate force; the clink drew everyone’s attention and made the scene raw.

His brows drew slightly. His long gaze sharpened. Thin lips pressed together. He looked terrible—bitter, mocking—and his restrained anger was easy to see.

He focused on me and said, cool and provocative, "You realize taking someone’s drink doubles it? Henry lost three shots."

I grabbed the whiskey bottle and looked at him. "Fine. I’ll drink."

Ethan froze for a beat; the atmosphere lit up. People applauded and cheered, not caring that his temper might blow up the night.

I didn’t look at him again; I poured one shot after another. After six, my stomach churned and I felt like I could throw up.

I can handle my drinks, but not that much at once. I beckoned Henry with a finger and started down the step to say my goodbyes. I missed the step and stumbled.

Henry reacted fast and steadied me.

His cool palm landed on my hip. I was wearing a cropped top tonight, my waist bare. Though his hand wasn’t warm, the touch set my skin on fire and I flinched.

Henry seemed to realize it and grabbed my waist harder to steady me before moving his hand. As we got steady, people started to notice we were leaving. Before anyone could stop us, Ethan picked up a cigarette from the table and hurled it at Henry, who blocked it with his hand.

I turned to look at Ethan. His eyes didn’t only hold anger now—there was an undefinable hurt and jealousy. His tone was viscous and cruel, like he wanted to devour me whole. "Claire, try walking away with him."

Any urge to explain drained away. I glanced at the cigarette Ethan had thrown. About to snap back, Henry—anticipating—nudged my shoulder.

He looked at everyone with a calm, persuasive tone. "Sorry, we have some private matters. I’m paying tonight. Have fun, everyone."

And just like that, he steered me toward the door, defusing the confrontation between Ethan and him.

"Thanks. I’ll treat—this is my thing," Henry added, sliding his hand off my shoulder. He looked at me casually, eyes half-lidded. "You already drank so much for me."

"Drinks don't pay for the ride," I teased, looking up at him.

He smiled, eyes crinkling—he had a slightly androgynous beauty that was oddly mesmerizing when he smiled. We got to the front desk. I scanned and paid the bill. Henry, behind me, smirked. "I'll tell them later to properly thank the senior."

The karaoke place was near campus; we walked back to where we'd left Henry's car. On the ride, I leaned my head back trying to sober up. He handed me a bottle of water between his long fingers. "Drink."

I tilted my head up and gulped. He hit the gas and the black beast of a car cut through the night.

"You okay?" he asked.

At a red light, Henry asked casually.

I shook my head. "It’s my mom. She came on a business trip and got sick. I’m going to see her."

His brows rose. He checked the navigation but didn’t say anything—then he braked before we reached the hospital. "You should bring something to see her with."

I swallowed an objection. It was just manners for the adults—I'll take him out for a meal later.

08. We checked the room number. When Henry and I walked in, my mom was actually propped up with a laptop, working.

"Good evening, ma'am," Henry placed the supplements and fruit on the table and greeted her.

My mom looked up from the screen and forced a smile. "Thanks."

Used to being a career woman, she couldn't even smile properly.

I was about to sit when she fixed me with a stern look. "In the middle of the night, smelling of alcohol—what were you doing?"

I took a breath. "We just finished a modeling competition and went out to celebrate with classmates."

"How did the competition go?"

"Results aren't out yet."

"Don’t you have any idea how you did?" she asked sharply.

Her voice climbed a little higher—sounded anything but sick.

How would I know?

I was about to answer when Henry Cole jumped in, smoothing things over. "Auntie, Claire and I are on the same team. We’ll do fine. We won’t let you down."

My mom’s expression softened. "What’s your name?"

"Henry—'Hen' as in congratulations, 'ry' like—" He drew it out, polite and unpretentious.

He and Claire traded pleasantries so naturally, even friendlier to her than I’d been; I felt a weird relief wash over me. No confrontation, no argument.

When Henry left, only then did I let my face relax and teased, "You’re pretty good. You can chat up my mom like it’s nothing."

He pressed the elevator button, glanced at me, head tilted. "Depends who it is."

No smile, no other emotion—like a casual remark that somehow felt charged.

I kept quiet.

After parting with Henry, I headed for the Dormitory, not expecting to trip over a foot sticking out in the dark. Who was standing in the corner with a leg out like that at this hour?

I braced for the humiliation of hitting the ground and scraping my knees, but strong hands scooped me up.

I looked up. Ethan Walker.

One arm was around my waist, the other steadying my shoulder, pinning me against a wall. Under the dim streetlight I could see the dark bruising of his long lashes—he looked lazy and dangerous at once.

Ethan leaned close to my neck; his warm breath fanned across my skin, heavy and intimate.

I shrank back automatically, and our faces bumped together.

"Disinfected? Did you go to the hospital?" His voice softened in a rare way, like he’d been holding his breath and let it out—just like when we were still together.

His tenderness threw me off. I forgot his recent sulking and temper, and, half-coy, I explained, "My mom’s in town on a business trip. She got sick and had to be hospitalized. We couldn’t get a cab tonight, so I called Henry."

Ethan still fell for that tone. His brows lifted—arrogant, magnetic. He released my shoulder, pinched my earlobe with a casual cruelty. "You came back."

Looking at him made me want to laugh. My heart softened, but then I pictured the same man at a karaoke bar, tossing cigarette butts like he wanted to devour me whole. I couldn’t help testing him. "What if I hadn't come back?"

"I’d kill you."

He squeezed my earlobe and dragged me into his chest.

He sounded so dead-serious I didn’t dare joke anymore.

I let go of my teasing. Instead I grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, "Okay, I came back. Any rewards?"

He let out a quiet laugh that buzzed inside my ear and made my scalp tingle. He let me go, patted my shoulder. "Go home and sleep."

A reward to "go home and sleep"?

I laughed in disbelief, shot him a look, and turned away. Have fun.

09. Ethan must’ve been provoked; I took advantage and added him on WeChat right away. He accepted.

Before I could type, he sent a screenshot and told me to check the remark.

I’d planned to set his name in my contacts, but impulsively labeled him "hubby" and pressed send.

He was silent for a long time, then sent a voice message—leisurely and teasing. Even though it mocked me, I heard warmth and fondness in it. "Have some shame."

I replayed it twice. My face heated—he was such a flirt. I liked it.

Ethan was heading to a competition in Hangzhou. My family’s in Hangzhou, so with his attitude finally softening, I decided to push for more and snag him.

I asked if I could hitch a ride—and he agreed.

I was packing when my roommate, Maya Reed, came back. I hadn’t expected her to be home after weeks away. She paused when she saw my suitcase. "You going home?"

"Sort of." I shoved a sweater in and zipped it up. We weren’t that close.

Dragging my luggage toward the campus gate, I spotted Ethan from a distance. Hands in pockets, baseball cap low, head bent over his phone—sunlight making his skin look pale and almost delicate.

He seemed to sense me, glanced up, took my suitcase and tucked it under the bus, then tilted his chin. "Get on."

"You first." I grabbed the hem of his shirt.

I’ve chased him before without shame. Now the tables were turned; being a member of the math department and hitching a ride with the CS department—awkward.

He glanced at the scrunched fabric in my hand, then at my face. The corner of his mouth tugged up in a smile that made me flush. "You’re shy now?"

It was taunting and teasing all at once. Infuriating. I was about to let go and step up when he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the bus with him.

Soft on the outside, stubborn inside—what a mood swing. My spirits lifted despite the bus-full of people looking at us in mixed awe and scandal.

Ethan took a seat behind Henry. When I caught a glimpse of Henry’s frozen expression, I almost laughed. Maybe Ethan wasn’t as simple as he seemed—it was entertaining.

I woke leaning against Ethan’s shoulder. The brim of his cap cast a shadow over his face. His eyes were closed; he looked less aggressive and strangely gentle.

"Don’t stare," he murmured with his eyes still shut, voice thick.

I saw the pink at the tip of his ear and bolted upright, turning my face away.

This trip hadn’t been for nothing.

Later, after checking into the hotel they’d booked, Ethan grinned without hiding it. "You not going home?"

I crooned in a teasing tone—really flirting—"Why would I? My place isn’t in this district. If I go home, you’ll never see me again."

He laughed softly. "I like that."

Call him a jerk and you wouldn’t be wrong.

My temper flared the moment Henry strolled by, pulling his suitcase lazily. "Claire said she’d take me to dinner while we’re in Hangzhou. Why don’t you—"

"Don’t you dare." Ethan’s voice was grainy, teeth bared—pure anger.

I turned to him, and our dark eyes met. His chin lifted—arrogant and indulgent. "You have to accept invitations sometimes. You owe people for favors."

"I’ll come with you."

"Who are you to come as my date? Why are you tagging along?"

I was only testing him. Ethan narrowed his eyes and scoffed, striding off.

Damn it. He’s impossible to provoke.

I glanced at Henry. He looked calm, a faint unreadable smile at his mouth suggesting he’d already figured Ethan out.

Suddenly I felt like Henry understood Ethan better than I did.

We rode up in the elevator and the doors closed. Henry finally spoke. "You really want to chase him?"

I squeezed my luggage handle. "Yeah. Also…sorry."

A little embarrassed—he used to be someone I had on my contacts, after all.

The elevator pinged open.

"What for? You’re not that good at turning him down either, are you?" Henry turned to study me like he could read me.

Being unable to refuse someone’s kindness is a sickness.

I pressed my lips together and looked down. "Even if I’m with you because you were good to me, I still can’t refuse people."

"As long as you can rein yourself."

His brow lifted, noncommittal. I watched his back until he walked away, chewing on his words. He’d 'rein' me? Did he mean 'tame' me?

Come on. I thought Ethan’s temper had been the one to make me give in before. Maybe Henry was saying he could do the same. Huh. Not a bad skill to learn.

10. I’d barely put my bag down and the phone rang. When I saw my mom’s name on the display, I was surprised. I answered and heard her cold voice: "I’m at the teahouse across from your hotel. Come to room 204."

"Mom, how did you know I was back?" I asked, hurt by the chill in her tone but even more curious.

Her reply sounded like scorn barely held in. "I know what you do at school. Get here now."

Confession Wall.

My hand tightened around the phone, my face drained of color.

I stepped out and felt shaken, walking straight into Ethan leaning by the doorway. He probably saw I was off and clamped a hand on my shoulder. "What’s wrong?"

"Tell Henry I can’t make dinner tonight. I have something to deal with."

I dropped my gaze, avoiding his burning stare and stepped past.

Maybe his temper had cooled enough that he realized I shouldn't be alone with Henry, because he came along with me.

In Tea Room 204, my mother sat like ice. When I shut the door she stood and slapped me hard.

It stung, but it wasn’t a surprise.

"Isn’t the money I gave you enough? You’re making a scene at school, running around with guys?"

Not everything on the Confession Wall was true. Once she got the wrong idea, I looked at her incredulously. "What do you think I did?"

She took a breath, as if my look had cut her. "I know my own daughter."

Her anger dissolved into misery, and suddenly tears slipped out of her eyes. She didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t stop.

"What are you crying for? Acting like a victim?" she snapped.

"You give me money and force me to study without really caring about me. Pushing so hard—of course I rebel—" I started, and before I could finish she slapped me again. My cheek burned.

"Claire! You need to reflect. I raised you. If you have no self-respect and blame me—"

My hand curled tighter. She wasn’t wrong. Who else could I blame? I was pathetic—shameless.

I hung my head and let the tears fall silently. The room was so quiet except for her cold voice. "Don’t embarrass me in this country. I shouldn’t have listened to you about staying here. Apply to graduate schools abroad and get out. I’ll get the papers sent to you."

She said that, clicked her heels, and walked out without bothering to look at me once, as if I were trash.

I still didn't understand how a mother could be like that—how she could be so unwilling to love her own child.

I couldn't keep standing. I folded down onto the floor, hugging my knees, zoning out. The tears wouldn't stop. I didn't want to cry, and I wasn't exactly heartbroken—just empty, that was all.

The door suddenly yanked open and my heart jumped. I looked up and saw Ethan Walker.

My mood crashed again and I slumped against the wall. He came over, half-squatted in front of me, and with the pad of his thumb gently wiped away my falling tears. His voice was softer than it usually was. "Don't cry."

I stared at the man before me—his brows lowered, his sharp edges tucked away—and felt even more wronged. "Did you hear that?"

Ethan hesitated, looking troubled, but finally said the truth. "I heard it."

Before I could react he added, "It's not your fault."

Those three small words hit me harder than anything. All the years of being parentless in love poured out at once. I couldn't hold it anymore; I sobbed aloud.

Ethan's hand was warm. He half-hugged me and stayed silent while I cried, letting me run it out until I had no energy left. Then he hauled me up off the floor.

After the release, when I realized the person standing in front of me was the one I liked, embarrassment crept in. "Do I look awful?"

Ethan's eyes curved and he pinched my cheek. "Not awful. Claire Bennett—how could you be?"

11. Ethan holding my hand while we stood outside in the night breeze, I turned my head to him. "Do you feel sorry for me?"

We were already holding hands; if I didn't ask now it might be too late. The sadness was temporary—I had always lacked love—but not getting Ethan's love would be forever.

His usual arrogant, disdainful look came back the instant I said it. He raised an eyebrow and stared at me. "Do I seem like that kind of guy?"

"Then why did you forgive me all of a sudden?"

"Or what? You want Henry Cole to steal me away?"

Ethan stopped, leaned against the railing, and pulled me into his arms. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes—just hearing Henry's name seemed to make him furious.

I propped my hands on his shoulders and looked at him. "You're not mad?"

"Mad. But being together doesn't stop you from acting like a scared little thing."

He hooked a corner of his mouth and pinched my earlobe, grinning. "Better for you to cause me fewer headaches."

"And I won't let my Claire Bennett lack love."

He was quiet for a long while, but those words felt like a gentle promise.

Psychologists say to judge if someone truly loves you, see whether they'll give you scarce things: the rich man's time, the poor man's money, and for hot-tempered Ethan—his patience.

"Is this us getting back together?"

"What else? You want me to do something dramatic?"

Ethan chuckled, leaning close. His voice dropped low and impossibly intimate; the evening breeze couldn't cool the heat on my cheeks.

Do I have to answer? When he kissed me, it was bold. I couldn't push him away. How could he ask what he should do—then kiss me like that?

I gasped and glared, but he put a hand over my eyes. "Don't look at me like that."

I was about to ask why, but his tone was husky and wanting. I closed my mouth.

"Come have dinner with me and Henry Cole tomorrow."

"Who am I to you? Inviting me?"

Ethan's sarcasm flashed—he remembered something I'd provoked him with earlier and returned it right away.

I pinched his palm and scratched it playfully. "Boyfriend."

He shut up in an instant. I noticed the tip of his ear go pink.

While waiting at the hotel for them to finish their match, my mom sent over some documents and tacked on a line: What are you doing staying in Portland now?

The implication was clear: go back to school.

I knew she was always domineering and cold, but my chest still tightened.

I forced myself to look at the papers. They were "for my review"—she'd even picked out schools already, as if expecting me to apply. I felt helpless, manipulated, and arranged.

I never learned to revolt because every time I thought about it, I felt I'd already been given so much. I should be obedient. And if I dared to argue, I'd be scolded even harder. So I gave in.

Ethan came back from his match to find me flopped on the bed like a rag. He sat nearby, propping himself up with one hand. "What's wrong?"

"My mom picked my schools for me."

"I can go with you."

His long fingers threaded through my hair.

To hear him say "I'll go with you"—such a tender, lingering phrase—spoken so casually felt real and rare.

I shook my head, leaning my chin on my knees. "It's only two years abroad. I'm a year ahead of you. Even if you go, you'll be away for a year too."

"No fish allowed overseas."

Ethan suddenly grabbed my face, staring straight at me like he'd thought of something important.

I clawed the sheet and played the brat. "You never cared before."

"I didn't know you were this kind of person."

He answered without thinking, then realized what I meant and his expression darkened. "So you really want to keep fish?"

"Not—not really."

I hadn't finished when he kissed me. After that it was wild and fierce—everything felt right and perfect.

Except when I jabbed, "Henry said he could handle me, but turns out it's you who can't."

Ethan promptly proved me wrong—he didn't just handle me; he was amazing. The one who couldn't keep up was me.

12. I looked at myself in the mirror, radiating lazy charm, and shook my head at Ethan insisting we invite Henry to dinner tonight. Who said hot-tempered people didn't have schemes? He'd just throw a tantrum before any manipulative move.

Ethan led me downstairs. In the hotel lobby he tightened his grip on my hand the instant he saw Henry sitting there.

Henry sat with his legs crossed; the lobby's warm light fell over him, making him look dangerously gorgeous—hard to resist.

He glanced up when we approached. His eyes flicked to the hand Ethan held in mine. For a heartbeat his expression stiffened, then smoothed as he rose.

Maybe because Henry hadn't made a scene at dinner, Ethan managed to finish the meal with him. After I'd paid, Henry patted my shoulder. "Senior (female), can we talk privately?"

I glanced back at Ethan's scowling face and gave a small laugh. "Okay."

Standing under the streetlight with Henry beside me and Ethan watching from not far off, the scene felt oddly quiet and tense.

"You two together?"

Henry asked first, looking down at me. His voice was gentle but with a hint of mockery.

A shameful heat spread through me. I pinched my purse strap. "Yes. He accepted me."

Henry stayed silent. When I looked up, I saw a rare emotion in his eyes—something wounded. I didn't really know him; he rarely showed what he felt. Seeing that hurt look pricked something in me.

"You're a great person, but love is irrational. And Ethan? He has a bad temper and he's jealous, yet he still lets me talk to you. He doesn't stop me. His patience gives me more security than your kindness does."

Henry only smiled faintly, bent to smooth the hair the wind had mussed, then straightened and slipped his hands into his pockets, walking off. His resigned "hmm" seemed to hang there.

"What are you looking at?"

Ethan came up to us, wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and smoothed the hair Henry had just fixed.

"Ah—'Lamborghini, 181,01.' Missed opportunity, huh?"

Ethan's temper flared. He sneered, pinning me down and kissing—no, nibbling—me until he was panting against me. "Still think he missed his chance?"

I was speechless and just shook my head.

Back at the dorm, rifling through the documents again, I suddenly remembered something I'd let slip: How could my mom possibly know about the Confession Wall? And the chat logs—normal people couldn't get those, right?

Ethan put down his game, looked up at me, and tossed his phone aside. He came over and pinched my cheek, raising an eyebrow. "You're just asking now?"

"You looked into it?"

"Yeah. Your roommate was clever—she used a computer at the internet cafe next to campus. I traced the IP, bought the surveillance from the owner, and hacked her account."

He lifted the corner of his mouth with a satisfied gleam.

"Oh. Then why didn't you do something about it for me?"

Ethan blinked at that. "You wanted me to?"

I couldn't help it—I looped my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "Don't."

He did know me better than anyone.

Ethan scooped me up and pinned me to the bed, his hot mouth finding the side of my neck. His low voice buzzed in my ear. "Besides, who am I to you? You were the reason my ex went green with envy. Who's going to stand up for you?"

I circled his neck with my arms, suddenly unsure. "I didn't green you. Maybe just a little—within acceptable limits."

That little defense was like throwing gas on a flame. Ethan only gave a short, cold laugh and didn't let me say another word.

13. Back at school, Qian Rou really wasn't in the dorm. I had to get Maya Reed to give me the address of the place she rented, then I went and rang the bell.

She looked shocked to see me. I went in, wordless, opened my phone, and shoved all the evidence Ethan had given me in front of her. "This is invasion of privacy. Defamation. You hurt my reputation. If I sue, what do you think will happen?"

Qian Rou froze and then broke down—small people always fold under pressure. Tears fell in sudden little plops that made my skin crawl.

"Don't cry. I don't feel sorry for you."

It had been a long time; I was too tired to make things worse. "Log into your account and clear it on the Confession Wall."

I nudged her to stop the silent sobbing.

She hadn't expected me to be so straightforward. After a stunned moment she nodded over and over.

You don't need a reason to dislike someone. I was too lazy to ask Claire why she was treating me like that. Just as I was about to leave, Qian Rou—suddenly struck by conscience, or maybe she just wanted to sabotage an ally—said, "The stuff on the Confession Wall wasn't sent to your mom. It was Emma."

I closed the door and, after a moment, remembered—Emma was Ethan Walker's messy ex-flame. Of course… innocent bystanders dragged into it.

I shot Ethan a message.

How naive!

Thinking stabbing me in the back would earn her brownie points with Ethan?

Too naive.

Ethan obviously loved no one but me.

When his reply came—"Got it."—I relaxed completely.

Ethan's temper was awful; I couldn't wait to see how he'd humiliate Emma.

Serves her right. Besides, hadn't Ethan snapped at me before, too? Let her "enjoy" a taste of it.

I strolled back toward campus, languid and lazy, when I bumped right into Evan Brooks, who'd been out having fun.

His eyes lit up when he saw me. "Sis, wanna come out with me? There's a new bar nearby. Let's check it out."

The refusal hovered on my lips, then slipped back down. Why not? I agreed.

Where Evan was, there were always girls, so I scanned the crowd without thinking. Evan leaned closer and said, "No one's as pretty as you, sis."

He was bluntly honest, but a compliment from a group of girls always made me grin.

Maybe because I'd learned to cherish what I'd almost lost, when he dared me to share a chocolate bar with him I declined and instead drank three cocktails and curled up on the couch.

Evan came closer, voice soft and a little teasing, "Why'd you refuse, sis? You hurt my feelings."

I rested the back of my hand against my cheek and smiled. "I have a boyfriend. He'd get mad."

Evan's face went blank, then melted into regret. "She has a boyfriend again? Who could be so amazing?"

Before I could answer, a shadow fell over me. I looked up—Ethan stood right behind me, his face thunderous. "Come out."

Realizing Evan and I had been sitting a little too close, I felt guilty. I grabbed my bag, said goodbye to everyone, and started out.

I reached for Ethan's hand. He didn't respond, so I took it anyway. Immediately, a sting of hurt rose in me.

"What are you doing? I didn't do anything."

Ethan pulled his hand away and pinched my chin. "If you had, would you still be standing here?"

"Then where would I be going?" I asked, just asking.

Ethan's mouth curved—half a smirk, half sarcasm—and he glanced at the hotel across the street. My voice instantly died.

He took my hand and led me back, his temper easing a little. "I'm out at school dealing with Emma, and you're out with Evan?"

It did sound kind of outrageous.

"Not next time," I said, waggling his hand and acting cute.

His mouth lifted in a pleased half-smile. "I'm not forbidding you to have fun."

But not going was better.

Because being with Ethan Walker was enough to make me happy.

– The End –