Ethan thought I had surrendered.
That was his first mistake.
He thought silence meant submission, that my quiet return was proof of obedience. But what he didn't know was—I'd finally stopped loving him the way he wanted me to.
Now, I was studying him.
Watching the way he moved. The way he spoke to his staff. The way his assistant flinched slightly when he walked too close. The way no one ever met his eyes for too long.
I began asking questions. Harmless ones, at first.
"Who handles your contracts, again?"
"Didn't you mention your father put someone on the board who doesn't like you?"
"Your assistant—how long has she been with you?"
I started making notes. Mental maps. Patterns.
Power leaves trails. And Ethan Hart had left too many.
One afternoon, while he was on a call in his office, I stepped into the study he rarely let me enter. A locked drawer sat half-open—probably left in a rush. I didn't think. I acted.
Inside were files. Old, but organized.
Corporate reports. Confidential settlements. Private correspondences.
And beneath them… a photo.
It was Ethan. Younger. Standing next to a woman I'd never seen. She looked familiar, like someone I'd passed in the building once. But the way she looked at him?
Fear.
I snapped a picture with my phone before I could think twice, shoved everything back into place, and left.
Later that night, he kissed me like nothing had changed.
Held me like he still believed I was his.
But for the first time, I didn't feel owned.
I felt armed.