The gala was just the prelude.
The next morning, I left the flash drive on his desk.
No words. No explanations. Just that small silver shape—quiet, deadly.
Inside were copies of internal settlements. Redacted names. A trail of manipulation he thought was buried. Evidence he'd protected the company, yes—but also used people as pawns. Women. Me. Nina.
I didn't threaten him. I didn't need to.
I just walked away.
And waited.
That night, the storm came.
I heard the knock at midnight.
Three measured taps. Like a countdown.
When I opened the door, Ethan stood there.
No coat. No mask. No smile.
Just rage—coiled, deadly, buried beneath a man trying not to fall apart.
"You think this ends with paperwork?" he said, voice low and dark.
"No," I said. "It ends with me."
He stepped inside. Shut the door.
"You want to ruin me?"
"I want to free myself."
He laughed—but there was no humor in it. "You already had freedom. You just didn't know how to live in it."
"No, Ethan. What you gave me wasn't freedom. It was a golden leash."
A beat passed. His hands trembled at his sides.
"I would've given you everything."
"You gave me everything but a choice."
The silence that followed felt like the edge of a knife.
Then, slowly, Ethan dropped to his knees.
Not with shame. Not with defeat.
But with something worse.
Desperation.
His voice cracked. "I don't know how to love you without owning you."
My breath caught.
Because that—that was the real Ethan Hart.
Not the businessman. Not the lover.
But the boy who never learned love without control.
I knelt, leveled our eyes, and whispered:
"Then lose me. And maybe you'll finally learn."