The Pull She Couldn't Escape
The rain came back that night. It always did when things fell apart.
Clara sat by the small window of the inn, her knees drawn to her chest, watching droplets chase each other down the glass. The city lights blurred through the storm, a mix of gold and gray. Her phone sat on the nightstand beside her, screen dark.
He hadn't called again.
She told herself she wouldn't answer even if he did. But that was a lie, and she knew it.
No matter how much pride she tried to hold onto, Ethan still lived somewhere under her skin.
When the screen finally lit up, her heart stuttered. His name.
Ethan.
She let it ring once. Twice. Then she pressed decline.
The silence that followed was worse than the rain.
---
At the mansion, Ethan stood by the window in his office, phone in hand, staring at the rejected call notification.
Damien sat across from him, watching quietly. "She's still not answering?"
Ethan shook his head. "Not once."
Damien exhaled. "She's hurt, Ethan. You let her walk out and then showed up in public with the one woman she's already insecure about. Even if it wasn't your fault, it looks like it was."
Ethan didn't respond.
Damien continued, softer now. "You have to go to her."
"I can't leave the company right now," Ethan muttered. "The board's already on edge with the media nonsense."
Damien frowned. "And what about your wife? She's more important than a few board members."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "You think I don't know that?"
He turned away, pressing a hand to his temple. "Every time I try to fix this, it gets worse."
Damien stood. "Then maybe stop trying to fix it like it's a business problem. She doesn't need a CEO, Ethan. She needs you."
When Ethan looked up, the mask finally cracked—just for a moment. "What if I already lost her?"
Damien sighed. "Then go find her before you're right."
---
The next day, Clara tried to distract herself. She went into town, wandered through a small flower shop, bought nothing, and pretended to admire the roses. Everything reminded her of him—the deep red color he always chose for her, the way he'd say her name when she was angry.
She hated that missing him hurt more than being disappointed in him.
When she returned to the inn, she found someone waiting by the counter.
Ethan.
He stood there, dressed simply in a dark shirt and coat, rain still clinging to his hair. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world outside seemed to hold its breath.
Finally, Clara whispered, "You shouldn't be here."
"I had to see you," he said quietly. "Please, Clara… just hear me out."
She shook her head. "I saw the pictures, Ethan. The world saw them."
"It wasn't what it looked like."
"It never is, is it?" she said bitterly. "There's always an explanation. Always a reason that makes sense to everyone except the person you're supposed to care about."
He stepped closer. "You think I wanted that? You think I wanted people to drag you into their gossip again?"
"I don't know what you want anymore," she said, her voice trembling. "Maybe I never did."
He reached out, his hand brushing her arm. She froze but didn't pull away. His touch still did something to her—something she wished it didn't.
"Clara," he said softly, "I love you. I never stopped."
Her throat tightened. "Then why does it feel like I'm the only one fighting for us?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he lifted a hand to her face, wiping away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should've told Isabella to leave. I should've stopped her from getting close. But I didn't because… part of me thought I could handle it. I was wrong."
Her heart twisted.
She wanted to believe him—God, she wanted to. But the image of that photo, his silence, the way Isabella looked at him—it all mixed together until she couldn't tell truth from pain.
"I can't do this right now," she whispered.
He nodded slowly, pain flickering in his eyes. "Then I'll wait."
He turned to go, but she stopped him without meaning to. "Ethan."
He looked back.
"Don't make me regret loving you."
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The look in his eyes said enough.
---
When he left, the room felt colder. Clara sat on the edge of the bed, hugging her knees, her heart heavy with too many truths and not enough peace.
She thought she had made the right choice staying away. But when she closed her eyes, all she could see was the way he'd said her name—like it was a prayer.
And despite everything, she knew one thing for certain:
She couldn't stop loving him.
Even if it broke her a little more every day.