62| Hidden Agendas

"Ethan, do you want me to move it?"

Jessica's voice pulled him back into reality.

She had come to brief him on a project, but he hadn't heard a single word she said.

Actually, he didn't even know what else had happened today since his father had walked out of his office that morning.

"Um... yeah. Let's move this till later," he said, rubbing his temple.

Jessica hesitated, studying his face. "Are you okay? You look a bit pale. Maybe you should take the rest of the day off?"

"No." His response was too quick, too cold. He cleared his throat. "I'm fine."

"Oh," she said, slightly taken aback. "Well, it's about time for you to pick Sophie up. I figured you wouldn't bother coming back to the office today."

Ethan stiffened.

I'll be back.

It was stupid.

He didn't want to see Sophie.

He couldn't face her.

He stood abruptly, grabbing his coat. "I'm leaving now. But tell the team we'll be working late tonight. I'll be back in an hour."

Jessica's concern deepened as she watched him gather his things. Ethan hadn't worked late in weeks.

But she didn't say anything.

And Ethan didn't explain.

He made his way to his car, his mind heavy with thoughts.

If there was anything Ethan Sinclair believed, it was that in most areas of his life, he was unlucky.

Unlucky to be born into his family.

Unlucky to be burdened with a name and a legacy he never asked for.

Unlucky to be trapped in a life he didn't choose.

And he hated how he could never shake the feeling of inadequacy that had settled deep in his chest.

Most of all, he hated how his father's voice always echoed in his head.

Like the devil in him that refused to let go.

There were times he could silence it.

With her.

When he was with Sophie, the voice faded.

But some days, like today, it felt inescapable.

His fingers gripped the steering wheel as the familiar sight of Sophie's flower shop came into view.

He should go inside.

He should pick her up like always.

But instead, Ethan parked a short distance away, his heart pounding.

Because today, he couldn't face her.

His mind drifted to the worst mistake of his life—the one his father held over him, the one that still made him sick to his stomach.

It had been a simple acquisition deal.

At least, that's what his father had told him.

The company was failing. The employees were struggling. Buying it out would be doing them a favor.

Ethan should have known better.

When had his father ever been interested in doing good?

But still, he had done it.

Maybe, deep down, he had wanted to please him.

To prove himself.

But it was all a lie.

All he had really done was steal a company from an innocent man.

A man who had built it from the ground up to support his family.

A man whose reputation was smeared.

A man who, in the aftermath of it all, had suffered a heart attack and died.

Ethan had killed him.

Maybe not with his own hands. But he had been part of it.

And his father had congratulated him.

For what?

For becoming a monster?

For taking something he didn't even need?

The guilt never left him.

It haunted him.

He could still see the man's widow, her eyes red with grief.

The man's daughters, standing at his funeral with wide, tear-filled eyes.

And Ethan had stood there like a fool, offering a stupid apology—as if anything he said could bring their father back.

He had given them money, but what did that even matter?

What was money compared to losing a father?

He knew that pain.

Because the only woman he had ever loved had lost her father, and it had shattered her.

How could he tell Sophie that he had killed a man?

Through the windshield, he saw her.

Sophie had stepped outside the shop, watering the outdoor plants.

Then a customer approached, and she turned, her face lighting up with a warm, radiant smile.

She laughed—soft, melodic, effortless.

She looked so perfect to him.

So untouched by the kind of filth that stained his soul.

Somehow, she was joy.

Everything good in his life.

But all he felt was cancerous.

Like he would ruin everything.

She deserved better.

She deserved someone whole. Someone clean. Someone who wasn't him.

He pressed the heel of his hand against his temple.

At one point, he had been on medication for depression, but it hadn't worked.

He had convinced himself he was losing his mind.

It was like he had been playing pretend all this time—pretending to be normal, pretending to be a man who could love and be loved.

But time was up.

And now he had to face reality.

Sophie was perfect.

And he was...

Not.

He should accept that.

Shouldn't he?

So why did the thought bring tears to his eyes?

Why did it bring tears of frustration, of helplessness?

Why did he have to kill this overwhelming desire inside him?

This desperate, aching need to run to her.

To hold her.

To find solace in her embrace.

But instead, he remained seated.

Rooted by his fears, his shame.

Too much of a coward to face the only person who had ever made him feel like he wasn't broken.

After steadying his nerves, Ethan finally made his way to Sophie's flower shop.

He told himself this was for the best.

For her.

She didn't deserve to be burdened with someone as messed up as him.

His father was right.

She deserved someone whole.

Not him.

Upon his arrival, Sophie lit up, greeting him with bright eyes and a cheerful—

"Ethan!"

But then, in a matter of seconds, her smile faded.

Her gaze flickered over his face, the concern creeping in immediately.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.

He forced a smile—one he thought was convincing. A carefully practiced expression, brighter than usual.

But Sophie saw through it instantly.

"Nothing's wrong, Soph. Just a long day of meetings," he lied, trying to convince himself as much as her.

She didn't look convinced.

"Are you sure?" she pressed, her eyes searching his.

"Absolutely."

And then, to make the lie feel more real, he pulled her into a hug.

But the moment she melted into his arms, the warmth of her body against his, he felt the sharp ache of something too selfish, too painful.

Lingering would only make it worse.

So he pulled away.

"Are you done for the day?" he asked, shifting the subject.

"Yes, all done." Her voice was soft, still not entirely convinced by his facade.

As they walked toward the car, Sophie glanced at him hopefully.

"Let's have dinner together when we get home. I want to try a new recipe."

For a moment, Ethan wanted to say yes.

To go home with her, to sit with her at the table, to let her voice fill the silence, to let her pull him back to life.

But he couldn't.

Not today.

"I'm sorry, Sophie. I'll be working late tonight."

Another lie.

She hesitated, but then nodded with a small, understanding smile.

"That's okay."

She masked her disappointment well, but he still saw it.

"Just don't overwork yourself, okay? I don't want you getting sick."

She reached for his hand, her fingers curling around his.

Warm. Like they always were.

So why did it feel so painful today?

The drive home felt longer than usual.

Sophie chatted animatedly about her day, filling the silence with laughter, with thoughts, with little stories.

And Ethan listened.

Because God, he loved watching her talk.

He loved the way her nose scrunched up when she was irritated, how her hands moved when she was excited, how her voice was always filled with so much life.

His heart ached for her.

For her world.

For a reality where he could just let himself love her without this awful, suffocating guilt.

But today, all he felt was unworthy.

And so, he held back.

When they got home, Sophie didn't let go of his hand.

"Walk me inside?" she asked.

And of course, he did.

The moment they stepped through the door, she turned to him, her fingers tightening around his.

"You'll tell me if something is wrong, right?"

Her voice was gentle. But there was something beneath it—something fragile, something pleading.

"You told me we should trust each other with everything."

Her words struck him deep.

God, Sophie.

I would tell you.

But I don't want you to look at me in disgust.

Even if I deserve it.

Because that—that would hurt more than anything.

He was a damn hypocrite.

Hadn't he felt betrayed when she kept secrets from him?

And here he was, standing before her, lying to her face.

His throat tightened. "You're right, I—"

His phone rang.

He shut his eyes for a moment, hating the interruption, hating the relief that came with it.

"It's work. I have to take this."

Sophie didn't argue. She only held onto him for a second longer.

And then, just as he turned away—

"Why do I feel like I'm losing you?"

The words were barely above a whisper.

But they stopped him cold.

He turned back to her, forcing a soft scoff. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going anywhere."

Then, before she could say anything else—before he could let himself do something stupid—he leaned in and kissed her.

It was fleeting.

A brush of lips, a promise, a silent goodbye.

And then he stepped away, out the door, into the cold night.

Goodbye, Sophie.

******

Sophie stood there, wanting to cry out, "Don't go, Ethan."

But the words stuck in her throat. And before she could find them, he was already gone.

With him, a piece of her heart felt like it had slipped away.

And maybe, deep down, she knew it then and there.

She was losing him.

Because over the next few days, Ethan began to distance himself.

He buried himself in work.

Worked late.

And before she knew it, she hardly saw him at all.

The man who once pulled her into his arms the moment he walked through the door? Gone. The man who couldn't keep his hands off her? Missing. The man who kissed her goodnight, even when she was already asleep? He wasn't there anymore.

She didn't know who he was anymore.

And she hated it. God, she hated it more than anything.

But stupidly, foolishly, hopelessly...

She still wanted to trust him.

Even if he wasn't trusting her.

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