The rain hadn’t stopped all afternoon. It beat against the wide glass windows of your father’s penthouse like a thousand quiet fists, drowning the city below in gray.

You were supposed to be working — reading through another stack of company proposals — but your attention kept slipping to the man standing by the door.

Ethan.

He didn’t speak much. He never did. He stood there like a shadow carved from steel — arms crossed, eyes sweeping the room every few minutes like he expected someone to break in at any moment.

“Do you ever… relax?” you asked finally, closing your laptop with a sigh.

His gaze flicked toward you. “Not while you’re in the room.”