Chapter 4 Lena

The penthouse was... ridiculous.

Glass walls, leather everything, and a view that made her knees weak. But it was the silence that unnerved her most. Not a peaceful kind-no. This was the silence of someone who didn't let life in.

"You live here alone?" Lena asked, dropping her duffel by the marble island.

Ethan didn't glance up from pouring scotch into a glass. "I work late."

"That's not an answer."

He handed her a glass of water instead, ignoring her question. She accepted it with a huff.

"Your assistant gave me a binder full of NDAs," she muttered.

"I like my privacy."

Lena leaned against the counter. "And yet, here I am."

He met her eyes then. "You're not like the others."

"Others?"

"The reporters. The women." His voice tightened slightly. "You don't look at me like I owe you something."

"That's because you don't," Lena replied softly. "I'm just here to write a story. Whether it flatters you or not... that's on you."

A long pause.

Then Ethan did something strange. He smirked. Not cruel, not polished. Just tired... and a little impressed.

"You're going to be a problem," he said.

"Good," Lena replied. "You make a terrible first impression."