Chapter 5 Between the Lines

Thursday arrived with an eerie stillness. The air was cooler, the skyline hazy with the soft gray of late autumn. Noah stepped into the office feeling different-off balance, but not in a bad way. More like something inside him had tilted.

Dinner with Ethan hadn't been romantic. There were no confessions or lingering stares. But something had shifted. They'd eaten together, side by side in silence that wasn't uncomfortable. And that meant something.

Ethan was already at his desk when Noah arrived, flipping through a printed report with a red pen in hand.

"You're later than usual," Ethan said, not looking up.

"It's 7:02."

Ethan tapped his pen against the paper. "The old you was more punctual."

"I stopped trying to impress you. Didn't seem like it worked."

That earned a small, reluctant smirk from Ethan. "On the contrary, Mr. Reyes. Your unpredictability is precisely why I haven't fired you."

"Be still my heart," Noah muttered, making his way to his desk.

They worked in near silence for the next hour. Reports, call schedules, meeting prep-it was the usual rhythm. Efficient, wordless, professional. But under it, Noah could feel the tension crackling again. Not the cold, clipped kind from their early days. This was warmer, charged.

Just after 9:00 a.m., Ethan's phone buzzed. He answered, sharp as always. "Yes?... No, move the pitch to next week... If she can't make time, then she's not the right fit."

Noah glanced over. Ethan's expression was tight, focused. But there was something else-something slightly off.

When the call ended, Ethan stood abruptly. "Cancel my lunch. And reschedule the call with Kaito Industries."

"Everything okay?" Noah asked.

"No," Ethan replied, already heading for the door. "But I'll handle it."

Noah blinked. "Do you need-?"

"Just watch the office."

And with that, Ethan was gone.

Noah spent the next few hours juggling Ethan's schedule, fending off two over-eager interns, and reorganizing an investor briefing that Ethan had apparently forgotten to tell him about. Around 2:00 p.m., a delivery arrived-documents in a thick envelope with no return label.

He stared at it for a second before calling Ethan. Straight to voicemail.

He texted.

Noah: Urgent doc delivery just came in. No sender. Want me to open it?

No response.

He set it on Ethan's desk and waited. An hour passed. Then two.

By 5:00 p.m., the office had mostly emptied out. Ethan still hadn't returned. Noah tried calling again.

Voicemail.

He hated this feeling-the not knowing, the silence. He'd spent too many nights as a kid waiting for someone to come home, wondering if they were okay. Wondering if something had gone wrong.

He didn't want to feel that again. Especially not for someone like Ethan.

At 6:30 p.m., the elevator dinged-and Ethan stepped out.

His tie was gone. His jacket over one arm. And for the first time since Noah met him, his hair looked slightly out of place.

"Where the hell were you?" Noah asked before he could stop himself.

Ethan blinked, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"You disappeared for eight hours, didn't answer your phone, and came back looking like you walked out of a hurricane."

Ethan's jaw tightened. "You're out of line."

Noah crossed his arms. "So fire me."

Silence.

Ethan walked past him, into the office, setting his jacket down without a word.

"There's an envelope on your desk," Noah said more quietly. "Came without a return address."

Ethan froze.

His eyes flicked to the desk. He picked up the envelope, fingers brushing the seal. His mouth set in a grim line.

He opened it slowly. Pulled out a single sheet of paper. Read it. Then folded it back and slid it into the drawer.

"Who was it from?" Noah asked.

"Doesn't matter."

"You sure? Because it looked like it mattered when your whole body tensed."

Ethan turned. "You're not my therapist."

"No," Noah said. "But I'm the guy who works twelve hours a day three feet from you and can tell when something's eating you alive."

A beat.

Then Ethan said, "My father."

Noah's brows rose. "I didn't know you-"

"I don't," Ethan said sharply. "Not really. He left when I was twelve. Showed back up when I made my first million. Now he writes me letters asking for 'conversations'."

Noah leaned against the desk, softer now. "You ever respond?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Ethan gave him a look. "Would you?"

Noah thought of his own father. The silence. The absence. The way grief had hollowed his family out and never filled it back in.

"No," he admitted. "Probably not."

Ethan sat, suddenly looking years older. "He only wants the version of me he sees in Forbes. Not the one who worked three jobs to get through Columbia. Not the one who slept in server rooms building this company. Just the headline version."

Noah watched him for a moment. "You're allowed to be angry."

"I'm not angry," Ethan said flatly.

"That's your problem."

Silence.

Then Ethan looked up, eyes darker than Noah had ever seen them. "You don't get to analyze me."

"Too late," Noah replied. "I already have."

Ethan stood, walked around the desk-closer now, too close. His voice dropped. "What exactly do you think you've figured out?"

Noah didn't flinch. "That you're scared. Of people. Of being vulnerable. Of someone seeing the parts of you that aren't polished and perfect."

Ethan took another step. "You don't know me."

"I'm starting to."

They were inches apart now. The air between them thick, humming with something unspoken.

Ethan's eyes flicked down to Noah's lips, just for a second.

And Noah's breath caught.

Then Ethan stepped back.

"Go home, Noah," he said. "Before either of us says something we'll regret."

Noah didn't move at first. But he saw it in Ethan's eyes-the line he couldn't cross. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So he grabbed his bag. "See you tomorrow."

Ethan didn't reply.

And Noah walked out, pulse thudding, already wondering how much longer they could keep this thing between them unspoken before it broke open completely.