Chapter 9 The Morning After

Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, casting pale gold light across the room. The forest outside was silent, save for the rustle of breeze-stirred leaves.

Inside, Ethan Voss stirred.

For a moment, he didn't remember where he was. He felt warm sheets, a bare chest against his back, and a slow, steady rhythm of breathing near his ear.

Then it hit him. The Catskills. The summit. And Noah.

He turned slowly, careful not to wake the man asleep beside him. Noah's curls were a mess, his lips slightly parted, his arm draped lazily across Ethan's waist.

Ethan studied his face in the light. Peaceful. Open. Young, but not naive.

How had this happened?

He could run a boardroom blindfolded. Navigate global mergers without blinking. But one night in a cabin bed with Noah Reyes, and suddenly the floor beneath his life didn't feel so solid anymore.

He hadn't planned this. He never did. Planning meant control-and control had been his gospel.

Until Noah.

Now, with that control slipping through his fingers, all Ethan could think about was the way Noah had whispered his name the night before. The way they'd moved together. The way it had felt like something more than just lust. Something dangerous.

Something terrifyingly good.

Noah stirred beside him. His eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the light.

"Hey," he said, voice gravel-soft from sleep.

Ethan swallowed. "Hey."

Noah smiled-groggy, sweet. "Didn't think I'd wake up and you'd still be here."

"I didn't plan on leaving," Ethan admitted.

Noah's hand slid across Ethan's bare stomach. "You always plan."

"Not this time."

They lay in silence for a few more minutes. Then Noah sighed and rolled onto his back.

"What happens now?" he asked quietly.

Ethan stared at the ceiling. "Now we figure out if we can live two lives without getting caught."

Noah turned his head. "You mean, keep working like nothing happened, while still sneaking away to hotel rooms?"

Ethan winced. "You make it sound dirty."

"It kind of is," Noah said with a smirk. "But I'm not complaining."

He sat up, pulling the sheets around him. "Eventually, someone's going to notice. We're not exactly subtle."

Ethan sat up too, raking a hand through his hair. "Then we have to be better. Smarter."

"You want to keep this a secret forever?"

"No," Ethan said quickly. "Just... until I can figure out what this is."

Noah's smile faded a little. "It's not just a fling, Ethan."

"I know that."

"Then say it."

Ethan met his eyes. "It's not just a fling."

Something shifted between them-more solid now. Like the truth had given shape to the mess.

Noah leaned in, pressing a kiss to Ethan's shoulder. "Good. Now get dressed. We have a leadership breakfast in twenty minutes, and I am not letting everyone assume I made you late."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Because they'd assume you seduced me?"

Noah grinned. "Obviously."

The breakfast was painfully formal.

Round tables. Folded napkins. PowerPoint slides on corporate values and synergy. Noah sat next to Olivia Hart, the head of European strategy, while Ethan took his usual position at the center of the executive table.

Their eyes didn't meet once.

But under the table, Noah's phone buzzed.

Ethan [8:57 AM]: You look good in that shirt.

Ethan [8:58 AM]: Distractingly good.

Noah [8:59 AM]: I warned you I was dangerous.

Ethan [9:00 AM]: I'm starting to believe it.

Noah smiled at his plate of eggs and quickly replied:

Noah [9:01 AM]: Wait until you see what I wear for the dinner gala.

Ethan didn't reply.

But Noah caught the way his mouth twitched into a barely-there smirk when the presenter asked about transparency in upper management.

That night, the resort transformed.

The main lodge glittered with fairy lights and soft jazz filtered through hidden speakers. Everyone was dressed to impress. Chiffon, cufflinks, high heels, and higher expectations.

Noah wore a midnight-blue suit with no tie, his top button undone just enough to catch the eye.

Ethan wore black.

Classic. Impeccable. Powerful.

They didn't arrive together. They didn't even speak for the first hour. But the air between them was charged-magnetic.

Noah was mingling near the bar when someone approached.

"Reyes, right?"

He turned. A man in his early 40s, sharp beard, a badge reading Martin Langford – West Coast Ops.

"Yeah," Noah said.

"You're Voss's assistant?"

"Executive aide," Noah corrected, but with a smile.

Langford leaned in. "You've got his ear. That's a rare thing."

Noah tilted his head. "Why do you say that?"

"Because Ethan Voss doesn't trust anyone. Especially not since his last... let's say, partnership went south."

Noah's throat went dry. "You mean Mason."

Langford raised an eyebrow. "You know about that?"

"People talk," Noah said carefully.

Langford sipped his drink. "Let me give you some advice, Reyes. If you're close to him-and I mean really close-be careful."

"Careful?"

"Men like Voss don't bleed easy. But when they do, they don't forgive it."

Before Noah could reply, Langford disappeared into the crowd.

Noah stood there, frozen.

He didn't notice Ethan until he appeared beside him.

"You okay?" Ethan asked quietly.

Noah shook his head clear. "Yeah. Just... weird conversation."

Ethan frowned. "With who?"

"Langford. He said you don't forgive when you're hurt."

Ethan's jaw tensed. "He's not wrong."

"But I'm not Mason."

"I know that."

"Do you?" Noah asked. "Because if you're still scared of being betrayed, we're already doomed."

Ethan hesitated. "I'm scared of a lot of things, Noah. But losing you is at the top of the list."

Noah stared at him. "Then stop treating this like something fragile. We're not glass, Ethan."

"I know."

"Do you?" he pressed again.

Ethan didn't answer.

But he reached down, slowly, carefully-and brushed his fingers against Noah's under the tablecloth-draped edge of the bar. A small, bold move.

"Later," Ethan whispered. "My room."

Noah's pulse quickened.

But he nodded.

Ethan's room was at the far end of the hall, more private than the rest. Noah slipped in close to midnight, heart hammering, half expecting someone to see.

But no one did.

And when Ethan opened the door, he didn't say a word. He just pulled Noah inside and kissed him like the world might burn if he didn't.

It was slower than before. Less frantic. But deeper somehow. Like every touch said something they couldn't.

Afterward, they lay tangled in silence again, the hush between them full of things they still hadn't said.

Then Ethan spoke.

"You asked me to stop treating this like it's fragile."

Noah turned to him.

"I think I was afraid because if this breaks, I don't know how I come back from it."

Noah reached out, threading their fingers. "Then don't let it break."

"I'm trying."

"I'll help," Noah said softly. "We'll figure it out. Together."

Ethan looked at him-really looked.

And finally, said what he'd been holding back for days.

"I want this, Noah. Not just the secrecy. Not just the fire. I want you."

Noah exhaled, like he'd been holding his breath for weeks.

"I'm yours," he said. "As long as you don't hide me."

Ethan kissed his hand. "Not anymore."

And for the first time since it all began, they both believed it.