Chapter 4 4

They released me from the hospital with a guard.

Took me to a DEA field office.

Ethan was there, standing by a wall covered in photos. Fallen agents.

He looked tired.

His tailored suit was gone, replaced by a standard agent's attire.

"Ava." He didn't meet my eyes.

"They found a safety deposit box. Your father's. It has your name on it too."

He handed me a form.

"You'll need a lawyer. The contents are... substantial. And illegal."

His voice was flat. Professional.

Like he was talking to a stranger.

"Ethan, please," I begged, my voice trembling. "Look at me. Was there nothing? Not one moment?"

He finally turned, his eyes empty.

"It was my job, Ava."

He walked away.

I remembered chasing him for months when we first "met."

He was the charming entrepreneur, always polite, always distant.

I'd made a fool of myself, sending flowers, "accidentally" bumping into him.

Then the charity gala. My father's.

I'd been clumsy, tripped near the pool, almost fell in.

He'd caught me. Strong hands.

My dress tore. I scraped my knee badly.

Blood everywhere.

He'd carried me inside, his face a strange mix of concern and annoyance.

"Are you always this reckless?" he'd asked, his voice rougher than usual.

Blood was on his expensive shirt.

I, delirious with pain and the proximity of him, had blurted, "Only when I'm trying to get your attention. Do you even like me, Ethan Brooks?"

He'd stared at me for a long moment.

Then, a sigh. He'd leaned down and kissed my forehead.

"Yes, Ava Reynolds. I like you. But you'll regret this."

"Never," I'd whispered, dizzy with triumph.

"If you ever do," he'd said, his voice soft, almost a warning, "you tell me. I'll... I'll help you fix it."

A promise.

Now, standing in this cold DEA office, I whispered, so low only I could hear, "I regret it, Ethan. I regret every second."