"Going to the PR department?" Ethan Sullivan looked up from his documents.
Sophia Sullivan nodded. "The product launch is approaching. I need to finalize the details with the PR team."
Silence settled between them again.
From her vantage point, she could clearly see Ethan's slender fingers—pale and elegant, with pronounced knuckles that gleamed under the light.
The faint blue veins beneath his thin skin hinted at restrained strength.
She straightened the files in her hands. "Thank you."
"Just a small favor." His voice was indifferent.
His gaze drifted upward from the documents, finally resting on the delicate curve of her neck.
So fragile, as if it could snap with the slightest pressure.
Ethan had always been ruthless in pursuing what he wanted.
But now, hesitation crept in.
Even weakness.
As the elevator doors slid shut, the air around him turned colder than before.
Sophia could sense his deliberate distance.
In the confined space, they stood apart—just the right amount of space between them.
Perhaps this was for the best.
Just as they had once gravitated toward each other without words, now they needed no explanation for the growing rift.
Adults drifted apart in silence.
The elevator numbers flickered rapidly—two more floors until the PR department.
Then Ethan spoke.
"What do you think our relationship is now, Ms. Sullivan?"
His tone was calm, unreadable.
Sophia met his dark, fathomless eyes.
He said nothing more, yet her pulse stuttered wildly.
—Eye contact was a kiss without desire.
She suppressed the turmoil in her chest.
"You and I are superior and subordinate, business partners... and friends."
This wasn't the first time he'd asked.
Before, she would have teased him with just "business partners." Now, she added "friends."
Her expression remained composed, but she couldn't explain the sudden palpitations.
The elevator chimed as it reached its destination.
Sophia turned to him one last time. "Not just for the documents. Thank you for everything these past months."
From their first meeting on the cruise to the auction, they had even faced life and death together.
Whatever this emotion was, it deserved her gratitude.
"Don't mention it." Ethan's lips curved slightly.
A trace of self-mockery flickered in his eyes.
—Thank you.
—Don't mention it.
Three words had never felt so cruel.
The doors opened. Sophia stepped out without looking back.
She didn't see the man behind her press his fingers to his temples, eyes shut tight.
The headache had returned.
This time, it clawed at his heart too.
Ethan exhaled bitterly. "Sophia, sometimes I wish I could cut open your chest."
Just to see if there was anything inside.
But he knew—with her skills, she would never give him the chance. She might even make him die willingly for her.
Outside the window, the sky stretched clear and blue.
Perfect weather for an amusement park.
Yet in just a few days, their promise made during the storm had vanished like the wind.
He remembered that stormy night—candlelight flickering as Sophia covered his eyes, whispering words of affection.
But only in bed.
The elevator doors opened again. At the top-floor lounge, Julian Roscente greeted him with a grin.
"Morning. Why the long face?"
"Painkillers."
Julian's smile faded when he noticed Ethan's pained expression. He hurriedly retrieved a pill bottle from the drawer.
"I thought you were getting better. What triggered it this time?"
He studied the man on the sofa.
Ethan's face was pale, his features schooled into indifference—but the agony was there, barely restrained.