Chapter 4 Cracks in the Mask
Alea’s life inside Ethan’s mansion had turned into a carefully orchestrated performance. Every day was a new act—dinners staged for the benefit of prying eyes, carefully worded statements to the media, and hand-holding that lasted just long enough for the cameras. On the surface, it was perfect. Beneath the facade, however, tensions simmered like an untended flame.
Ethan sat at the grand dining table, reviewing documents spread before him. His brow furrowed as he scribbled notes, oblivious to the dinner Alea had prepared. Though he rarely acknowledged her efforts in the kitchen, tonight’s meal was an exception.
“You cooked,” he remarked without looking up.
Alea’s hands tightened around the serving platter. “I thought it might be nice to have a home-cooked meal for once. Something less... formal.”
Ethan finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. “You don’t need to do that. There are staff for a reason.”
“I know,” Alea said, setting the dish down with a deliberate clink. “But it’s not just for you. I needed the distraction.”
Her words hung in the air, challenging him to question her further. Instead, Ethan leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he studied her.
“What’s distracting you?”
Alea hesitated. She’d promised herself not to let Ethan into the more vulnerable corners of her life, but something about his question made her falter.
“Daniel,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes it’s hard not to think about how much I gave and how little I mattered to him.”
Ethan’s gaze sharpened. “You shouldn’t waste your thoughts on someone like him. He’s not worth it.”
“Easy for you to say,” Alea countered, her tone edged with bitterness. “You’re the one who has all the power here. You’re not the one who has to fight to prove your worth.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened, his usual cool demeanor cracking ever so slightly. “And you think I’ve never had to prove my worth? That everything was handed to me?”
“Wasn’t it?” Alea asked, meeting his gaze with defiance.
For a moment, the room was thick with unspoken tension. Then, Ethan stood, his chair scraping against the polished floor. He walked to the window, staring out at the city skyline as if searching for answers in the glittering lights.
“I wasn’t always the CEO of Watson Group,” he said, his voice quieter now. “When my father passed, the board tried to push me out. They said I was too young, too inexperienced. I had to claw my way up, prove I wasn’t just some kid playing dress-up in a suit.”
Alea blinked, surprised by the revelation. Ethan rarely spoke about his past, let alone with such candor.
“So no,” he continued, turning back to face her. “Nothing was handed to me. I fought for every inch of what I have now.”
“But you’re still alone,” Alea said softly. “Isn’t that what you’re really fighting against?”
Ethan’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, Alea thought she’d crossed a line. But instead of lashing out, he sighed and returned to the table, picking up his glass of wine.
“Let’s just eat,” he said, his tone signaling the end of the conversation.
After dinner, Alea retreated to her room, the lingering tension from their exchange weighing heavily on her. She paced the room, replaying their conversation in her mind. Ethan’s vulnerability, however brief, had caught her off guard. It made her wonder if there was more to him than the cold, calculating exterior he presented to the world.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. She opened it to find Ethan standing there, his usual composure firmly back in place.
“What is it?” she asked, crossing her arms.
“We need to discuss tomorrow,” he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “There’s a gala. We’ll need to attend together.”
“Another public appearance?” Alea sighed. “Of course. What’s the occasion this time?”
“A fundraiser for the hospital wing my company sponsored. It’ll be a chance to reinforce our narrative.”
Alea rolled her eyes. “You mean the narrative where we’re madly in love?”
Ethan smirked. “Exactly. Try not to look too miserable about it.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said, her sarcasm barely concealed.
As he turned to leave, Alea couldn’t help but ask, “Ethan, do you ever get tired of it?”
He paused, his hand on the doorframe. “Tired of what?”
“Pretending. Wearing this mask all the time.”
Ethan didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than she’d expected. “Some masks become so comfortable, you forget you’re even wearing them.”
With that, he walked out, leaving Alea to wonder if Ethan Watson’s mask was starting to crack—and what might lie beneath it.
The next evening, Alea stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the glittering gown Ethan had chosen for her. It was stunning, but it felt like a costume, a reminder that she was playing a role in a story that wasn’t entirely hers.
When Ethan came to escort her downstairs, his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary.
“You look… appropriate,” he said, his tone neutral, though Alea thought she caught a flicker of something softer in his expression.
“Thanks,” she replied dryly. “I’ll try not to embarrass you.”
At the gala, they moved through the crowd like seasoned performers, their every gesture perfectly choreographed. But as Alea listened to the shallow conversations around her, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place.
During a lull in the evening, she stepped out onto the balcony for some air. The cool night breeze was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere inside.
“Running away already?” Ethan’s voice came from behind her. She turned to see him leaning casually against the doorway, a glass of champagne in his hand.
“Just needed a break,” she said. “This isn’t exactly my scene.”
Ethan joined her at the railing, his gaze focused on the city lights. “It’s not mine either, if I’m being honest.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Alea said, her tone lighter now.
He smirked. “I’m good at pretending.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the city stretching out before them. Alea stole a glance at Ethan, wondering if he ever felt as isolated as she did in this world of wealth and power.
“Ethan,” she began, but her words were cut off by the sound of hurried footsteps behind them.
“Mr. Watson,” one of Ethan’s assistants called out, his face pale. “There’s been an incident.”
Ethan’s expression hardened instantly. “What kind of incident?”
The assistant hesitated, glancing at Alea. “It’s about the Harson deal. Something… compromising has come to light.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened, and he turned to Alea. “Stay here. I’ll handle this.”
As he disappeared into the crowd, Alea couldn’t shake the feeling that this “incident” was only the beginning of something much bigger—something that could shatter the fragile balance they’d worked so hard to maintain.