The same voice that told you not to apologize for caring too much.
The same voice that made you believe tenderness could arrive in a tailored suit and expensive shoes.
You nod because pretending would be ridiculous.
“Mr. Cole,” you whisper, then almost laugh at yourself for saying it so formally here of all places. “I’m still a virgin. I’ve never been with any man in my life. I’m scared… scared I won’t know what to do.”
Then the room changes.
Not the furniture. Not the lights. Not the skyline beyond the windows.
Only the air between the two of you, which cools so sharply it feels as if someone opened a freezer door inside your chest.
Ethan goes completely still.
He does not smile.
He does not move toward you. He does not reach out in reassurance the way you had imagined he might if you lost your nerve and confessed your fear.
