Chapter Three: The Man Behind the Glass
1390 Words
I hated him immediately.
Which was unfortunate.
Because he was probably the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my entire life.
And trust me, I deeply resented that.
Ethan Blackwood sat beside the massive windows overlooking Manhattan like he owned the entire city beneath him.
Maybe he did.
The winter light spilling across the penthouse sharpened everything about him — the sharp jawline, the dark messy hair, the cold blue eyes studying me with quiet amusement.
Beautiful people were exhausting.
Especially rich beautiful people.
Especially rich beautiful people who looked at you like they already knew all your secrets.
“Well,” he said smoothly, “you look underqualified.”
Okay.
Rude.
I crossed my arms immediately. “And you look emotionally unavailable.”
Zara made a choking sound beside me.
Ethan blinked once.
Then — unexpectedly — the corner of his mouth twitched.
Not fully a smile.
Something smaller.
Dangerous.
Interesting.
“Oh, this one fights back,” he murmured.
“I prefer the term ‘has personality.’”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?”
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
Like he enjoyed watching people unravel.
I should’ve been nervous.
Instead, annoyance sparked hot inside my chest.
Probably because I was tired.
Or because his face was distracting enough to qualify as a public safety issue.
Or maybe because rich men always assumed they could intimidate people.
Unfortunately for Ethan, I had survived New York subways, customer service, and overdue rent.
Fear barely functioned in my body anymore.
Zara cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
Traitor.
The second she disappeared, silence swallowed the room again.
God.
The penthouse was huge.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched endlessly around us while soft instrumental music played somewhere in the background.
Everything looked expensive.
Minimalist.
Cold.
Like nobody here ever made impulsive bad decisions.
Meanwhile I once spent my last twelve dollars on fries and fake eyelashes.
Ethan watched me carefully.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“You’re rich aggressively.”
That actually earned a real reaction.
A short laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
And wow.
That sound changed his entire face.
Dangerous information.
Very dangerous.
He noticed me noticing.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Interesting.
“You’re not what I expected,” he admitted.
I raised an eyebrow. “What were you expecting?”
“Someone older.”
“Ouch.”
“Someone quieter.”
“Double ouch.”
His gaze moved over me slowly.
Not inappropriate.
Not exactly.
But intense enough to make me suddenly aware of every inch of myself.
My curls.
My mouth.
The way my fingers tightened nervously around my bag.
“You talk too much,” he decided.
“You look like you need someone to.”
That silence again.
But different this time.
Heavier.
Something shifted invisibly between us.
Then Ethan leaned back slightly in his wheelchair.
“You know what your problem is?”
I blinked. “The list is long. Be specific.”
“You try too hard to sound fearless.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
My chest tightened instantly.
Because the annoying thing about observant people was how dangerous they became.
I looked away first.
Huge mistake.
Because my eyes immediately landed on framed photographs sitting near the bookshelf.
Ethan standing beside mountains.
Ethan laughing on a yacht.
Ethan skiing.
Running.
Dancing.
Living.
The difference between those photos and the man sitting in front of me now hurt to look at.
His voice turned colder instantly.
“Don’t.”
I looked back at him.
His expression had completely changed.
Walls back up.
Emotion gone.
“I wasn’t pitying you,” I said quietly.
“Most people do.”
“Well, most people sound annoying.”
That surprised him.
I could tell.
“You’re strange,” he murmured.
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Still taking it.”
A long pause followed.
Outside the windows, snow drifted slowly across Manhattan while the city buzzed endlessly below.
Ethan watched me like he was trying to figure something out.
Honestly?
I was trying to figure him out too.
Because beneath the sarcasm and expensive sweaters and emotional damage, there was something deeply lonely about him.
The kind of loneliness that sat quietly in beautiful places.
The kind people hid behind sharp smiles and colder words.
“So,” I said finally, “what exactly happened to all your other caregivers?”
“They quit.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“That’s honestly impressive.”
“I can be difficult.”
“You keep saying that like it’s charming.”
One corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
“It usually scares people.”
“I grew up in Queens with an older brother and unpaid bills.
Fear left my body years ago.”
For the first time, Ethan looked genuinely interested.
“Unpaid bills?”
“Shocking, I know. Poor people exist.”
“You always this sarcastic?”
“Only when I’m nervous.”
His eyes held mine.
“And are you nervous right now?”
The question landed softly.
Dangerously softly.
For one embarrassing second, my heartbeat stumbled.
Because suddenly the room felt smaller.
Warmer.
And those blue eyes were entirely too focused on my face.
I swallowed quickly.
“A little.”
There.
Honesty.
Tiny honesty.
Something unreadable crossed Ethan’s expression.
Then quietly:
“Why?”
I laughed nervously. “Look around. Your apartment has better lighting than my future.”
That earned another laugh.
God.
I needed him to stop doing that.
Beautiful men should not laugh softly while looking directly at me.
It created emotional instability.
Ethan shook his head slowly. “You’re definitely not professional.”
“And yet somehow you’re still talking to me.”
“Unfortunately.”
The teasing in his voice sent unexpected warmth through my chest.
Which was ridiculous.
I had known this man for approximately seven minutes.
Seven stressful minutes.
Still—
Something about him pulled attention naturally.
Not because he was rich.
Not even because he was attractive.
It was deeper than that.
Like standing too close to a storm and realizing part of you wanted to stay there.
Ethan noticed me looking again.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re thinking loudly.”
I hesitated.
Then decided honesty was more fun.
“You don’t seem happy.”
The room went still.
Immediately.
Every trace of amusement disappeared from his face.
Oops.
His jaw tightened slightly.
“And you assume you know me already?”
“No,” I said softly. “I just know what lonely looks like.”
For a second, something vulnerable flickered across his expression.
Gone almost instantly.
But I saw it.
And somehow…
I think he realized I saw it too.
That changed something.
His voice lowered carefully. “You should leave.”
The suddenness caught me off guard.
“What?”
“This job isn’t for you.”
Annoyance flared immediately.
“You decided that in ten minutes?”
“I decided it the second you walked in.”
“Oh, that’s insulting.”
“It’s honest.”
I stepped closer before common sense could stop me.
“Or maybe,” I said quietly, “you push people away before they get close enough to matter.”
The second the words left my mouth, silence exploded between us.
Ethan stared at me.
Really stared.
His blue eyes sharp enough to strip people apart.
The air suddenly felt charged.
Heavy.
Like standing outside right before lightning strikes.
“You think you understand everything,” he said softly.
“No.”
I held his gaze.
“But I think you want everyone to leave because it’s easier than needing them.”
Another dangerous silence.
Neither of us looked away.
My heartbeat thudded loudly against my ribs.
And for one terrifying second—
Something shifted.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Something sharper.
Curiosity.
Recognition.
Two lonely people seeing each other too clearly.
Ethan finally leaned back slightly, still watching me carefully.
Then quietly:
“You’re either brave or incredibly stupid.”
I smiled slowly.
“Honestly? Could be both.”
And for the first time since entering the penthouse—
Ethan Blackwood smiled at me fully.
It was small.
Brief.
But devastating enough to ruin lives.
- Writer
