Chapter Twelve: The First Real Fight
1190 Words
The problem with falling for someone slowly was that you never noticed the exact moment they became important.
Until suddenly—
Their silence ruined your entire day.
Three weeks ago, Ethan Blackwood was just a job.
Now?
Now one cold look from him could completely destroy my mood.
Which was deeply concerning.
The morning started badly.
That should’ve been my first warning.
Rain hammered against the penthouse windows while grey clouds swallowed Manhattan whole. The city looked cold and exhausted beneath the storm.
Honestly?
Same.
I walked into the kitchen balancing two coffees and exactly one remaining piece of emotional stability.
“Morning,” I said.
No answer.
Ethan sat near the island staring down at his phone, jaw tight enough to c***k.
Immediately, my stomach tightened.
Something was wrong.
“You okay?”
Still nothing.
He tossed the phone onto the counter with visible irritation before finally looking at me.
“Fine.”
Lie.
Terrible lie.
I placed his coffee down carefully. “That face says otherwise.”
“It’s business.”
“That usually means something’s annoying you.”
“Congratulations. You can read.”
Okay.
That attitude was new.
I blinked slowly. “Good morning to you too.”
Ethan exhaled sharply and rubbed a hand over his face.
“You don’t have to babysit every mood I’m in, Lily.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because over the past few weeks, caring about him had become natural.
Automatic.
And suddenly he was acting like that care was a problem.
“I wasn’t babysitting you,” I said quietly.
“You hover when something’s wrong.”
“I was literally asking if you’re okay.”
“I said I’m fine.”
The coldness in his voice stung immediately.
Silence fell heavily between us.
Rain crashed harder against the windows.
And for the first time since meeting Ethan—
I felt distance between us again.
Real distance.
Like the walls he built around himself were suddenly back.
I crossed my arms slowly. “You know, talking to you when you’re like this is exhausting.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Then don’t.”
The answer came too fast.
Too sharp.
And instantly, regret flickered across his face.
But mine already burned.
Because somehow that one sentence hurt more than it should have.
Fine.
Maybe because I cared too much already.
Maybe because Ethan saying don’t sounded terrifyingly close to leave.
I stepped backward slightly.
“Wow.”
“Lily—”
“No, it’s okay.” My voice sounded tighter now. “Clearly I’m annoying you today.”
“You’re not annoying me.”
“You literally just told me not to talk to you.”
His jaw tightened again.
“I’m having a bad morning.”
“And somehow that gives you permission to act like a jerk?”
Silence.
Heavy silence.
Ethan looked away first.
Which somehow made me angrier.
Because instead of explaining what was wrong, he was shutting down again.
Pushing me away.
Like he always did whenever emotions became too real.
“You know what?” I muttered, grabbing my coat from the chair.
“Maybe I should just go home today.”
That got his attention immediately.
His eyes snapped back to mine.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Leave because we argued once.”
I laughed bitterly. “That’s not why I’m leaving.”
“Then why?”
Because you’re hurting me.
Because I care too much.
Because every time you shut me out, it feels personal now.
But I couldn’t say any of that out loud.
So instead:
“Because I’m tired of pretending you don’t push people away whenever things get difficult.”
The room went completely still.
Rain echoed loudly through the silence.
Ethan stared at me for a long moment.
Then quietly:
“You think this is easy for me?”
The vulnerability in his voice caught me off guard.
But my frustration was already burning too hot.
“No,” I snapped. “I think you’re scared.”
His expression hardened instantly.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You always think you understand me.”
The words landed sharply.
Painfully.
Because deep down?
Maybe part of me believed I did.
“I’m trying to help you.”
“I didn’t ask you to save me.”
The sentence hit like a slap.
Silence exploded between us.
My chest tightened painfully.
Because suddenly all the warmth from the past few weeks felt fragile.
Like maybe I imagined it.
Maybe Ethan really would rather be alone than let someone care about him fully.
And honestly?
That terrified me more than I wanted to admit.
I looked away before emotion embarrassed me.
“Fine.”
“Lily—”
“No.” My voice cracked slightly this time. “You know what the worst part is?”
Ethan went still.
“You act like caring about you is some kind of burden.”
The anger in my chest started melting into hurt now.
Dangerous.
Because hurt was harder to hide.
“I stayed,” I whispered. “Even when you pushed me away.
Even when you were difficult. I stayed because I care about you.”
Ethan’s expression shifted instantly.
Softened.
But I wasn’t finished.
“And maybe that scares you,” I continued quietly, “but it scares me too.”
The honesty hung heavily between us.
Raw.
Terrifying.
Rain blurred the skyline outside while silence filled the penthouse.
For one second, Ethan looked completely lost.
Then finally—
“I don’t know how to do this.”
The anger inside me cracked immediately.
Because his voice sounded honest now.
Small.
Not billionaire Ethan Blackwood.
Just a man terrified of losing control over his own heart.
I swallowed hard.
“Do what?”
His blue eyes held mine steadily.
“This.”
The space between us.
The feelings growing between us.
The terrifying possibility of loving someone enough to lose them.
Everything.
“I spent so long convincing myself I didn’t need anyone,” he admitted quietly. “And then you walked in here and suddenly…”
He stopped.
Emotion tightened visibly in his jaw.
My heartbeat slowed painfully.
“Suddenly what?” I whispered.
Ethan looked at me like the answer scared him too.
“Suddenly losing you feels worse than being alone.”
The confession shattered every remaining piece of anger inside me.
Silence wrapped around us again.
But softer this time.
Emotional instead of sharp.
I stared at him across the kitchen while rain poured endlessly outside Manhattan windows.
And suddenly I realized something important.
This fight wasn’t happening because we didn’t care.
It was happening because we cared too much already.
Ethan broke eye contact first, frustrated with himself again.
“I’m bad at this.”
A tiny laugh escaped me despite everything.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “You really are.”
To my surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
Small.
Tired.
Real.
Then quietly:
“But I’m trying.”
And somehow—
That mattered more than perfection ever could.
- Writer
