HIS TO HAVE NOT TO OWN

CHAPTER 5

The ride home had been a blur—silent, smooth, and far too easy to slip into. Nina hadn’t even realized when they had reached Ethan’s home, let alone when he carried her all the way to the bed she laid in.

A strange stillness pressed against the room, and Nina’s eyes fluttered open. The dim glow of the city filtered through the curtains, casting long, silver streaks across the ceiling. Her pulse was slow, her mind fogged with the remnants of sleep, but something had pulled her from unconsciousness.

Her senses sharpened. The bed was too comfortable, the scent of aged sandalwood and fresh linen lingered in the air, achingly familiar.

This was Ethan’s room.

A fresh wave of irritation rolled through her. She pushed herself up, sweeping her gaze over the expanse of the space. The clock on the nightstand read 03:14 AM.

How the hell did she end up in his bed?

The last thing she remembered was getting into the car with Ethan and him driving away from the venue of the party. And then… his voice. A whisper before he got in. The memory brushed against her skin like a cold breeze, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

Her fingers instinctively traced from her temple to the curve of her neck, tracing the lingering sensation his words had left behind.

The house was silent, and Ethan wasn’t anywhere in view, she realized.

And the bedroom door was slightly open.

Nina slid out of bed, her bare feet sinking into the cool wooden floor. She hesitated for only a second before padding toward the doorway, her breath shallow, her pulse quickening.

Down the dimly lit hallway, a soft glow flickered from an adjacent room. The door was left slightly open and Nina could see a well arranged shelf of books, a neat stack of files on a bespoke executive desk as she walked closer to the door.

This had to be his study and he was inY6 there. But wasn’t he meant to be asleep?

She stepped closer, drawn by her curiosity and a need to understand him. Or was it the lingering effects of the night before, the way his presence had somehow wrapped itself around her even in sleep?

Through the slight opening, she saw him.

He stood near his desk, back partially turned, one hand braced against the edge of the polished wood while the other held something small between his fingers. His posture was tense, his usually immovable expression unreadable under the low light.

Nina’s gaze flickered downward—to the object in his hand.

A locket.

Old, worn, silver catching the light in a way that suggested years of handling.

She watched as Ethan traced a thumb over it absently, the gesture so uncharacteristically gentle that it almost didn’t fit the man she had considered him to be. The silence stretched, the weight of whatever thoughts consumed him evident in the faint furrow of his brow.

She had never seen him like this.

The man who was always composed, always in control, now stood looking haunted. Nina shifted slightly, and the faint creak of the floorboard beneath her broke the stillness.

Ethan’s head snapped up, his sharp blue eyes locking onto the doorway.

Nina’s breath hitched as she turned to hide. s**t.

She turned on her heel, heart hammering, slipping soundlessly back down the hallway before he could see her. Her bare feet barely made a whisper against the floor, but the tension coiled in her chest made every movement feel unbearably loud.

She barely made it back to the bedroom.

Sliding under the sheets, she turned her back to the door, breathing carefully, steadying herself just as she heard the soft footfalls approaching.

The sound stopped.

A pause.

Nina forced her body to remain still, her breaths even. The room was dark, but she could feel his presence—standing just outside the doorway, watching.

A full five seconds passed.

Then, with an exhale so faint she almost thought she imagined it, Ethan moved away.

The tension in her body didn't fade, not even as the house settled back into silence.

Her mind spun, replaying the sight of him—the way he had held that locket, the weight in his posture, the flicker of something in his gaze that she couldn't quite name.

A man like Ethan Sinclair didn't break. He didn't lose control. And yet, for that brief moment, she had seen cracks. And now she couldn’t stop wondering.

Who did that locket belong to? And why did it seem to haunt him?

***

Nina was already by the door, when Ethan spoke.

“You should eat something before you go.”

His tone was even, not demanding, but firm enough to make her pause. She turned, one brow arching. “I’ll grab something later.”

Ethan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took a measured sip of his coffee, his gaze steady, unreadable. Then, with the same quiet precision he always carried, he set his mug down and gestured toward the kitchen island.

“Take something with you.”

Nina’s eyes flicked to the plate—toast, fruit, nothing elaborate but enough to make a point. He wasn’t asking.

She sighed, stepping forward. “Are you always this persistent?”

Ethan’s expression remained neutral, but there was something intentional in the way he met her gaze. “Only when necessary.”

Nina hesitated, fingers brushing the edge of the plate before finally picking up a slice of toast. She took a small bite, more to satisfy him than herself, but Ethan didn’t comment. He only picked up his coffee again, as if the matter was already settled.

She wasn’t about to be distorted by the fact that she had seen a less composed Ethan than the man she knew by the facade he was putting on now a few hours earlier. Or so she thought.

She however was sure of what she saw when he was at the study.

“Have you gotten any sleep?” Nina asked, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the penthouse, expressing a tinge of concern. She took another bite of the toast which tasted so good - crispy, warm, and just the right amount of buttery - and watched him over the edge of the slice, her green eyes sharp with curiosity.

Ethan didn’t answer right away. He stood there, mug now in hand, the steam curling lazily upward the morning light tha spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His posture remained as composed as ever, shoulders squared, jaw set, but there was a faint shadow beneath his eyes, a c***k in the armor she hadn’t noticed until now. He took a slow sip of his coffee, the movement deliberate, as if buying time.

“Sleep is overrated,” he said finally, his tone dry but edged with something heavier. His gaze flicked to her, then away, settling into the city skylines beyond the glass.

Nina tilted her head, swallowing the bite of toast. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Not wanting to show her frustration, Nina exhaled slowly and set down the remaining bit of the slice she was eating.

“Okay,” Nina responded.

She picked up her bag and was about to head out before she heard Ethan’s voice call her.

“I need you to be ready for tonight,” he said, his voice low and steady. He set the mug down on the counter with a quiet thud. “There’s a charity gala. We’re expected.”

Nina blinked, thrown by the shift. She was very surprised.