Chapter 5:I hate you
1298 Words
By the time the final model stepped off the runway, applause thundered through the grand hall. Cameras flashed like lightning, capturing every shimmer of silk and every confident stride. Designers, journalists, celebrities, and buyers rose from their seats, their admiration echoing through the vaulted space.
For Ava Bennett, it should have been a perfect night.
Months of preparation had led to this moment—months of sketches, fittings, sleepless nights, and quiet determination. Her debut collection under Marco Laurent's label had dazzled the city she once called home. Every detail had fallen into place. Every stitch had told a story.
And yet, her attention kept drifting.
Drifting toward a certain man seated in the front row.
Ethan Sterling.
He hadn't looked away from her once. Not during the introductions. Not during the interviews. Not even during the celebration afterward. His gaze followed her like a shadow—steady, unreadable, and far too intense.
It was infuriating.
And unsettling.
The celebration stretched late into the night. Champagne flowed freely, laughter filled the air, and the scent of roses and perfume mingled with the hum of conversation. Industry veterans praised Marco Laurent's newest collection, while young designers surrounded Ava, eager to discuss fabrics, silhouettes, and inspiration.
At some point, a handsome French designer named Lucas threw an arm around her shoulders, telling a ridiculous story that had everyone laughing. Ava laughed too—lightly, carelessly, perhaps a little too loudly.
Unfortunately, someone noticed.
Across the room, Ethan's expression darkened.
Liam, standing beside him, nearly choked on his drink.
"You're staring," he said, amusement flickering in his eyes.
"I'm not," Ethan replied flatly.
"You absolutely are."
Ethan sipped his whiskey, his gaze never leaving Ava. "The guy's hand has been on her waist for ten minutes."
Liam nearly laughed out loud. "There it is."
"There what is?"
"The jealousy."
"I'm not jealous."
"Right," Liam drawled. "Just one step away from declaring war on France."
Ethan didn't answer. His jaw tightened. The glass in his hand caught the light, and for a moment, the air around him seemed to hum with restrained irritation.
Ava remembered almost nothing after midnight.
Too many congratulations.
Too many drinks.
Too much champagne.
The next thing she knew, she was being guided toward her hotel suite by Claire, her assistant.
"Careful," Claire muttered, steadying her.
"I'm perfectly fine," Ava insisted.
"You just walked into a wall."
"The wall moved."
Claire sighed. "Hopeless."
They reached the suite. The moment the door opened, Claire froze.
A man sat inside. Waiting.
The atmosphere instantly dropped ten degrees.
Ethan Sterling looked up slowly from the sofa, his expression unreadable.
Claire nearly dropped Ava. "Well," she said quickly, straightening. "Looks like my services are no longer required."
"Coward," Ava muttered, but Claire was already gone.
Ava stumbled toward the sofa, her heels clicking unevenly against the marble floor.
"Ethan," she said, a lazy smile curving her lips. "You're everywhere lately."
His eyes narrowed. "You've been drinking."
"Obviously."
She dropped beside him, then rested her head directly on his shoulder.
Ethan's expression softened despite himself. "You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, slicing across the room in golden lines. Ava woke with a splitting headache and a vague sense of dread.
Something felt wrong. Very wrong.
She sat upright—then immediately regretted it.
A moment later, Ethan walked out of the sitting room, perfectly dressed, perfectly groomed, and perfectly irritating.
"Good morning," he said casually.
Ava stared at him. "What are you doing here?"
"You invited me."
"I did not."
"You did."
"I absolutely did not."
"You were drunk."
"That doesn't count."
"It does in court."
A pillow flew toward him. Ethan caught it effortlessly. Again.
He was entirely too good at catching things she threw.
"Get ready," he said.
Ava frowned. "Why?"
"We have somewhere to be."
Forty minutes later, Ava sat in the passenger seat of Ethan's car, unease twisting in her stomach. The drive had lasted nearly half an hour, and Ethan hadn't explained a single thing.
Which usually meant trouble.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
Silence.
"Ethan."
Nothing.
"Ethan Sterling."
He finally glanced at her. "What?"
"You kidn*pped me."
"I drove you."
"Against my will."
"You got in voluntarily."
"You refused to tell me the destination."
"You still got in."
Ava folded her arms. "I hate you."
"No, you don't."
Arrogant man.
A few minutes later, the vehicle slowed to a stop. Ava glanced out the window—and froze.
Her brain stopped functioning.
Marriage Registration Office.
She blinked. Looked again. The sign remained. Still there. Still real.
"No."
Ethan unfastened his seatbelt. "Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"Ethan."
"Ava."
"You've lost your mind."
"Entirely possible."
"You brought me here to get married?"
"Correct."
She stared at him. He stared back. Neither moved.
Finally, Ava laughed. Not because it was funny, but because surely this couldn't be real.
"You are insane."
"I've been called worse."
"Ethan," she said softly, her voice trembling between disbelief and something dangerously close to fear. "What are we even doing?"
For the first time, his expression changed. The arrogance faded. The teasing disappeared. Only seriousness remained.
"Ava," he said quietly.
The way he said her name made her heart skip.
"We've spent years doing everything except admitting what's right in front of us."
Silence filled the car.
She looked away, because she knew exactly what he meant—and she wasn't ready to hear it.
"We're friends," she said finally.
The words sounded weak. Even to her.
Ethan laughed softly. "Friends?"
"Yes."
"Friends who spent years crossing every boundary friendship has?"
Ava's face heated. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
Because the truth was terrifying.
She wasn't afraid of marrying Ethan. She was afraid of what came after—trusting him, depending on him, building a future with him. Allowing him close enough to break her. Again.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispered.
For a moment, Ethan simply looked at her. Then he moved closer—not enough to crowd her, just enough to reach her.
"I know," he said softly. "So let me help."
Ava swallowed hard. This conversation was becoming dangerous.
"You deserve someone better."
"No."
"Ethan—"
"No."
His gaze never left hers. "You don't get to decide that for me."
The certainty in his voice shook her.
For years, everyone had abandoned her. Everyone had left. Everyone except him.
"I can't promise I'll be easy," she murmured.
"I'm aware."
"I can be stubborn."
"I know."
"I have trust issues."
His lips twitched. "That might be the understatement of the century."
A reluctant smile escaped her. Then disappeared.
"Ethan."
"Hm?"
"What if this doesn't work?"
His answer came instantly. "Then we'll make it work."
The confidence was ridiculous. Infuriating. And somehow comforting.
"You sound very sure."
"I am."
"Why?"
For the first time all morning, Ethan hesitated. Then he reached for her hand.
"Ava," he said quietly, his fingers tightening around hers. "Because I've spent years trying to forget you."
Her breath caught. "And?"
"And it didn't work."
Silence.
Outside, people walked up and down the courthouse steps. Inside the car, the world felt strangely still.
Ava stared at him—the man who looked at her as though there had never been anyone else. The man who had crossed cities, countries, and years without letting go.
The man who still had no idea that a little girl existed.
A little girl with his eyes.
His smile.
His stubbornness.
The secret sat heavily in her chest.
Because if she stepped through those doors today, everything would change. Forever.
And for the first time since returning to Ravenport, Ava wasn't sure which frightened her more—losing Ethan, or finally letting him stay.
- Writer
