midnight truths
1513 Words
---
Episode 8 – “Midnight Truths”
Zara hadn’t planned to be at the office so late.
Again.
She stared at the glowing screen, her fingers frozen above the keyboard, her fourth cup of coffee long since cold. Outside the glass walls of Blackwood Enterprises, New York glittered like it didn’t sleep, like the city understood something she didn’t — that pain could be buried under lights, sounds, and movement.
She was trying. God, she was trying.
But working this closely with Ethan Blackwood was more exhausting than she’d imagined.
He hadn’t spoken to her since the elevator incident four days ago. Not a word. Not a glance. Just cold professionalism, clipped instructions through his assistant, and long silences that felt more like warzones.
The tension was starting to chip away at her patience.
Still, she couldn’t afford to lose this job. Not now.
Her phone buzzed.
Laura: Girl, you better not still be at work. Ethan or not, you need sleep and real food. Come home.
Zara smiled faintly.
She replied: Ten more minutes. Promise.
Just as she hit send, a low voice said from behind her, “You always break promises that easily?”
Zara spun around.
Ethan stood in the doorway, his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. Shadows played across his jawline, making him look like a painting too beautiful to exist in real life.
And he was looking at her. Finally.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, slowly rising from her seat.
“Didn’t think you would,” he replied, stepping into the office. “You were too busy typing the same sentence for fifteen minutes.”
Zara blinked. “You were watching me?”
His lips twitched, almost like a smile, but then the cool mask slipped back. “You’re working late. Again.”
“It’s called being productive,” she said. “You should try it sometime.”
His brow arched. “Cute. But don’t push it.”
She crossed her arms. “Or what? You’ll glare at me to death?”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Ethan walked slowly toward her desk, eyes never leaving hers.
He leaned on the edge of the table, voice low. “You think this is a game, Zara?”
Her heart thudded.
“No,” she whispered. “I think you’re making it one.”
His jaw clenched.
The silence stretched. The air thickened. Zara hated the way her pulse jumped when he was this close. Hated the way her body betrayed her.
But what she hated most… was how much she didn’t hate it.
“You should go home,” he said finally, backing away.
Zara hesitated. “And if I don’t?”
He looked at her like he was trying not to say something dangerous. “Then I stay.”
And just like that, he turned and left.
Zara stood there, stunned.
What did that even mean?
---
The next morning, she arrived early — determined to keep the upper hand.
But the office buzzed differently today.
Whispers flew between departments. Assistants rushed in heels and suits. Something was happening.
She barely sat down before a message popped up on her screen.
Ethan Blackwood: Meeting. Now. Top floor.
Zara groaned and grabbed her tablet.
The elevator ride felt longer than usual. When the doors opened, she found Ethan already standing near the conference table, flanked by two men in expensive suits. One was older with graying hair and sharp eyes — the other younger, slick, and clearly enjoying himself too much.
Ethan nodded toward her. “Zara. This is James Sterling and Darren Blake. Investors. We’re discussing the marketing direction of the new venture.”
She shook their hands, smiling politely. “Nice to meet you.”
James studied her. “This the girl?”
Ethan’s eyes flickered. “She’s the strategist I assigned to the pitch.”
Zara noticed the lack of warmth in his tone.
“She’s... different,” James said, leaning back.
Darren grinned. “Definitely not what I expected. You’ve got taste, Ethan.”
Zara’s eyes narrowed, and Ethan’s jaw tightened.
“Focus,” he snapped. “She’s here for business, not to be ogled.”
Zara blinked at his defense, unsure what to make of it.
James smirked. “Fine. Impress us then, Miss...?”
“Zara Lane,” she said, stepping forward. “And I intend to.”
---
By the end of the presentation, both investors were nodding in approval.
“She’s good,” James admitted.
“Better than most of your previous hires,” Darren added.
Ethan didn’t speak. But as they left, Zara caught the way he lingered near the door, waiting.
“You handled that well,” he said finally, once the others were gone.
“Thanks,” she said. “Even though your poker face makes me feel like I’m always failing.”
He looked at her. Long. Quiet. “You’re not.”
It wasn’t much. But from Ethan, it was everything.
---
Later that evening, Zara was gathering her things when she got another message.
Ethan: Come to the rooftop.
She frowned.
It wasn’t his usual style. But curiosity got the better of her.
When she stepped out onto the rooftop, the city unfolded beneath her like a secret.
Ethan was standing near the edge, hands in his pockets.
“You called?” she asked.
He turned, eyes softer than usual. “I thought you could use a break.”
“I don’t need pity.”
“It’s not pity,” he said. “It’s... acknowledgment.”
She walked toward him. “Of what?”
“That you’re holding your own,” he said. “In a company full of people waiting for you to fail.”
Zara exhaled, surprised by the weight of his words.
“Why do you care?”
Ethan looked at her, and this time, there was no mask.
“Because I know what it’s like,” he said. “To be judged before you even speak. To be underestimated.”
Zara’s voice was low. “You’re Ethan Blackwood. Billionaire, genius, untouchable. Nobody underestimates you.”
“You’d be surprised.”
The vulnerability in his voice made her chest ache.
She didn’t know what came over her, but she reached out — just lightly — touching his wrist.
He didn’t pull away.
“Why me?” she asked.
He looked down at her fingers on his skin. “Because you challenge me.”
Zara’s breath caught.
Ethan stepped closer.
Their faces were inches apart.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice hoarse.
She didn’t.
Instead, she leaned in.
Their lips met.
The kiss was slow — cautious at first, then deeper, urgent, full of every unsaid thing between them.
When they broke apart, she was breathless.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered.
“I know,” he replied.
But neither of them moved.
---
The next morning was chaos.
Zara barely stepped into the office when she saw Issabel — the tall, polished blonde — standing by Ethan’s door. Laughing. Touching his arm.
Her stomach twisted.
She turned to leave, but Issabel caught sight of her.
“Oh. You’re still here,” Issabel said sweetly. “How quaint.”
Zara forced a smile. “Nice to see you, Issabel. Again.”
Ethan looked up, eyes flicking between them.
“Zara,” he said calmly. “I’ll need the revised pitch notes on my desk in twenty minutes.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
As she walked away, she didn’t look back.
---
That night, she stayed late again.
Ethan didn’t come.
She sat at her desk long after everyone left, typing, deleting, typing again.
Eventually, she gave up and walked toward the elevator.
But when the doors opened — Ethan was inside.
They stared at each other.
“Rough day?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “You?”
“Worse.”
Neither of them pressed the button.
“I saw Issabel,” she said.
His jaw ticked. “She’s my mother’s project. Not mine.”
Zara raised a brow. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No,” he said. “Just honest.”
Silence stretched between them.
“I don’t want to play games, Ethan.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then what is this?”
Ethan stepped forward.
“You. Are the only real thing I’ve felt in years,” he said.
Her throat tightened.
He added, “But that doesn’t mean I know how to do this right.”
Zara blinked away the sting in her eyes. “Then we figure it out. Together.”
Ethan exhaled like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.
He reached out — brushed her hair behind her ear.
“I’m scared,” he admitted.
“So am I,” she whispered.
But this time, when they kissed, it didn’t feel like a mistake.
It felt like the beginning of something neither of them could stop.
--
- Writer
