Mr. C.E.O, Your Wife Is A Man!

CHAPTER 6

The barrel of the gun glinted in the dim hallway light, a cold promise of violence that made my stomach turn. The masked figure’s finger twitched near the trigger. Rainwater dripped from my hair into my eyes, blurring vision, but I could see Ethan’s eyes—steel-blue, unblinking, fixated on the intruder.

“Step away from her,” he said, calm but lethal. His voice was a low growl that made the hairs on my neck stand.

The intruder hesitated. Seconds stretched into eternities. My lungs seized, my heartbeat hammering like war drums. I wanted to run, to scream, to disappear into the storm—but my legs refused.

Ethan moved first. A blur. Faster than I could comprehend. His hand shot out, grabbing the intruder’s wrist, twisting, forcing the gun down. The masked figure staggered, losing balance.

“Go!” Ethan shouted at me, and I didn’t hesitate. I bolted toward the stairwell, every fiber of my body screaming panic, while Ethan wrestled with the assailant.

I reached the stairs, chest heaving, mind racing. My identity, my lies, my life—everything hung by a thread. And with every step, every escape attempt, I felt the walls of Isla’s borrowed life closing in.

I reached the penthouse elevator and slammed the call button repeatedly. It arrived with a ding. Doors slid open. Relief surged briefly—then vanished when I saw Ethan emerge from the hallway, dragging the masked figure behind him. He didn’t glance at me; his entire focus was on neutralizing the threat.

“Stay here!” he barked. No please. No hesitation. Just command.

I pressed myself against the elevator wall, trembling. My mind reeled: how did he move so fast? So precise? And why… why did my chest ache at the thought of him in danger?

The fight ended almost as quickly as it had begun. A muffled thud. A grunt. A crash. Silence. Then Ethan appeared in the elevator doorway, gun in hand—calm, deadly, in control. His coat flared behind him, dripping wet, every inch the powerful man I had been both hiding from and drawn to.

My relief shattered when he fixed me with a stare that burned through the elevator’s dim light. Steel-blue eyes, calculating, piercing. “You’re trembling,” he said. Not questioning. Observing. Judgment threading every word.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to nod. “I’m fine,” I whispered. A lie, as fragile as the night itself.

“Are you sure?” His gaze flicked over me like a predator, scanning for weakness, for cracks, for signs of deceit.

I bit my lip. The memory of my near-escape—the way my hands had trembled, the way I’d wanted to disappear—threatened to spill from my expression. I forced it down, forced the calm Isla facade back into place.

“You need to be careful,” he said, voice low, almost intimate, almost warning. “This world you’re stepping into… it’s not forgiving.”

“I know,” I breathed, though every nerve screamed otherwise.

Ethan’s fingers brushed against mine—not accidental, not casual. The touch lingered for the barest fraction of a second, and I froze. My mind spun. Desire. Fear. Guilt. Panic. All tangled into a tight, suffocating knot.

He stepped back, but the intensity in his gaze didn’t fade. “Tomorrow,” he said, voice clipped, controlled, dangerous. “You and I are going to have a long talk. About… everything.”

My chest constricted. “Everything?” I echoed, voice barely audible, trembling despite myself.

He didn’t answer. He just turned and left the elevator, disappearing into the penthouse corridor. Every step echoed in my ears, leaving me raw and exposed, my secret heavier than ever.

I pressed my palms to my chest, the binder beneath Isla’s clothes digging into my ribs. Sweat and rain mixed on my skin. My breathing was ragged. My pulse was unrelenting. Every instinct screamed to run, yet part of me craved his control, his presence, even if it was terrifying.

And then my phone buzzed. One message.

No number. No name. Just words that made my blood run cold:

“You’re making him notice. Too much.”

I dropped the phone, hands shaking. My secret—my real secret—was slipping closer to the light. The world outside the penthouse, the storm, the threats, the danger—it was all secondary now. Ethan’s piercing gaze, his obsession, his awareness, were the real threat.

And I realized, with a surge of terror and forbidden longing, that I was already trapped.

A shadow moved behind the glass door to the balcony. Someone was watching again. And this time… they weren’t alone.