Page 201 of Ethan: The Untouchable CEO

He sent me the request last night, and this morning I accepted it.

But it’s not just the photo that moved me—it’s the feed of comments underneath.

@NickHardy: So happy for you two.

@SierraHardy: Ugh, baby, I wanted to be the first to comment. Finally! You two. I love you!

@NickHardy: Sorry, baby! I couldn’t help myself.

@TheoSmith: Finally! Take care of her, man.

@ZaynThomas: Took you long enough. So happy for you.

@ChrisHardy: About time!

@LiamThomas: Jesus, I’ve been waiting for this.

@NoahHardy: Congrats, babies!

@KaiHardy: Fu*king finally!

@RyanHardy: Starting the year the best way possible. Love you two.

@ColtJones: Love you, family!

@ChaseBryant: Obsessed with you!

@AidenJames: Thalia, the woman you are! Love you, sis. Congrats, brother!

All these comments appeared immediately after Ethan uploaded the photo, judging by the timestamps.

When we came upstairs, they went straight to check Ethan’s profile—obviously. They all have alerts on for each other; any post or news with their names triggers instant notifications.

And because apparently I haven’t cried enough from seeing the photo and reading the comments from the guys and Sierra, a few more appeared less than an hour ago.

@SaraHardy: Officially family, daughter.

@MayaThomas: About time indeed. Love you, kids!

Now I can’t hold back my tears anymore. My body starts trembling, and my sobbing seems to wake Ethan.

Disoriented, he looks at me for a few moments, then snaps fully awake and sits up.

“What happened, kitten?” he asks, voice thick with concern. “Are you okay?”

He pulls me close, checking me as if to make sure nothing is physically wrong.

I hand him my phone and bury my face in his chest, crying freely now that he’s awake.

“Kitten,” he groans, probably seeing the reason for my tears on the screen. “Please calm down,” he pleads. “I can’t stand seeing you cry—not even from happiness.”

That makes me laugh, my emotions everywhere. I no longer know which feeling is the strongest, or how I’m supposed to react.

He locks my phone and sets it beside us. Tightening his arm around me, he pulls me closer while his other hand moves gently through my hair.

“I should have done this years ago,” he whispers softly against my hair.

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.