Page 73 of Ethan: The Untouchable CEO

Sierra moves closer to Nick, visibly shaken. He wraps an arm around her, rubbing her back before pressing a kiss to her hair.

Thalia, on the other hand, doesn’t move. She’s completely still, eyes wide, shock written across her face.

As for the paparazzo, he’s gone silent. A moment ago, he was shouting and waving his arms—now he’s pale, trembling, completely petrified.

I can’t tell if he’s stupid, reckless enough to know Colt’s reputation and still risk his life for a few lousy photos, or if he had no idea who he was dealing with until now. Either way, reality’s hitting him hard.

“I want to know how the hell he got in here,” Colt says to his right-hand man, his tone cold, as two of the guards drag the paparazzo toward the exit. “And he doesn’t leave until you find out who he works for and what he wanted the pictures for.”

At that, Sierra turns sharply, her eyes following the man being dragged toward one of the rented cars.

“I…” she starts, but the words die in her throat, unsure how to address Colt in this moment.

He glances back at her, then at Thalia, his brow lifting slightly when he realizes both of them are terrified.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “We practically live together, we’re at every damn private event and party together, you’ve both been to my house, and now you’re scared of me?”

“Hey, it’s the first time I’ve actually seen you… like this,” Sierra says, her voice small, but steadier now.

“Like what?” he asks, amused.

“Mobster,” she whispers, barely audible, before hiding her face in Nick’s chest.

And that’s it, the tension snaps.

We all burst out laughing, loud and unrestrained, the sound rolling across the beach, washing away the edge that lingered just moments ago.

TWENTY-NINE

Ethan

Later that evening, I’m in my bungalow, stretched out in bed with my laptop resting across my thighs, reviewing a proposal for a project set to start once I’m back at the office.

I’m propped against the headboard—the only position that doesn’t make my ribs throb. I’m certain they’re not broken, just badly bruised and swollen, the skin marked in deep shades of purple.

“Ethan, are you listening?” Irina’s voice cuts cleanly through my thoughts.

Right. I forgot to mention, I’m on a call with her. She’s walking me through the basics of the new project.

“Yeah, I’m here. Go on.”

“The new event company you’ve brought in will handle all of our in-house events from now on, especially for the Hong Kong client who wants to work with us. Now we can provide everything ourselves, no more outsourcing to third parties…”

She keeps talking, but I stop listening.

Because standing in the doorway leading to my terrace is Thalia.

She watches me for a few moments, likely trying to figure out who I’m speaking to. Then, apparently deciding she has every right to interrupt, she slides the door open wider and steps inside.

The entire time, my gaze never leaves her, while Irina’s voice fades into nothing more than distant noise.

Thalia walks straight to the bed, reaches for my laptop, turns the screen toward herself, and without hesitation ends the call. Then she closes it and sets it aside on the desk.

I still haven’t moved. Haven’t said a word. I just watch her, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

Without pausing, she climbs onto the bed, one leg on each side of me, settling into my lap, fully facing me.

Her eyes roam slowly over my chest, lingering on every contour, every bruise, every tense line of muscle. Then they drift to the inflamed area, her expression sharpening—curious, almost predatory.