Luelle
Elena sat across from Ethan in the softly lit restaurant, her posture impeccable, her expression calm. The hum of conversation filled the air, but her focus lingered on the man in front of her. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that always seemed to unnerve her, though she never let it show. He phoned her early this morning inviting her for lunch, she accepted his invitation.
"We need to talk about the engagement," Ethan said, his voice low but firm. "The media's watching us like hawks. If we don't keep up appearances, this whole charade falls apart."
Elena tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile. "I'm aware," she replied smoothly. "I've been playing my part, haven't I?"
"You have," Ethan admitted, his gaze unwavering. "But it's not just about playing your part. It's about selling it. They need to believe we're in love—not just tolerating each other."
Elena's smile sharpened, her eyes narrowing. "And whose fault is that?" she countered, her voice measured but edged with defiance. "You announced this engagement without even talking to me, Ethan. You brought this on yourself."
Ethan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His dark eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and frustration. "Maybe I did," he said, his voice softer now. "But whether we like it or not, we're in this together. If we don't convince them, they'll tear us apart."
Elena took a slow sip of her water, her mind racing behind her composed expression. "And what exactly do you suggest?" she asked coolly.
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. The touch was brief, almost casual, but it sent a jolt through her, her body betraying her with an involuntary reaction. Heat rose to her cheeks, but she held her composure, refusing to let him see the way her heart quickened.
"That," Ethan said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair again. "Moments like that. We need them to believe it's real."
She withdrew her hand carefully, her movements deliberate, her mask firmly in place. "You're enjoying this far too much," she said, her tone light but edged with warning.
"Maybe," he admitted with a chuckle, his dark eyes watching her closely. "But you can't deny it works."
Elena refused to let him win this moment, tilting her head with a faint, knowing smile. "Fine," she said finally. "We'll give them what they want. But don't push your luck, Ethan."
He raised his glass of wine in a silent toast, his smirk softening into something warmer. "I wouldn't dream of it."
As he took a sip, Elena allowed her gaze to linger on him for a moment longer than necessary. His mouth—how it had felt against hers in the early hours of that morning, nearly a week ago. His hands—the strength in them as they'd explored her skin. Her pulse quickened, memories flickering like lightning across her thoughts.
She remembered every moment of that early morning encounter. She had slipped into his apartment through the secret passage, driven by an ache she couldn't ignore. She hadn't planned for what would follow—the way he would look at her, call her Ghost Girl with such longing it had shattered the walls she'd spent years building. They'd come together like two halves of a storm, and for those fleeting hours, she had let herself forget who she was.
But reality had returned with the light of dawn. She had watched him relax after their intense love making session, his features softened in the quiet stillness of the room, and she had known she couldn't stay. The risk was too great. So she had to disappear again like a ghost. Always his ghost girl.
The technique she had used to render him unconscious was subtle and precise, something she'd learned in her covert training. As her fingers brushed against the base of his neck, she had whispered an apology, her voice barely audible over the sound of his steady breathing. By the time he stirred, she was gone, leaving no trace behind.
Now, sitting across from him, she found it difficult to reconcile the man who sat before her—poised, charming, and so dangerously perceptive—with the one who had held her with such tenderness just days ago. He thought it had been a dream, and she had let him believe it.
"You're distracted again," Ethan said, breaking into her thoughts. His voice was softer now, probing, though his smirk remained. "What's on your mind?"
Elena tilted her head, her lips curving into a faint smile as she forced herself to focus. "Just thinking about the upcoming gala," she lied effortlessly. "It's not every day I'm engaged to the Dominion's golden boy."
Ethan laughed softly, shaking his head. "And here I thought I was the one lucky to have you."
His words, though playful, carried a weight she couldn't ignore. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. She was Elena King—the poised, untouchable CEO. She couldn't let her guard down, not here, not now
"Tell me more about the gala, who will attend?" she said, her tone measured as she redirected the conversation.
Ethan studied her for a moment longer, as though trying to read the thoughts she kept so carefully hidden. But then he smiled, and the tension between them eased just enough for her to breathe again. As he spoke, Elena nodded along, her expression calm and composed. Yet beneath the surface, her thoughts churned, the memory of their shared intimacy lingering like a flame she couldn't extinguish.
Ethan
Ethan's gaze lingered on Elena as she spoke, her voice steady and composed, her words sharp and deliberate. She was a force of control, and yet, in her presence, he couldn't help but feel something else stirring—a yearning that sat heavy in his chest, a longing that had nothing to do with the woman in front of him and everything to do with the phantom that haunted his thoughts.
Ghost Girl.
The name slipped into his mind unbidden, carrying with it the weight of a dream he couldn't forget. The dream had felt so vivid, so tangible—the way her lips had moved against his, the way her touch had ignited something raw and unrestrained. In that haze of half-sleep, she had been real to him, her presence filling an emptiness he hadn't realized was there. But Ghost Girl wasn't real. She was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, a subconscious creation born from his own unmet desires.
And yet, he couldn't stop himself from searching for her in others. In moments like this, as he studied Elena, he wondered if she could fill the gap—if she could be the connection he was missing, the spark he couldn't let go of. She was nothing like Ghost Girl, not in the ways that mattered. But sometimes, when her mask slipped, when her composure faltered for just a second, he saw traces of her. Or maybe he wanted to see them. Maybe he was looking for something that wasn't there.
Elena's eyes met his, sharp and unreadable, and for the briefest moment, he thought he saw it—the flicker of passion, the faint crack in her armor. His breath hitched, but he reminded himself that it could just as easily be his imagination. She wasn't Ghost Girl, and she never could be. But his subconscious didn't care. It wanted to believe, wanted her to step into the role that no one else had ever filled.
It was dangerous, this pull he felt toward her. He enjoyed her company, her wit, her presence, but he couldn't ignore the undertones of suspicion. She was too perfect, too prepared, too composed to be entirely genuine. There was a mystery beneath her surface, one he couldn't yet unravel. And part of him wondered if his fascination was rooted in that mystery—or in his quiet hope that she might, somehow, fill the void Ghost Girl had left in his mind.
As Elena's lips curved into a faint smile, Ethan felt himself responding instinctively, mirroring her expression even as his thoughts swirled. She was challenging, magnetic, untouchable in ways that frustrated and intrigued him. She wasn't the woman in his dream, but perhaps, on some level, he wanted her to be.
He set his wine glass down, leaning forward slightly, testing the spark that always seemed to hum between them. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her own glass, a fleeting moment of unintentional reaction that didn't go unnoticed. Ethan smirked, his voice carrying a note of playful warmth as he said, "You're distracted, Elena. What's on your mind?"
She looked at him then, her expression composed but her gaze sharp, as if she knew exactly what he was doing. "Just thinking about the gala," she replied smoothly, deflecting with practiced ease. "It's not every day I'm engaged to the Dominion's golden boy."
Ethan chuckled softly, shaking his head. "And here I thought I was the one lucky to have you."
Her smile sharpened, but she didn't respond, instead lifting her glass in a silent toast. Ethan raised his own glass to meet hers, the tension between them briefly dissipating as the clink echoed softly in the air. But as he watched her, as he studied the way she carried herself and the layers she kept hidden, he couldn't shake the thought.
Maybe Ghost Girl was just a dream. Maybe she didn't exist. But the gap she left in him was real, and some part of him would keep searching until it was filled.