Luelle
Luelle froze in place, her heart pounding as the muffled sound broke through the stillness of the apartment. It came from Ethan's room—a faint thud, followed by a sharp noise that she couldn't quite place. The sound sent a jolt of urgency through her, but she hesitated, her gaze darting to the mirror across the room.
Her disguise was off—Elena King stripped away piece by piece. Her wig was tucked away in the cupboard, her face mask within arm's reach. But putting it all back on would take time—time Ethan might not have. She couldn't risk walking in as herself, bare-faced, without the armor that shielded her true identity.
And so, her decision was made in an instant.
She moved quickly, pulling on a black t-shirt and sweater pants, her movements smooth and practiced. Her golden hair disappeared beneath a black beanie as she grabbed the essentials—a small flashlight, her phone and her room key, and slipped silently out of her bedroom window. The night air hit her skin like a cold slap, but she didn't pause. Her focus sharpened, her instincts taking over.
The ledge outside the apartment was narrow, the kind of precarious perch most people would balk at. But Luelle wasn't most people. She had done this before, dozens of times, using the same path from Gerard's apartment whenever she needed to check on Ethan without being seen. It was dangerous—one wrong step, one lapse in concentration, and the consequences were unforgiving. But tonight, she didn't think about the risk. She couldn't afford to.
Her movements were precise, her grip steady as she edged along the ledge, each step calculated to avoid the faint crunch of debris that collected in the corners. When she reached Ethan's window, she stopped, assessing. As expected, the window was closed, leaving her no easy access. She continued further along the ledge, her gaze fixed on the balcony ahead.
The balcony door was always unlocked—a detail Ethan had never bothered to fix, no matter how often the Dominion preached security. The curtains were drawn, shielding the inside from view, but Luelle didn't hesitate. She slipped inside, the fabric brushing against her as she entered the room.
The apartment was quiet. Luelle's breath was soft, controlled, as she listened for any sounds that might indicate where the noise had come from. Nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and unnerving, as she moved deeper into the space.
Ethan's bedroom door was ajar, a faint sliver of light spilling into the hallway. She pushed the door open slowly, her eyes scanning the room before they landed on him. Her breath caught, the urgency in her chest twisting into something sharper, heavier.
Ethan lay on the floor, his body curled slightly, his skin pale and damp with sweat. His breathing was shallow, uneven, each rise and fall of his chest a struggle. For a moment, Luelle froze, the sight of him knocking the air from her lungs. He looked fragile—more fragile than she had ever seen him.
She dropped to her knees beside him, her movements quick and sure as she pressed a hand to his forehead. The heat radiating from his skin was enough to confirm what she had already suspected—he was feverish, burning up.
"Ethan," she murmured, her voice low but urgent. Her hand gripped his shoulder, trying to rouse him. "Come on, wake up."
He groaned faintly, the sound barely audible, his eyes fluttering but not opening. Luelle's chest tightened, her mind racing as she considered her options. She couldn't call for help—not without risking everything. And she couldn't leave him like this.
"Come on, Ethan," she whispered again, her voice soft but insistent. "You're stronger than this."
She struggled to get him back on his bed. His eyes open for a few seconds "Ghost Girl" he whispers holding her closely, sinking back into unconsciousness.
Luelle fetched a wet cloth from the bathroom, gave him prescribed medicine, and ensured his condition stabilized. Then she went back to her room and put on her Elena disguise. Luelle will not surface tonight.
Ethan
Ethan stirred, his mind swimming somewhere between the haze of sleep and the pull of wakefulness. The room was dim, the faint glow of moonlight slipping through the curtains and casting soft shadows across the walls. His breath was slow, his chest heavy with the lingering traces of fever, but it wasn't the discomfort that caught his attention—it was the presence.
He blinked, his gaze focusing on the figure sitting in the chair near his bed, her posture relaxed as she slept. For a moment, his heart stilled. The sight tugged at the edges of a memory, a familiar pull he couldn't quite place. Ghost Girl.
That chair… it was where she always sat in his dreams, watching over him, silent but steady. But this wasn't a dream, and the woman before him wasn't the fleeting phantom his mind conjured in the depths of his nightmares. It was Elena.
Her head was tilted slightly to the side, her arms folded loosely across her chest. Her breathing was soft, even, the kind of rhythm that came from exhaustion finally catching up.
He studied her face, noting the sharp lines and edges that always seemed so perfectly composed, so meticulously crafted. Her makeup was flawless, as always—every detail intentional, every feature enhanced to fit the image she projected to the world. It struck him then, the thought weaving its way through his fogged mind: Is she ever just herself?
He didn't know why the question lingered, why it felt important. But as he looked at her now, with her guard down, her mask still firmly in place, he couldn't help but wonder what she looked like underneath it all—not just her makeup, but the persona she wore so effortlessly. Did she ever have moments where she let the world see her as she truly was? Did she ever let anyone in far enough to see the woman behind the polished façade?
Ethan exhaled softly, shifting slightly against the pillows. The movement made him wince, the ache in his muscles reminding him of his body's fragility. But he didn't take his eyes off her, his thoughts swirling. Elena King, the untouchable CEO of EK Enterprises, the woman who commanded rooms with her presence alone, looked almost… human like this. Vulnerable, even.
He shifted again, and her face flickered in and out of focus as his fever-clouded mind drifted. He thought of the Ghost Girl again, the one who always seemed to anchor him in the chaos of his dreams. There was something about the way Elena sat there that reminded him of her—the quiet vigilance, the sense of someone watching over him without asking for anything in return. But this wasn't his dream. It was Elena, flesh and blood, though no less enigmatic.
Ethan shifted slightly, the movement pulling at his aching muscles. The sound of the bed creaking must have been enough to stir her, because Elena's lashes fluttered, and she drew in a sharp breath as her eyes opened. For a brief moment, the vulnerability lingered—her gaze softened by sleep, her posture still relaxed. But then, as though a switch had been flipped, everything about her sharpened. Her back straightened, her expression cooling into the polished, impenetrable mask he was so accustomed to.
"You're awake," she said softly, her voice carrying a practiced composure that belied the concern still faintly visible in her eyes.
He didn't answer immediately, still adjusting to the faint ache in his head and the sight of her so close. She rose from the chair, smoothing the fabric of her trousers as she moved toward him with a deliberate calm. Her gaze swept over his face, assessing, but her features gave little away.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice clipped but steady. She didn't wait for his reply before picking up the glass of water from his nightstand. She crouched slightly beside the bed, holding the glass out to him.
Ethan blinked, her sudden shift throwing him off balance. Moments ago, she had been a world away from the formidable CEO he had known, but now… now, she was very much back in that role, poised and commanding. He accepted the glass silently, his fingers brushing hers as he took it. The touch was fleeting, but he thought he caught her flinch—just barely, but it was there.
"You need to drink," Elena said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument. "And then you need to sleep."
Ethan sipped the water slowly, his gaze drifting back to her as she moved to sit closer, her focus unwavering. She was still watching him—studying him, it seemed—but the concern she had let slip earlier was buried now, hidden beneath layers of careful control. He wondered, fleetingly, what it would take to break through that mask. Had she always been this guarded, or was it something the world had forced her to become?
"You don't need to stay," he murmured, his voice low and rough. It felt like a feeble attempt to wrest back some semblance of control, but the truth was, he didn't want her to leave.
Her expression remained neutral, though there was a flicker of something—annoyance, maybe—beneath the surface. "You're feverish and unsteady," she replied matter-of-factly. "I'm not leaving you alone in this state."
Ethan leaned back against the pillows, the water still cool in his hand. He studied her carefully, noting the precision in her every movement, the way she carried herself even now. "You're always like this, aren't you?" he said quietly, not entirely sure why he voiced the thought aloud.
Her brows lifted faintly, her composure faltering just enough to show mild surprise. "Like what?"
"Composed," he said, his gaze steady. "Perfectly controlled. As if everything you do is rehearsed."
Elena's lips curved into the faintest smile—a calculated gesture, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Habit, I suppose," she said, her tone light, dismissive. "You should finish the water."
She turned, moving back to the chair she'd occupied earlier, her polished exterior firmly intact. But as she sank back into the seat, Ethan thought he caught another flicker of something softer beneath the surface. Vulnerability, perhaps? Or maybe he was imagining it. Either way, he found himself watching her, even as exhaustion pulled at him again.