When I awoke the next morning, I was surprised to find myself tucked into bed. Ethan sat beside me, his eyes scanning the financial section of the paper, calm and composed.
"Breakfast is coming," he said nonchalantly, already dialing room service as if the intimacy of the night before hadn't been fractured by our ever-growing distance.
Midway through breakfast, his question came out of nowhere: "Why did you change your phone password?" His tone was casual, but the question carried weight.
I didn't look up. "Felt like it." The truth? My old password was a combination of our birthdays. But I was planning to leave, and that no longer felt right.
Ethan set his utensils down, frustration creeping into his voice. "We never do anything together anymore. You wanted to go to the movies before, right?"
There wasn’t really an option to say no. Not to Alpha who am I bonded to obey. So, I nodded.
We ended up in an empty theater, the romantic image I’d once dreamed of playing out in front of me—Ethan and me, sitting close, watching a film. I should’ve been over the moon. But the warmth I once felt for him had long since fizzled out, replaced by icy numbness. I yawned, fighting to stay awake.