Sunit Embrace

Chapter 5: Ethan Carter

I HATE YOU, RIGHT?

A week into Julia being accepted into her new position—a model—and I was already sick of seeing her face. Everywhere I turned around, she was there. Laughing with the photography team, walking through the halls like she owned them, her stupid heels clacking like applause I never asked for.

I swear, her face was on every poster, every screen. I'd walk into the building and catch her face in places I wasn't ready for. Billboards in my own damn lobby.

Like the entire company had suddenly become The Julia Show and I missed the memo.

And the worst part? She was good at it.

All the shoots I caught a glimpse of—yeah, they were professionally done. Perfect lighting, perfect angles. But it wasn't the camera doing all the work. No. It was her. Julia. Her dumb smile. That chaotic sparkle in her eye. It made me want to lose my mind.

I hated it.

I hated her.

Or at least, I kept telling myself that.

We fought constantly. Over everything. The air conditioning setting. Elevator buttons. One time, we had a full argument over the definition of "urgent." But today? Today...felt different.

Today she didn't look like the same girl who usually walked in like she was skipping through a damn rom-com. I was walking past the modeling floor when I caught her through the half-glass wall. She looked like shit. And I mean real shit. Under-eyes red. Face pale. Like she hadnt slept in days, or cried all night. Maybe both.

I stopped.

Why the hell did I stop?

Like some idiot.

I leaned against the door casually, like I wasn't eavesdropping—but let's be real, I was. I could hear the manager's voice. Gruff. Cold.

"Ms. Julia, do I look like I give a damn? Please think of others for once. We need you."

The urge to kick the door open and tell him where to shove that attitude crawled up my spine. My jaw clenched.

"I feel sick, though..." Julia's voice was soft. She sounded...broken. "I don't look okay for the shoot."

That was it.

I exhaled slowly, jaw locked, arms crossed like I was restraining every nerve in my body from walking in and flipping a table.

I shouldn't care.

But I did.

And that scared me more than anything. In manly words that irritated me more than it should've.

I stepped away quickly as I heard someone approaching. Didn't want to get caught listening like some high schooler outside a guidance counsellor's office.

Minutes later, I was back. Couldn't help myself. Walked right into the shoot like I owned the place (which, technically, I kinda do).

Others might've thought I was there to declare war, and maybe I was.

"Cut the damn camera. Now." My voice echoed. The room went dead silent. The cameraman froze. Eyes darted. You could hear a pin drop.

"The woman said she's sick. So why the hell is she standing here like she's auditioning for America's Next Top Breakdown?" I snapped.

Everyone blinked. No one moved.

"Pack it up, Julia. Leave. Now. And if I see this again with any model, the manager of that team's gone before they can blink." My tone was cold. Final. I didn't wait for a reply. I walked out.

Ten minutes later, I was back in my office. Spinning slowly in my chair like a villain in a cheap movie. Just as I took a sip of my bitter-ass black coffee, a knock.

"Come in," I said dryly, not even looking up.

She walked in.

Julia.

Eyes still tired, but burning with something new: fire.

I swiveled to face her fully. She stood five feet away, arms crossed, lips pressed tight like she'd been rehearsing the line she was about to say.

"How can I help you, Ms. Julia?" I asked casually, flipping a page on the document in front of me, like I didn't just hijack her entire shoot.

She didn't miss a beat. "Why the fuck did you do that shit?"

I looked up. Slowly. Raised one eyebrow.

"Are you asking me why?" My voice was cool, rough.

"Yes, and yes," she shot back. "What are you gonna do apologize? Cry into your overpriced espresso? Tell me I 'look tired' again?"

Oh she had jokes. I stood, pushing my chair back. She didn't flinch.

I walked toward her, slow and deliberate. I stopped just inches away. So close I could smell her perfume—it was sweet, like vanilla and honey mixed with gasoline. Dangerous and pretty.

"Repeat that again, Julia," I said low, my voice grazing the shell of her ear, "and you'll see."

The room went still. I wasn't sure what the hell I meant by that, but it sounded badass, and I wasn't about to ruin the moment by explaining.

She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. Her jaw clenched. "I'm not your damn doll, Ethan," she hissed.

A smirk tugged at my lips. She turned sharply, heels clicking across the floor as she stormed out like she was on a runway.

I watched her go, leaning against the desk with both my hands. Still trying to figure out why my chest felt tight.

Was it anger?

Annoyance?

...Or something worse?

I shook the thought off and dropped back into my chair.

Whatever it was, it didn't matter. She wasn't my problem.

Except...She kinda of was.

And that scared the hell out of me.