The Road Back to You

Violet walked into the office the next morning, adjusting the strap of her bag as she let out a deep breath. The air inside the design firm felt heavier than usual, probably because of everything that had happened yesterday. Ethan's sudden kindness, Maddie's cruelty, and that unexpected moment in the storage room.

She shook her head. Don't think about it, Violet.

Just as she reached her desk, Jade leaned over from his own workspace, sipping coffee like the gossip-loving best friend he had become.

"So, you and Mr. Stone Cold Sinclair got locked in a storage room together last night, huh?" he asked, wiggling his brows.

"News travels fast in this place," Violet groaned, tossing her bag onto her chair. 

"You should know by now, we thrive on drama," Jade smirked. 

"Well, sorry to disappoint, but nothing happened," Violet rolled her eyes but smiled. Having Jade around made things easier. 

"Oh, something definitely happened. Ethan hasn't fired anyone today, which means he's in a suspiciously good mood," Jade gave her a knowing look. 

Before she could respond, Maddie sauntered into the office, her designer heels clicking against the floor like a warning bell. Her sharp gaze landed on Violet, lips curling into a smirk. "Oh, look. Our little charity case is still here."

Jade tensed beside Violet, but she placed a hand on his arm. "Not today," she murmured, choosing to ignore Maddie and focus on her work instead. It wasn't worth the energy.

"I'm surprised you made it in after yesterday's disaster. Then again, I suppose desperation makes people persistent," Maddie, however, wasn't done. 

"Desperation makes you persistent, Madeline," Ethan's voice cut through the office like a blade.

Maddie's smirk faltered as she turned to face him. Ethan didn't even spare her a glance before looking at Violet. "My office. Now."

"Uh-oh. Looks like you are getting fired after all," Jade made an exaggerated grimace. 

Violet shot him a glare before following Ethan into his office. Once inside, he handed her a thick folder. "I reviewed your latest designs. They're solid, but I want you to refine these two," he said, pointing at a couple of sketches. His voice was calm, neutral even. No sign of anger from yesterday.

"You... don't hate them?" Violet blinked. 

"Should I?" Ethan leaned back in his chair, watching her. 

She hesitated, remembering how he had scolded her the day before over the ruined sketches Maddie had switched. But now, he was treating her like nothing had happened.

"You…you were really mad yesterday," she blurted.

"I was mad at the work, not you. There's a difference," Ethan sighed, rubbing his temples. 

Something inside her softened at that, but she quickly buried it.

Not getting attached, Violet. Nope.

That night, while most of the office had cleared out, Violet stayed back. She had stumbled upon something unexpected in her personal workspace earlier; a brand-new set of canvases, high-quality paints, and brushes. No note, no explanation. Just... sitting there.

Who left them? She had no idea. But whoever it was, they knew her well.

Excited, she spread out the canvas and started painting. Hours passed, and before she knew it, she was covered in splashes of color, fully immersed in her work. She didn't even notice someone watching her.

Ethan stood at the entrance of her workspace, arms crossed, observing. She looked so different like this, unguarded, free. The usual clumsy mess, yes, but also completely in her element. Her nose had a smudge of blue paint, her hair was pulled into a messy bun with a streak of red on her cheek.

He should've left. But instead, he took a step forward.

Just then, Violet turned around to grab another tube of paint and—

Splash!

The moment happened in slow motion. A whole cup of bright orange paint went flying straight at Ethan.

Violet gasped. Ethan just stood there, stunned, as the thick liquid dripped down his perfectly tailored black shirt. His face was unreadable.

"Oh. My. God." Violet slapped her hands over her mouth. "I—I—"

Ethan finally looked down at his ruined shirt and then back at her.

The silence stretched.

Then, to Violet's complete horror, his lips twitched. Before she could process it, Ethan let out a deep chuckle.

"Are you serious right now?" he muttered, wiping at his shirt with zero success. "This is custom made, Violet."

"I'll—I'll pay for dry cleaning!" she blurted. "Oh wait, no, I can't afford that—okay, maybe I can YouTube how to remove paint stains, or—or—"

"Just... stop," Ethan shook his head. 

She pressed her lips together, eyes wide. He sighed and reached forward, swiping a finger across her cheek. He held it up, red paint.

"You're a disaster," he muttered.

"Well, you stood in the way," Violet crossed her arms. 

"I stood at the entrance."

"Exactly. In the way."

Ethan let out another low laugh, and Violet realized he was amused. He wasn't scolding her, wasn't annoyed. He was... entertained.

"Unbelievable," he murmured, shaking his head as he peeled off his now-ruined suit jacket. "You're going to be the death of me."

"W-well. Next time, knock," Violet swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were. Her pulse stuttered as she stepped back. 

"Noted," Ethan smirked. 

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Violet standing there, her heart doing very, very weird things inside her chest.

Later that night, as Violet sat in her tiny apartment, she stared at her half-finished painting. She needed to focus. Her dream of opening an art gallery was still there, waiting. After this project, she would figure it out.

But tonight? Tonight, she could still feel the ghost of Ethan Sinclair's chuckle in her ears and the warmth of his presence lingering far longer than it should.

And that? That was dangerous.