Ethan
The thud of the door slamming shut resonated through my apartment. A dull, relentless ache wrapped around my skull, intensifying as I stirred. Last night's drinking hadn't gone unnoticed—it magnified everything: the cruel light sneaking through the curtains, the tightness in my muscles, the emptiness pressing against me. But the sound of the door—deliberate, unmistakable—jolted me from my haze.
"Ouch," I muttered, my hand instinctively reaching for my forehead as the sharp throb in my temples made itself known. I winced, pressing my palm against my head, as though that might dull the pounding. "What the hell was I thinking?"
I sat up groggily, braving the morning light that pooled relentlessly into the room. "Damn, that's bright," I grumbled, shielding my eyes as I blinked against the glare. A wave of confusion washed over me as I struggled to piece together the night before.
Then, the fragments of memory clicked into place.
Her.
The woman.
My pulse quickened, the ache in my head briefly forgotten as urgency flared inside me. I swung my legs over the side of the couch, but the motion sent another sharp jab through my skull.
"Ouch. Bloody hell, Ethan, how much did you drink?" I muttered under my breath, rubbing my temple. The dryness in my mouth made me pause, and the longing for water—or anything that might soothe this hangover—pulled at me.
Shoving the thought aside, I forced myself to stand, my movements heavy, sluggish. "Come on, she is getting away" I urged myself, gripping the armrest for balance as my legs threatened to give out. "Move."I stumbled toward the door, pain pulsing with every step. By the time I reached the hallway, my breath hitched with anticipation—and dread.
Empty.
I leaned heavily against the doorframe, my throat tight, my eyes scanning the corridor. Silence greeted me. No sound of retreating footsteps, no lingering trace of her presence. Just the low rumble of the building and the quiet buzz of my own thoughts.
I ran a hand through my hair, frustration flaring as I stared down the hallway one last time.
Exhaling slowly, I stepped back inside and shut the door behind me. The soft click of the lock echoed faintly, a reminder of the sudden quiet that enveloped me.
Collapsing onto the couch, I rubbed my hands over my face, the ache in my temples refusing to relent. My mouth felt like sandpaper now, and I let out an exasperated groan.
"Water," I muttered to myself, pushing myself halfway upright again. My legs dragged toward the kitchen, where I grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the tap. I drank quickly, the coolness soothing the dryness in my throat, though the ache in my head lingered like a punishment. "I need an Aspirin" As I returned to the couch, fragments of last night replayed in my mind—the bar, the drinks, the overwhelming emptiness in my chest that had pushed me there, and her.
The woman.
Her voice had been steady, grounding. She hadn't rushed me or pushed too far. She had just… stayed. Stayed as I unraveled, as I let pieces of myself slip into the open—pieces I never shared.
Ghost Girl.
The nickname lingered in my mind, the words still echoing softly from the night before. I'd called her that, hadn't I? It felt foolish now, yet strangely fitting. She "felt" like my Ghost Girl. The girl that always save me from my nightmares.
I grew accustomed to her. I know she is a dream, but she brings me peace. She saves me from the nightmares that haunts me over and over. The nightmares I cannot make any sense of.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, burying my face in my hands as her presence clung to me. The questions swirling through my dull aching head.
Why had she reminded me of the woman from my dreams?
The phantom that hovered at the edge of my nightmares. The one whose touch grounded me when the chaos felt too strong. The one whose voice soothed me when the weight of my mind became unbearable. My Ghost Girl—the girl in my dreams. She wasn't real. She couldn't be real.
I lifted my head, my eyes falling on the door once more. The woman last night—black hair, soft-spoken, deliberate—had stirred something deep within me. Who was she? Then, Ghost Girl has blond hair, why did I think that the girl of last night were her?
My jaw tightened, frustration gnawing at me. I had been a mess last night, drinking to escape the gnawing sadness I couldn't name.
Sadness.
It had clung to me for weeks now, like a shadow I couldn't outrun.
And then there had been my father.
I gritted my teeth, holding on to the memory. His voice had been commanding, definitive—inflexible.
"It's time, Ethan. Time to find a wife. Time to solidify your place."
Duty. Obligation. Expectations tattooed on my soul before I even understood what they meant. Find a wife. Strengthen the Dominion. Bond with the forces of a greater cause. It was never about me. Never about choice.
I had smiled and nodded, played the part, and given my father precisely what he sought. But in isolation, the pressure became too much, and I cracked.
So I had gone to the bar—to deaden myself, to drown out the emptiness with the sounds of clinking glasses and the bitter burn of liquor. And that's when she had shown up.
I blinked, staring at the door, my heart pounding quietly against my ribs. She wasn't just a stranger. Her presence lingered, intertwined with something deeper, something familiar I couldn't name. I will check the security cameras later, review the footage, try to make sense of who she was.
Rowan
I knocked firmly on Ethan's door, exhaling as I waited. Brendan Mars' call echoed in my mind—short, clipped, and unmistakably urgent.
"Get to Ethan. Now. His phone's off. Bring him in."No explanation. No wasted words.
Brendan didn't need to spell things out. Ethan was the heir to the Dominion, even if, for now, his official title was just CEO—a single, public-facing cog in a much larger machine. Eventually, he would take Brendan's place as leader, inheriting a seat that carried weight far beyond what most people understood.
Which made his absence… concerning.
Ethan wasn't reckless. He was calculated, controlled, always aware of his actions. He didn't just go missing without a reason.
I shifted my stance, crossing my arms as impatience built. Had something happened? Was he avoiding Brendan? I frowned slightly at that thought. No. Not likely.
I knocked again, harder this time. "Come on, man," I muttered.
Finally, the door creaked open. I barely had a chance to speak before the smell hit me. The sharp scent of alcohol clung to Ethan like something that had settled deep into his skin. I blinked, caught off guard, my brows furrowing.
Ethan? Drunk?
It didn't make sense. Ethan didn't drink like this. He was always composed, always measured. The man standing before me looked off—sluggish, worn, his eyes carrying the weight of something I couldn't immediately place.
I let out a low whistle, shaking my head. "Jeez, buddy, you reek of alcohol."
He groaned, rubbing his temple. "Not now, Rowan."
I stepped inside without invitation, scanning the apartment. No chaos. No overturned furniture. Just Ethan, looking more disoriented than I'd ever seen him.
"When exactly did you decide to drink your body weight in liquor?" I asked, closing the door behind me.
Ethan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not—just drop it, alright?"
I frowned. "Drop it? You don't drink like this. Ever. What the hell is going on?"
He didn't answer. I studied him, letting the silence stretch. Something had pushed him into this. Ethan didn't just black out and ignore his phone without reason.
"…Right," I muttered, knowing I wouldn't get answers now. I leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Since your phone was off—and judging by your current state, I can see why—I got an early morning call from Brendan himself."
Ethan stiffened slightly, though his expression remained unreadable.
"They're waiting for you at the Dominion office," I continued. "Brendan. Jonathan. Whatever this is, they didn't appreciate you going dark."
Ethan exhaled, jaw tightening, gaze shifting toward the door.
I hesitated before speaking again, softer this time. "I had to come get you because you didn't answer."
He didn't respond.
I sighed, pushing myself off the counter. "Look, we have to go." Then, with an exaggerated wave of my hand, I added, "And for the love of everything, take a shower first. You smell like regret."
A tired chuckle escaped him as he shook his head.
"Hurry up," I added, checking the time. "I don't think Brendan and Jonathan are in the mood for waiting today." Ethan grunted in acknowledgment and disappeared into the bathroom.
I stayed where I was, arms crossed, mind still turning. Ethan never did things like this. So what the hell had changed?