Unshaken

 Just as Lucas was about to jog after her, his phone buzzed. He grimaced, seeing his mom's name flash on the screen.

 "Hello, Mom," he answered reluctantly.

 "Where are you, dear?" came his mother's warm voice.

 "Just a few blocks away, Mom. Coming," he said, glancing ahead at Zara, who was slipping further from view.

 "All right, come fast."

 "Okay, Mom."

 He hung up and looked up again, only to find Zara gone.

 Lucas's grin faded. He scanned the street, but she'd completely vanished.

 Thinking about the cold and aloof girl, his lips curved into a determined smirk. "Cold or not, honey—you can't shake me that easily."

 After saying that, he got back into his car and started off.

 Zara walked into the villa, the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the cool morning air. Her sneakers made soft thuds against the polished marble floor as she headed toward the living room, wiping the last traces of sweat from her brow.

 Her steps slowed as her eyes landed on Ethan.

 Ethan sat on the sofa, legs crossed, completely at ease despite the open files scattered on the table in front of him. Gone was his usual sharp, tailored look—instead, he wore simple houseware: a fitted black T-shirt that hinted at his lean, strong frame and comfortable grey lounge pants. His tousled hair fell slightly over his forehead, softened by the casual glow of the morning light.

 It was the first time she'd seen him like this—without the weight of business attire or the polished veneer of formality. 

 Even while reviewing documents, there was an air of composure and command about him that made it impossible to look away. How does someone look this good in casuals? she thought, bewildered.

 Her feet remained rooted to the spot, her gaze lingering on the curve of his jaw, the way his fingers tapped absently on the file as he read. The man was undeniably captivating, even in the simplest moments.

 As though sensing her presence, Ethan looked up. His sharp eyes softened the moment they met hers. With a deliberate, fluid motion, he placed the file on the table and stood, moving toward her with a grace that seemed almost practiced.

 "Good morning, Lia," he greeted, his voice low and velvety.

 Zara came back to her senses and gave a polite nod, her expression neutral. "Good Morning."

 His smile faltered slightly as his eyes caught the faint bandage on her neck. The warmth in his gaze was quickly replaced by concern.

 "You went jogging?" he asked, the disapproval clear in his tone.

 Zara shrugged nonchalantly. "Needed fresh air."

 Ethan's lips parted as if to say something, but he hesitated, visibly holding himself back. He moved closer, his voice gentle but firm. "You shouldn't be jogging, Zara. You're injured. You need rest."

 She grabbed the water bottle from the nearby table, uncapped it, and deliberately took a slow sip. "It's just a scratch," she dismissed coolly.

 Ethan exhaled quietly, clearly struggling to maintain composure. His jaw tightened, but when he spoke again, his tone remained soft. "You can't afford to be careless about the wound, Lia."

 Zara arched a brow, her lips curving into a faint, teasing smile. "What are you going to do about it? Scold me?"

 His expression flickered with helpless frustration, but he quickly masked it with a helpless smile. "You know I can't," he murmured, almost to himself.

 Zara tilted her head, feigning indifference. "Then maybe don't waste your breath."

 Ethan let out a quiet, defeated laugh, shaking his head. "You really don't make it easy, do you?"

 "Nope," she quipped, turning toward the stairs.

 "Lia," he called softly, his voice warm despite his clear exasperation.

 She paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

 "You know I just don't want you to get hurt," he admitted quietly, sincerity shining in his gaze.

 Her chest tightened unexpectedly, but she masked it with another nonchalant shrug. "Noted," she said breezily before continuing up the stairs.

 As she ascended, she could feel his gaze lingering, warm and gentle, and despite her attempt at cold indifference, her heart betrayed her with a subtle thrum that echoed louder than his quiet words.

 Seeing Zara walk up the stairs without sparing him another glance, Ethan exhaled a soft breath and shook his head, a faint, helpless smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

 There was no frustration left in him—just an overwhelming fondness that made reason seem like a distant thought. What am I supposed to do with her? he wondered, completely captivated by the woman who managed to twist his emotions in ways no one else ever had.

 Unable to keep his gaze from following her until she disappeared around the corner, Ethan rubbed the back of his neck and let out a quiet chuckle, more to himself than anyone else. 

 Carter and David, who had been silent witnesses to the entire exchange, stood frozen, as though breathing too loudly might draw Ethan's attention—and wrath.

 They had seen countless boardroom battles and negotiations where their boss commanded absolute dominance, his presence suffocating the room like an ominous storm cloud.

 Ethan Arcland wasn't just intimidating—he was ruthless, calculating, and, in Carter's words, the devil in a tailored suit.

 But today?

 They had just witnessed the unthinkable. Miss Zara had faced him down—not with fear, not even with hesitation—but with casual indifference. She dismissed Ethan as though his legendary wrath and terrifying reputation were beneath her notice.

 Carter swallowed hard, glancing nervously at David. "Did she… just walk off like that?" he whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief.

 David, his eyes wide, gave a slow nod, his shock evident. "She didn't just walk off. She shut him down," he muttered. 

 They both turned their eyes back to Ethan, their breath held, waiting for the storm. Surely, this was the moment where the infamous Ethan Arcland would unleash his fury—his jaw tightening, his eyes darkening, his voice like ice cutting through the air.

 But nothing came.

 Ethan stood utterly still only his back visible, his expression unreadable, like a predator momentarily stunned. No anger, no irritation, not even the faintest crack in his mask of composure.

 Carter leaned closer to David, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think I'd rather see him explode. This… this is terrifying."

 David nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah," he murmured. "He's the devil, and...."

 David's words barely left his lips before he felt Carter's sharp nudge in his side. The slight pressure was enough to snap him back into the reality of the situation.

 He quickly glanced around, suddenly aware that they were still standing in their boss's territory—their boss's domain, where any hint of disrespect could be met with consequences.

 David shut his mouth in realization, but thinking about it, he whispered to Carter slowly, "But... she didn't even flinch. What does that make her?"

 Neither dared to voice the thought lingering in their minds. If their boss was the devil, what kind of power did Miss Zara wield to walk away unscathed?