We Met

Sia's POV

I chuckled lightly and bit my lower lip. "What is it you really want, Mr. Brooks?" I asked, unable to believe the words leaving his mouth.

Not only was I his nephew's ex-wife, but I had also called him a security guard earlier. So how could he possibly want to marry me?

"Uncle, what are you saying?" Ashton approached us angrily. I could see him clench his fists and sigh heavily, trying to suppress his anger before adding,

"Sia is my wife."

"Ex-wife," I corrected, but he paid no attention to me and focused his gaze on Ethan.

"You're joking, right?" he asked again, but Ethan took a step closer to me, and what he did next left me completely stunned.

He carried me in his arms, and I gasped lightly, unable to react to his sudden gesture.

"Let's talk somewhere else," Ethan muttered before walking out of the study with me in his arms. He exited through the garden, and all I could do was stare at him, utterly confused.

What does he want from me? Why was he being nice?

After a few minutes, we arrived at Ethan's car, and he finally placed me down.

"Are you trying to punish me because I called you a security guard?" I questioned, but he shook his head in denial and pulled the car door open for me.

"Get in," he ordered. I rolled my eyes. As if I'd actually follow him.

"I don't want to be a part of whatever silly game you're playing right now," I snorted and dragged my feet to walk away. But Ethan, in one swift motion, lifted me again. I flung my legs and hit his chest in protest.

"Put me down! This is kidnapping!" I scolded, but he turned a deaf ear and forced me into the car before shutting the door.

Ethan walked around, got into the driver's seat, and started the engine. I could only pout, knowing that shouting wouldn't get me out of this situation.

"You said I was your type," Ethan uttered, and my face flushed.

"Uh...uhm…I...I was talking about your height. That's it—just your height," I stammered, my voice betraying my embarrassment.

"You called me yours," he added, and I cleared my throat, laughing sarcastically to cover my shame.

"Wh—aat? I?" I chuckled nervously. "I called you that? Don't be delusional."

Thankfully, he stayed quiet after that and didn't utter another word. I kept praying silently, hoping we'd soon go our separate ways. But where was he taking me?

I glanced out of the window, then turned to him. "Where are you taking me?" I asked, my tone sharper this time.

"Home," Ethan replied, and I frowned.

What home?

"You don't know where I live," I stated. Besides, I had checked into a hotel after leaving Ashton's house. So, where could he possibly be taking me?

"Hmm," Ethan mumbled nonchalantly as the car pulled into a massive mansion. My confusion only deepened.

This wasn't my home.

What place was this?

Ethan parked the car, got out, and walked to my side. He opened the door and asked, "Does your leg hurt a lot?"

I stared at him blankly. Before I could respond, he carried me out of the car and walked into the mansion.

We entered a grand sitting room. A massive chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, and the space was tastefully decorated with white and gold furniture. The place radiated warmth and luxury.

"Whose house is this?" I asked. Did he think I lived here? If the owner showed up, we'd be in serious trouble.

"You're hurt, so stay here tonight. We'll sign the marriage documents tomorrow," Ethan explained calmly. What startled me most was the complete lack of amusement on his face.

He was dead serious.

I wriggled in his arms, and he finally placed me on my feet. Stepping back, I asked in disbelief, "What marriage?"

"Why do you want to marry me? You know very well I'm still married to your nephew." Technically, the divorce papers hadn't been registered yet, so Ashton and I were still legally married.

"You really don't remember me," Ethan muttered, and I snorted. Of course, I remembered our affair last night, but that was it.

"Just because we had a one-night affair doesn't mean you have to take responsibility for me. I won't marry you," I declared, my voice firm.

Ethan walked closer, his fingers trailing over my lips. My chest heaved as I stood frozen, too weak and in too much pain to take a step back.

"Sia Schneider," he said, and my eyes widened in shock.

"Where…where did you get that name from?" I stammered, panic rising in my chest. My new identity was Sia Jones. I had left that name behind when I moved to America, and no one here knew it—except Jules.

"You really don't remember anything," Ethan said, frowning as he stepped back.

"I'll get a pomade for your sprain," he quickly changed the topic and walked away, leaving me standing there, devastated.

He couldn't just drop a bomb like that and leave. Where the hell had he learned my real name?

It wasn't long before Ethan returned with the pomade, gesturing for me to sit on the sofa.

"Have a seat," he ordered.

I crossed my arms below my chest and demanded, "How did you know my name?"

"You told me," Ethan replied.

I chuckled bitterly. "I've never told anyone in America about my name, so stop lying."

"You told me in Germany," he added, and I frowned deeply.

I could swear this was the first time I'd ever met Ethan Brooks. So when could we have met in Germany?

For context, yes, I was German. My mother, an American, had married my father, a German. Apparently, my mother's genes were stronger because I ended up with her features.

I'd been born and raised in Germany, but when I moved to America, I changed my identity. So how did Ethan know? Even Ashton, who'd been married to me, hadn't figured it out.

"Did she come back?" Ethan asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Who?" I asked, confused.

"Your mom. Did she come back?" he repeated.

I clenched my fists. "That's none of your business, Mr. Brooks. And for the record, my name is Sia Jones. I have no connection to you or Germany," I hissed, dragging my feet toward the door.

Luckily, Ethan didn't follow me. I made it to the gate and quickly booked a cab, which was five minutes away.

Just then, a new message chimed on my phone. It was from an unknown number, and it read:

[28 February 2016, Zentrum Polizei Wien…we met.]

I froze. I could never forget that day—nine years ago.

And somehow, I had a gut feeling the message was from Ethan.

Did we really meet?