chapter 118: What made him who he is

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Chapter 118 – Amara's POV

"What Made Him Who He Is"

It was hours later, but I still felt the ghost of his words echoing inside me.

"I want a future with you. With our baby."

He hadn't pressured me. He hadn't demanded or manipulated. He simply shared — a quiet, vulnerable dream that shook something deep within me.

And I hadn't run.

I'd thought I might. A year ago, I would've. But now?

Now I was curled up on his couch, one of his soft pullovers drowning me, sipping warm tea while he cleaned the kitchen — humming something off-key and stealing glances at me like he couldn't help himself.

It was the calmest I'd felt in ages.

But calm came with questions too.

Because as he moved around the kitchen with ease — knowing where every spice and plate belonged — I realized I didn't really know where he came from.

He'd told me bits and pieces about his work, about Arya, and once even about a drunken night in college that nearly got him expelled. But family?

Nothing. Not really.

Not a name. Not a face. Not even a memory.

And now that we were here, on the edge of something so big and real and possibly lifelong… I found myself wondering: what kind of family raised a man like Ethan Lantel?

A man with charm but sadness behind his eyes. A man who made billions but slept better with my hand on his chest. A man who wanted kids but flinched sometimes at love, like it could disappear if he blinked too long.

I watched him from the couch, towel over his shoulder, hair a little messy, barefoot and humming a song I didn't recognize.

"Ethan?"

He looked up quickly, like he was afraid I'd say I was leaving or that something was wrong. "Yeah, baby?"

I bit my lip, unsure how to ask. "Can I… ask you something personal?"

His body stilled, but he nodded. "Always."

I hesitated. "You never really talk about your family."

He blinked once, then again.

For a moment, I thought I'd pushed too hard.

But he didn't shut down. He came over slowly, drying his hands, then sat beside me — close, but quieter now.

"No one really asks," he said after a beat.

I swallowed. "Can I?"

He nodded.

I waited.

And finally, he started.

"My parents weren't... warm. I think that's the best way to say it." His voice was calm, but his fingers toyed with the edge of my sleeve. "My father was all business. Cold. Calculating. I don't remember him ever saying he was proud of me — even when I made my first million."

"And your mother?"

"She was... there. Physically. Not emotionally. Always at galas or running from one charity board to another. She smiled more for cameras than for me."

My chest tightened. "I'm so sorry."

He shrugged like he was used to brushing it off. "It's not like they hit me or screamed. It was more… the kind of neglect that doesn't show up in bruises. Just silence. And distance."

I reached for his hand, lacing my fingers with his. "That's still pain, Ethan."

He looked at our hands and sighed. "I always promised myself I'd be the opposite. That if I ever had a kid, I'd be there. For every little thing. Every tantrum, every tooth lost, every stupid school project."

"You will be," I whispered.

He looked at me then, and the walls around his heart seemed to drop for a second. "I want that with you. Because with you, I finally feel like I can be that man."

I leaned my head on his shoulder, my heart aching for the boy he used to be — the one who must have waited for hugs that never came, and love that always felt out of reach.

"And your extended family? Grandparents? Siblings?"

"No siblings. And my grandparents were already gone by the time I turned ten." He smiled sadly. "I grew up mostly alone. Which is probably why Arya became so important to me. She was the first person who ever saw past the surface."

I nodded, understanding more now. "She's your chosen family."

He looked at me meaningfully. "So are you."

My breath hitched.

He meant it.

And suddenly, I wanted to know more. Not to interrogate, but because this man — this complicated, tender man — was opening himself to me. I wanted to meet every piece of him.

"Do you ever talk to them now? Your parents?"

He shook his head. "They send holiday cards. Emails sometimes. Mostly about business or appearances. They don't really know who I am now."

"Would you want our child to meet them someday?"

He went quiet again, really thinking.

"No," he said finally. "Not unless they changed. And even then, I'd need to protect our kid from everything I felt growing up. I'd rather our baby have no grandparents than ones who love with conditions."

I wrapped my arms around him tightly, pressing my cheek to his chest. "Then we'll build our own village."

He chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around me too. "Yeah?"

I nodded. "We'll create something better. A home filled with warmth and silly stories and messy pancakes."

"And love," he added.

"And love."

He kissed the top of my head. "Thank you for asking."

"Thank you for telling me."

I leaned back to meet his gaze again. "And Ethan?"

"Yeah?"

"You're already the opposite of your parents. Just so you know."

He blinked fast, emotion flickering across his face.

Then he pulled me in again, tighter this time, like he was anchoring himself to me.

And maybe, in a way, I was anchoring myself to him too.

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End of Chapter 118 – Amara's POV