When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 35

Aemlia

I jolted awake, totally thrown off by the feel of super-soft sheets under me. Sunlight was sneaking through the curtains in the master bedroom, painting little golden streaks across the huge bed. Wait—bed?

I rubbed my forehead, trying to get my bearings. The last thing I remembered was crashing on the living room couch after that nightmare of a highway pileup. I’d been running on pure adrenaline for three hours straight—treating crash victims right there on the scene, doing CPR on a guy whose heart flatlined, and keeping that scared pregnant lady with the head gash stable.

So, how on earth did I end up here? And—glancing down at myself—why was I in silk pajamas instead of my blood-stained clothes?

I stumbled into the fancy marble bathroom, letting the hot shower pound my aching muscles. It didn’t do much for the confusion swirling in my brain, though.

After toweling off and throwing on some comfy clothes, my stomach growled so loud it was embarrassing. I hadn’t eaten anything decent in over a day—hospital vending machine junk doesn’t count.

Heading toward the stairs, I caught the faint sound of movement from the living room. Peeking over the railing, I nearly did a double-take. Ethan was parked on the sleek leather couch, flipping through papers while typing on his laptop. What was he doing here? Shouldn’t he be out terrorizing Wall Street or something?

I froze at the top of the stairs, debating whether to go down.

“Finally up?” he said without even glancing my way, his tone flat but with a weird edge I couldn’t place.

My cheeks burned as I made my way down. “You’re… home? Why aren’t you at the office?”

“Working from home today. Food’s in the kitchen.” His short, clipped answers gave me nothing to work with as his fingers kept tapping away on the keyboard.

I shuffled into the open-concept kitchen, my stomach practically roaring at the sight of the fancy spread on the marble counter. One bite, and I knew exactly where this came from—Black Rose Restaurant. I couldn’t help but savor every flavor; it was like a little mood boost with each mouthful.

“Is your housekeeper's cooking skills something passed down through your family, or did she learn it somewhere later on?” Ethan asked out of nowhere, catching me off guard.

I stopped mid-bite, totally confused by the random question. “Uh, why do you care about that?”

“Just curious. You seem to really like the chef’s style.” His reply was quick, almost too casual.

This wasn’t the first time he’d brought this up. Ethan Black doesn’t ask pointless stuff. If he’s circling back to it, something’s definitely going on. I’m not dumb.

“If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out,” I shot back, locking eyes with him.

“Nothing. Eat your food.” He dodged the question, tapping at his laptop like he was double-checking something.

Whatever. I decided to answer anyway. “I’m not really sure. I just remember my mom loved that kind of spice. The housekeeper always cooked that way because of her.” My voice dipped a little when I mentioned my mom, without me meaning to.

“What kind of spice?” he pushed.

“I don’t know exactly. It’s some mix made from grinding a bunch of different spice powders together. If you want details, maybe ask the chef at your restaurant.” I shrugged, a little annoyed.

“Hmm.” That was all I got—a noncommittal grunt that shut the convo down.

After I finished eating, Ethan snapped his laptop shut and dropped a bombshell. “We’re heading to the Black family estate tonight. My dad, Thomas, is back. You’re coming with me.” His tone made it clear there was no wiggle room. “And don’t show up in jeans or hospital scrubs like yesterday. Wear something nice.”

That reminded me of my clothes. “Speaking of yesterday, where are my scrubs and jeans?”

“Thrown out,” he said, cold as ice, like he was talking about tossing a candy wrapper.

“What?!” I snapped, my voice rising with anger. “How could you throw away my things without asking? Even if they got dirty, I should be the one to handle them!”

I hate it when anyone touches or throws away my belongings without my permission—just like how my father carelessly threw away my mom’s things after she died. That kind of disrespect really infuriates me.

Ethan’s brow furrowed, clearly not thrilled with my reaction. “They were covered in medical waste and crash site dirt. Did you want to keep them? I figured a doctor would get the whole biohazard thing.”

I knew I’d snapped a bit, but then another thought hit me like a brick. “Wait… did you… change my clothes?”

“I’m not interested in you, Dr. Thompson,” Ethan said, his voice sharp and cutting. “Mrs. Hopkins took care of it this morning.”

With that, he grabbed his briefcase and headed toward his study, leaving me standing there in the living room, feeling like I’d just been slapped in the face.

Back in my room, my phone buzzed—Olivia.

“Hey, Amelia, my sweetie! Any progress with your Wall Street ice king?” Her voice was all bubbly, with what sounded like a chaotic movie set in the background.

“Don’t even bring him up,” I grumbled, still pissed. “If that’s all you called about, I’m hanging up.”

“Wait, wait!” Olivia jumped in fast. “I just wanted to say Julian’s coming back to New York next week. He’s dying to take us out for dinner, catch up, you know?”

My mood lifted instantly at the news. “Hell yeah! Just tell me when and where. Though, honestly, we should be treating him to welcome him back.”

“You know Julian. He’d never let us pay. He’s been looking out for us since we were little,” Olivia said with a laugh, her pride in her brother shining through.

“True. Let’s surprise him at the airport then!”

After we hung up, I started digging through my closet for something to wear to the Black family estate tonight, feeling a little lighter thinking about Julian coming back.

By evening, it was time to go. Ethan sat in the car, stone-cold and silent the whole ride.

I couldn’t help but think how much easier life would be if Ethan had even a sliver of Julian’s warmth.