The Paper Wife’s Empire novel Chapter 157

“Ethan…” Ramona felt herself falling, utterly and completely. She had no idea what to say. All she could do was press her face close to his and shut her eyes.

She’d promised herself never to get tangled up in love again, but Ethan was different. He was simply too wonderful.

So wonderful that she couldn’t control herself. Even if it meant getting hurt someday, she just wanted to give him her heart, without hesitation, without regret.

…

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, Ethan woke Ramona with a gentle kiss.

She opened her eyes to find him already dressed, sitting at the edge of the bed, his fingers entwined with hers.

“Come on,” he said softly, “I want to take you somewhere today.”

“Where?” Ramona glanced at the clock on the nightstand—barely six thirty.

She looked up at him, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. Bathed in the glow of early morning, even the sharp lines of his face seemed softened.

Ethan’s voice was quiet, almost reverent. “I want you to meet my mother.”

Ramona froze for a moment.

She knew Ethan’s mother had passed away long ago. It was a wound he kept buried deep inside.

For him to ask her to go with him now, it meant more than words could say.

She nodded immediately, not a hint of hesitation. “Of course.”

Before they left, Ramona ordered a bouquet of flowers. She asked Ethan about his mother’s favorite things, wanting to prepare more, but he just squeezed her hand and said, “You don’t need to bring anything else. She’ll be happy just to see you.”

An hour later, Ethan’s car pulled up to a quiet cemetery on the edge of town. He didn’t speak much during the drive, never once letting go of Ramona’s hand.

She could feel it, the closer they got, the more his usual cool composure faded, replaced by a rare, aching loneliness.

She didn’t say a word, just held his hand in silent support.

Ethan placed the flowers at his mother’s grave, knelt down, and gently brushed the fine layer of dust from the headstone.

The cemetery was utterly still, the early morning mist lingering among the graves. Ethan’s figure was straight and proud, but his movements were so careful, as if he was afraid to disturb the one who slept there.

Ramona stood quietly a step behind him, her chest tightening.

The man she saw now wasn’t the powerful, intimidating figure the world feared, but a boy stripped of his armor, vulnerable and exposed.

Ethan’s mother had been in poor health. She’d risked her life to have him, dying from complications after he was born. He’d never even seen her face. Yet from his earliest memories, he’d carried the suffocating weight of her death.

Florence had once told Ramona about it, skirting around the details, but Ramona could sense the truth: Ethan’s strained relationship with his father, Zadkiel, all stemmed from this.

Zadkiel hadn’t wanted Eleanor to risk her life for a child. After his wife’s death, he’d nearly abandoned Ethan altogether. So Ethan had grown up almost entirely alone.

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