Chapter 38 — Ethan: The Stain She Left Behind
( Ethan's POV)
The morning crept in quietly, slanting golden light across the hardwood floors. The silence was different — not peaceful, not familiar. Just... empty.
I blinked slowly, dragging a hand down my face as sleep receded. The memories came back quickly, sharp and vivid — her soft lips, the breathless way she clung to me, the way she said yes like it cost her everything.
My eyes snapped open fully.
I turned my head to the left.
She was gone.
The space beside me was cold, the sheet slightly wrinkled but untouched. Her perfume still lingered — warm and floral, subtle but unforgettable. But she wasn't here.
She left.
Quietly. Carefully. Like a ghost in the night.
I sat up slowly, my heart pounding a little harder than I expected.
She hadn't said anything last night after we... after it happened. And I hadn't pressed. She seemed okay — better than okay, even. But there was a fragility to her. A softness in the way she held onto me like she was discovering her own skin for the first time.
Something had been different.
It wasn't just sex.
Not because it meant something emotionally. It didn't.
But because something about her felt... untouched.
Pure.
And now that she was gone, that suspicion began to bloom and burn in my gut.
No. Don't be dramatic.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't cry or panic or flinch.
She didn't seem scared.
But she also hadn't known exactly what to do. Her touch had been hesitant. Her reactions, unsure.
And when I kissed her for the first time, her breath hitched like she wasn't used to being seen that way.
I didn't want it to be true.
Because if it was...
I stood up, reaching for the pair of joggers folded over the chair and pulled them on before turning to the bed.
That's when I saw it.
A faint stain on the sheets — small, but undeniable.
A deep rust-red against the stark white fabric.
My stomach dropped.
Shit.
My throat tightened. I stood there frozen for a second, like the sight alone stole the air from my lungs.
It was true.
She was a virgin.
I backed up and sat at the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands.
I had slept with someone's first.
And I didn't even know her real name.
She'd told me to call her Mara.
But I didn't believe that anymore.
The way she moved, the uncertainty in her voice — it wasn't the kind of detachment someone used when they wanted to be mysterious. It was the kind of mask you wear when you want to disappear into someone else for one night.
I wasn't supposed to care.
One night. A stranger.
No questions. No complications.
But now, knowing what I knew — I couldn't pretend it was nothing.
Because now, there was a story stitched into my sheets.
And it had a beginning I hadn't asked for, and an ending I didn't get to choose.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, trying to process what the hell I was supposed to feel.
I wasn't angry.
I wasn't even scared.
But I was... guilty.
Because no matter how many times I told myself it was just a night — that I hadn't done anything wrong — something about it felt heavier now.
She gave me something she couldn't take back.
And I didn't even know who she really was.
I had questions — too many of them.
Why hadn't she told me?
Why me?
Why now?
Was it really just about the thrill of the moment?
Or was there something else behind her eyes that I'd missed?
I got up, restless now, and grabbed my phone.
No new messages. No missed calls.
Of course not.
She wasn't going to text. She probably didn't want to see me again. Maybe she was embarrassed. Maybe she was glad it was over. Maybe she was sitting somewhere trying to forget what she did.
Or maybe she was crying in her shower, wondering why she let a stranger have a piece of her she'd been saving for someone who would love her.
I didn't know.
And it was killing me.
I paced to the window, staring out at the city that pulsed with its usual rhythm — indifferent, busy, alive. My own reflection stared back at me in the glass. Tired. Tense.
I didn't even know her name.
But I would find out.
Not because I wanted to track her down.
But because I needed to know if what I saw last night — the quiet storm behind her smile — was real.
I wanted to know if I'd been given a gift...
Or if I'd just made the biggest mistake of my life.