THE ILLUSION OF CHOICE IN LOVE (ETHAN)

I woke up on the couch, my neck stiff, my back sore, and the sunlight already slipping through the blinds like quiet judgment. I sat up slowly, blinking at the silence. No footsteps, no humming, no warm body tucked into mine like usual. She wasn't there.

For a split second, panic fluttered in my chest—until I heard a soft clatter from the kitchen. Then the smell hit me.

God.

That smell.

The rich, buttery scent of garlic and sizzling beef and something sweet, maybe honey-glazed plantains or that cinnamon spice she always added to surprise me. It wrapped around the house like a ribbon tied just for me. My feet moved before my brain caught up.

And then I saw her.

Nina.

Standing by the stove, barefoot, hips swaying slightly to the rhythm of whatever song she had playing softly. She wore the tiniest silk robe I'd ever seen—black, glossy, tied so loosely it was more of a suggestion than a garment. Her skin peeked through with every turn of her body. The robe clung to her like a secret, one that made my throat go dry. Her legs—long, smooth, the soft curve of her thighs catching the early light. One shoulder bare, her dark hair falling over it, wild and untamed like the morning itself.

I swear she was sculpted. Every part of her called to me like a prayer I'd forgotten how to say.

I moved toward her slowly, like a man caught in a spell. My hands found her waist from behind, fingers trailing her curves as if learning her all over again. She let out the softest gasp when I kissed the side of her neck, and I felt her melt just slightly into me.

"You smell like heaven," I whispered. "And you're cooking my favorite breakfast. You trying to kill me?"

She laughed—soft and warm, leaning back against me—and just then, it hit me.

Oh shit.

Today was her birthday.

I nearly screamed. My whole body tensed, but I swallowed the panic, buried it in the pit of my stomach. No way I was blowing the surprise now.

I kissed her once more and said, "I'm gonna freshen up, babe. Be right back."

Then I bolted.

Upstairs, I grabbed my second phone, heart racing. I dialed Henry with shaky hands.

"Everything set?"

Henry yawned. "Ethan, chill. Yes. Balloons, cake, guests—all on schedule. You're fine."

I wasn't fine. I was wired, sweating, pacing like a man on trial. I could not mess this up. I showered quickly, the water barely making a dent in my nerves, and as I was buttoning my shirt, I heard her call me.

"Ethaaan!"

But it wasn't her usual call. It was softer, sweeter—like her voice was dipped in honey and joy. She sang my name.

And it froze me.

Nina never called like that. Not because she didn't love me—but because we didn't have time. We woke up too early, worked too late, kissed between coffee cups and boardroom meetings. We didn't do mornings like this.

I stepped out, shirt half-buttoned, and saw her standing below, looking like every man's daydream and every artist's muse. Her robe was gone, replaced by a soft yellow sundress, thin straps barely holding it up, her skin glowing like gold beneath it. Her legs peeked through the high slit.

She smiled up at me.

"You coming down or are you just going to stare all day?"

God, how do I leave this woman?

"You, my love," I said, "look… astonishing." I descended the stairs slowly, drinking her in. "Aren't you going to work today?"

She shrugged. "I have permission to go in late. So I figured… why not make you breakfast?"

My heart swelled and twisted at the same time. I wanted to stay.

We sat down together, the meal tasting like a love letter. Every bite was familiar, comforting, made with hands that knew me better than anyone ever had.

When I stood up to leave, she looked at me with expectant eyes. "Baby… aren't you forgetting something?"

My heart thudded.

Shit. Again.

Birthday.

She was waiting for a wish. Something. Anything.

But if I said it, the surprise would lose its punch. She'd expect a gift. A dinner. Something less… grand.

So I did the only thing I could think of.

"I love you, Nina," I said quietly. "So much."

It wasn't what she wanted to hear. I saw it in her face—the shift. Her bright morning glow dimmed slightly, like a cloud passing over the sun. Her smile faltered, and she nodded.

"Okay," she said.

I hated it.

But it was the price for the perfect surprise.

I grabbed my bag and opened the door. "I love you more than ever, baby," I called out.

I could feel her watching me as I walked to my car. Her presence lingered on my skin like her perfume.

But something didn't sit right.

At work, I couldn't focus. My screen blurred in front of me. All I could think about was 4 p.m.—the moment I'd finally whisk her away. I texted her around noon.

Me: Baby, when are you leaving the office today?

She replied instantly.

Nina: Soon. Why?

I froze. It was only 12. She wasn't supposed to leave until 3. But of course—it was her birthday. The firm allowed it. And she was a department head now.

Shit.

Me: Nothing, love. Can you just wait for me, please? My car's acting up. I don't think I can drive it today.

Nina: Gosh, Ethan.

She knew. She knew I was hiding something. And she was expecting more.

I winced.

Me: Don't worry, I'll do the driving, baby.

Nina: [angry emojis]

Damn.

I really messed this up.

At exactly four, I called Henry.

"Not yet," he said. "Guests are still arriving. Stall till six."

The moment I ended the call, a text came through.

Nina: It's four already. Are you done?

I pulled out my last trick.

I called her favorite boss—Ms. Gloria—sweet, motherly, and lowkey Nina's role model.

"Ms. Gloria," I begged. "I need a huge favor. I planned a surprise party for Nina. I just need you to give her something to do. Edit a doc. Anything to keep her till six."

She laughed. "Oh, Ethan. That's so sweet. Of course."

Twenty minutes later, my phone buzzed again.

Nina: Wow, thanks Ethan. You've just ruined my day. [crying emoji] [angry emoji]

My heart sank.

I knew how much it meant to her not to work on her birthday. I knew she couldn't say no to Gloria. I'd cornered her into being unhappy—and all for a surprise she didn't ask for.

When we finally met at the car park, she didn't say a word.

I was smiling like an idiot, hoping she'd feel the joy radiating off me. But it only pissed her off more.

"Ethan," she snapped, "you made me late. You couldn't even apologize properly."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I was still smiling, still caught in this dumbass loop of excitement. I probably looked like a teenage boy trying not to laugh during punishment.

She rolled her eyes and got into the car. Her silence was thick. Annoyed. Confused.

When we reached the three-way roundabout, she expected me to turn left—home. She'd made it clear: all she wanted was to get home and forget the day.

Instead, I turned right.

"Ethan!" she cried. "Where the hell are we going now?! You've ruined my day enough!"

I felt the guilt again—sharp and biting.

So I pulled over.

She didn't even notice at first. She was looking out the window, arms folded, face stone cold like she was regretting waking up today.

"Nina," I said. Nothing.

"Nina."

Finally, she turned her head. Her eyes were tired.

I lowered my voice.

"I'm sorry, my love. I just wanted to take you out to dinner. I know I've stressed you today, and this is the only way I could think of to make it right."

She blinked. The hard lines on her face softened.

"I want you to hate me no more," I said gently. "Just… sit back. Enjoy the ride. Let's have a nice dinner, and we'll go home to rest, I promise."

She sighed, nodded once, and gave me a tiny smile.

That was all I needed.

I started the car again. My heart pounded. We were minutes away from the surprise. And all I could think was—please, let this be enough.