Overnight Empire: The Rise Of Ethan Cross

Blackhaven City ran on two clocks. On the West shore, gold-lit glass towers that illuminates every night, restaurants took reservation six weeks earlier, and a bad year meant a small bonus. On the East shore, the clock ran on shift changes and rent due dates, and a bad year meant losing the apartment. Ethan Cross had spent his whole life on the East Side on that line, and tonight, for one evening, he was pretending the line didn't exist.

"You look nice," Sophia Reed said, not quite meeting his eyes across the table. "New shirt?"

"I ironed the old one twice," Ethan admitted, and she almost smiled, the way she used to before every conversation between them started feeling like a performance for people who weren't even watching yet.

The restaurant was called Verrine, the kind of place were the menu didn't list prices, and Ethan had picked it because it was Sophia's favorite, and because he'd finally saved enough overtime pay from the construction site and other minor jobs to afford one dinner without his account balance in the bathroom first.

He never got to find out if it was enough.

"Sophia." A voice, warm and confident, arrived at the table before the owner did. He pulled out the empty third chair like it had been reserved for him, which, Ethan would learn In about ninety seconds, it had. "I told you I'd catch the end of your dinner."

"Coleman," Sophia said, and there was something in the way she said his name, easy and familiar, that told Ethan everything before anyone explained anything.

"You must be the boyfriend," Coleman said to Ethan, offering a hand Ethan didn't take right away. "She's told me about you. The, ah, construction thing."

"Temporary laborer," Ethan said. "For now."

"Sure," Coleman said, in a tone that made it very clear he didn't believe in "for now."

Ethan looked at Sophia. "What's going on?"

She set down her fork very carefully. Her facial expression was different now, and Ethan could guess what was coming, but he didn't want to believe it. Her palms met each other like she had rehearsed a scene and was anxious, but also relieved, to finally be performing it. "Ethan, I think we both know this isn't working."

"We had plans tonight," he said quietly. " You picked the restaurant."

"I picked it because I wanted to this somewhere nice," she said, and it took him a second to understand that she meant it as a kindness. "You're a good person. You really are. But I can't keep pretending I don't want a life you can't give me."

"Sophia—"

"She's honest, at least," Coleman said, leaning back, enjoying himself in a way that made Ethan's hand fold very still on the table. "Look, no hard feelings. Some guys work hard their whole lives and it's still not enough. That's not an insult. That's just how the city's built."

A few tables had gone quiet. Ethan was aware, distantly, of the exact moment this stopped being a private conversation and became a small show for the room, the way disasters always seemed to happen loudest in the places designed to be the safest.

"Two years, Sophia," he said. "You didn't think to tell me any of this before he showed up to watch you say it."

"Would it have gone better in private?," she asked, and there was something almost pleading in it, like she wanted him to understand this was still, in her mind, the kinder version. "I've been trying to find the right time for weeks. There is no right time, Ethan. There's just the time I finally stopped being a coward about it."

"You waited until he could watch."

"I didn't plan this," she said, and for a moment he almost believed her, before Coleman's hand found her shoulder, easy and proprietary, and the moment passed.

"Say what you actually mean," Ethan said.

Sophia's composure cracked, just slightly, just enough. "Fine. You want it plainly? You're a permanent loser, Ethan. You always have been. I waited two years for something in your life to change and nothing ever does. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to apologize for wanting more than a rented room and a foreman who screams at you for asking to get paid on time."

The words landed exactly where she'd aimed them. Somewhere behind him, someone laughed — not cruelly, just the reflexive laugh of a stranger enjoying gossip that wasn't theirs to enjoy — and Ethan understood that this story would be told severally at this table's next several dinners, long after his name stopped mattering to anyone in the room.

At that moment, there was no other he could react apart from being quiet. He felt the rage mixed with the sadness and frustration of his current life. But even with everything, he didn't utter a single word.

"Good luck to you," Coleman said, offering his arm to Sophia like the whole evening had gone exactly as planned, possibly because it had. "No hard feelings, man. Really."

Ethan sat alone at the table meant for two, in a shirt he'd ironed twice, with a bill coming that would eat most of what he had saved for the month, and he didn't trust himself to speak until they were both gone.

His phone buzzed before the waiter even reached the table with the check.

LILY: Can u come get me. Not feeling good. Nurse says come now.

He read it twice. Lily didn't text like that. Lily texted full sentences, punctuations and all, because she liked to tease him about his own texting. Three words missing their apostrophes meant something was wrong before he'd even finished reading them.

He stood up and the chair scraped loud enough to turn a few more heads, and for a moment he almost laughed at the absurdity of it — an hour ago the worst thing in his life had been his girlfriend dumping him in a restauran, and now it wasn't even close to the worst thing anymore.

The waiter arrived just as Ethan was pulling on his coat. "Sir, will you be needing the check, or—"

"Now," Ethan said, already dialing Lily's number, getting her voicemail, dialing again. "I need it now."

He left cash on the table, more than the bill, and didn't wait for change.

Outside, the rain hadn't started yet, just the heavy, waiting kind of air that always came before it did in Blackhaven. He stood on the curb for a moment, phone still in his hand, and let himself feel exactly one full second of what had just happened at the table before he made himself stop. There wasn't room for it tonight. There'd be room for it later, whether he wanted there to be or not.

He hailed the first cab he saw.