2025-07-29 22:37:52The early afternoon sun cast long shadows over the bustling Central Business District of Sun Industrial City, a world far more polished and opulent than the grimy nightclub corners where Ethan had danced with danger the night before.
Standing before a sleek, mirrored building that towered like a monument to capitalism was Ethan Northstrum, hands in his pockets, dressed in simple, neat clothes that whispered ordinary to the untrained eye. But Ethan didn’t care. The document tucked securely into his jacket was the only thing on his mind.
He glanced up at the massive logo engraved in brushed steel:
Norand Interior Limited.
This was the place.
Inside the modern lobby, with high ceilings and glass decor, receptionists chatted idly behind a marble desk until Ethan entered. Their conversation halted, replaced by lingering glances and raised brows.
One of them—Lynette, the senior receptionist—straightened up, her expression shifting quickly from interest to professional indifference. She gave Ethan a head-to-toe scan: plain shoes, no visible brand-name tags, no watch, no entourage, no obvious wealth.
A few of the other girls exchanged whispers.
“He’s cute, but… broke,” one murmured under her breath.
“Just a pretty face—not worth it,” another snickered.
Unfazed, Ethan stepped forward.
“I’m here to see Emma Robbins,” he said coolly.
Lynette arched a brow. “Do you have an appointment with Ms. Robbins?”
“No. But I have something of hers.”
She scoffed, leaning back, her manicured nails clicking. “What could you have for Ms. Robbins? Delivery boy?”
The other receptionists stifled laughs, their eyes glinting with amusement.
Ethan’s smile didn’t falter. “Not delivery. I’m returning something from last night.”
Lynette’s eyes narrowed, a smirk curling her lips as she misread his words—an affair, a scandal, too absurd for a man like him. “Last night? In your dreams,” she said, her voice sharp. “Do you even know who Emma Robbins is?”
Ethan shrugged, his calm unshaken. “Met her last night. Don’t know much else.”
Lynette’s jaw dropped, her disbelief palpable.
“You’re lying,” she snapped, leaning forward. “Emma Robbins is every bachelor’s dream. CEO of Norand Interior, top five industry-leading women under 30, net worth over half a billion. She’s a celebrity—our idol. From a prominent family, courted by the city’s elite. You?”
Her eyes raked him again, lingering on his plain clothes. “You don’t belong here.”
Ethan nodded, unfazed, letting her words roll off like water. Lynette’s rant painted a picture—Emma wasn’t just any woman; she was a titan, a queen in this city’s glittering hierarchy.
His one-night stand, a drunken mistake, was with someone extraordinary. The thought sparked intrigue; she might be worthy of more than a night, a match for the Almighty Master Ethan Northstrum.
“Sounds impressive,” he said, his tone light. “Can you take me to her now?”
Lynette huffed, crossing her arms. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Ethan opened the envelope just enough to reveal the header—Enzogrande Corporation—its bold font a beacon.
Lynette’s eyes widened, her smugness faltering. Everyone at Norand knew of the failed Enzogrande deal, a blow that had sent Emma spiraling.
She snatched the phone, dialing the CEO’s office, her voice tight. “Ms. Robbins, someone’s here with… the Enzogrande document.”
A few moments later, Jennifer, Emma’s personal assistant, stepped out from the glass elevator and walked briskly toward Ethan. “Mr…?”
“Ethan.”
“Mr. Ethan, this way please. Ms. Robbins is expecting you.”
He followed her past gasps, side-eyes, and open mouths from the staff who moments ago had laughed at him.
---
In the CEO’s office, a sleek sanctuary of glass and leather, Emma Robbins sat on a cream sofa, her auburn hair pulled into a loose bun, her navy blazer crisp despite the shadows under her eyes.
Across from her, Stella and Tracy—her closest friends—sipped coffee, their designer bags resting on the glass table.
The air was warm with the scent of espresso and their quiet concern. News of Norand’s lost Enzogrande contract had hit their group chat last night, followed by Emma’s radio silence.
Stella, her blonde curls bouncing, leaned forward. “Where were you, Em? You ghosted us after that message. We were worried.”
Emma’s fingers tightened around her mug, her gaze distant. “I drove out of the city,” she said, voice low. “Some small town on the outskirts, needed to be alone.”
She recounted the night—arriving at the Electric Viper, drowning her loss in martinis, Cobra’s men harassing her. “Some guy stepped in, saved me, but… my memory’s a mess.” Her voice faltered, the fog of alcohol obscuring the club’s chaos.
Tracy, her dark eyes sharp, frowned. “You went alone? No security?”
Emma nodded, her lips tight. “Just me.”
Stella’s brow furrowed. “Then what?”
Emma hesitated, her mug trembling. “I woke up in a hotel… with a stranger. A guy I’d never met. We…” She swallowed, shame burning her cheeks. “It was a drunk one-night stand. No protection.”
Stella gasped, her coffee splashing, while Tracy’s eyes lit up, a grin breaking.
“Scandalous! Was it worth it?”
Emma shook her head, confusion warring with regret. “I don’t know him. What if there’s… consequences?”
Stella reached for her hand, soothing. “You’ll never see him again. Nothing to worry about.”
Tracy leaned back, smirking. “Spill the details, Em.”
Emma steered away, her voice heavy. “Without Enzogrande, my company’s sinking. I need fifty million to keep it afloat, and I don’t have it. Grandfather will hand the family legacy to my cousins now.”
Her shoulders slumped, the weight of failure crushing. Stella squeezed her hand, but before Tracy could respond, the door opened.
Jennifer, Emma’s PA, stepped in, her face tense. “Ms. Robbins, someone’s here to see you—with the Enzogrande document.”
Emma’s heart skipped, her friends exchanging glances.
“Lead him in,” she said, setting her mug down, her voice steady despite the churn in her gut.
Jennifer nodded, and the door swung wide.
Ethan stepped in, the envelope in hand, his lanky frame filling the doorway.
His eyes swept the room—three women, stunning in their tailored elegance, sipping coffee in the plush lounge.
His gaze landed on the last, and recognition hit like a spark. The woman in the red gown, the damsel from the Viper, now in a blazer, her auburn hair catching the light.
Emma’s eyes met his, her mug frozen mid-air, coffee trembling.
Not the club—she didn’t recall that—but the hotel bed, his face beside hers in the morning light.
Shock widened her eyes, her breath catching, the room’s warmth turning cold.
Him.
The stranger she’d fled, the mistake she feared. Ethan’s lips curved, a faint smile, as he held up the envelope, the Enzogrande header glinting like a promise.
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Chapter 239: When monsters are free to roam
Chloe stood frozen for a second in the doorway, the dam of her own pride and anger finally shattered by the night's violence. She had thought she was strong enough to handle issues as an adult. But how wrong she was. If Ethan hadn't shown up, she wouldn't have known what her fate would be by now.A sob, harsh and involuntary, ripped from her throat. She didn't step forward; instead she fell forward, collapsing into her mother’s space.Margaret’s book thudded softly to the carpet. Her arms, which hadn't held her daughter in two decades, came up instinctively, catching her, wrapping around the trembling form.And then, it all poured out. The tears were not gentle; they were a storm, hot and desperate against Margaret’s silk robe. The words were muffled, broken by gasps. "I'm sorry, Mother," Chloe sobbed, her fingers clutching at the fabric. "I was so angry with you. For leaving me behind. For twenty years. I hated you for it."She shook her head violently, burrowing closer as if she c
Chapter 238: The Glided Cage
Later that night, in a part of the city untouched by Robbins family drama, Chloe was a whirlwind of desperate motion in the center of the dance floor in one of the popular night clubs in the city—'the glided cage' as it was called.She wasn’t dancing for joy; she was trying to outrun the ghosts in her head—the mother who’d returned a stranger, the suffocating mansion, the weight of a name that felt like a cage. Jazz and rock fought for dominance in the smoky air, a chaotic soundtrack to her internal storm. She moved like a wounded animal, all frantic energy and no grace, the sharp, sweet smell of expensive gin clinging to her like a second skin.She was barely conscious of the man who sidled up to her, his smile all practiced charm. He matched her movements, said something lost to the music. In her blurred, self-destructive state, he was just another blur, a warm body offering an escape from the thoughts. Numbly, she let him lead her off the floor, up a dimly lit staircase that prom
Chapter 237: A word of gratitude
The drive home was a blur of manicured suburbs and churning thoughts. Jennifer’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her mind replaying the day’s horrors and oddities on a loop: Emma’s fragile pallor, the wrongness in "Ethan's" eyes, Rose's hissed conversation about "Frank" and "plans." By the time she pulled into the driveway of her mother’s cozy, sensible bungalow—the home she’d moved back into to save money—the anxiety had condensed into a hard, urgent knot in her chest.She found her mother, Helen, in the kitchen, the familiar, comforting scent of rosemary chicken in the oven doing little to soothe her.“Mom,” Jennifer said, her voice sounding strained even to her own ears.Helen turned, her warm, careworn face shifting from welcome to immediate concern. “Jenny? What’s wrong? How is Emma?”That was all it took. The dam broke. Jennifer slumped into a kitchen chair, the words tumbling out in a rushed, hushed torrent. She described seeing Emma—the relief, the worry. Then she
Chapter 236: Something's off
Jennifer stayed a while longer, making quiet, comforting small talk until she saw Emma’s eyelids grow heavy. She tucked the blanket around her, promised to check in tomorrow, and slipped out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.The relief of seeing Emma alive warred with a churning sense of dread in her stomach. The mansion’s usual comforting silence now felt oppressive, every shadow holding a secret. Distracted by her thoughts, she took a wrong turn at the end of the corridor, veering away from the grand staircase and into the less familiar west wing.She realized her mistake when the carpet pattern changed and the portraits on the walls became sterner, older Robbins ancestors. She was about to turn back when a sharp, tense voice sliced through the quiet from a half-open door down the hall.“…don’t care what you think, Frank. The timing is too convenient.”Jennifer froze. It was Rose Robbins’ voice, stripped of its usual theatrical warmth, sharp with frustration and somet
Chapter 235: The imposter
Jennifer stood on the gravel drive for a moment longer, the seed of doubt now a cold, sprouting vine in her chest. The press continued to clamor, but their noise faded into a dull roar as she focused on the closed mansion door. That blank look in his eyes, the seamless, theatrical recovery… no one she knew that well could forget her face entirely, even under extreme stress. A skilled actor could.Steeling herself, she approached the main entrance. The butler, recognizing her, opened the door with a solemn nod, ushering her into the cool, hushed grandeur of the foyer.The air inside was thick with a strange, tense stillness, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. In the main living room, she saw Elizabeth Robbins standing by the fireplace, her posture rigid with a relief that looked almost painful. Beside her was an elegant, unfamiliar woman with sharp, assessing eyes—Margaret, though Jennifer didn’t know that yet.“Jennifer,” Elizabeth said, her voice soft and drained. She offered a
Chapter 234: The cracked mask
The news of Emma Robbins' return broke like a sonic boom across the city. By morning, it was the singular topic on every news outlet, a frantic churn of speculation with depressingly little fact. The lack of official details—no police statement, no family press conference—created a vacuum that gossip and sensationalism rushed to fill.By mid-afternoon, a small but determined pack of journalists and camera crews had gathered at the wrought-iron gates of the Robbins estate, their voices a buzzing, insistent hum. Microphones were thrust toward the intercom. Demands were shouted."What can you tell us about Emma's condition?""Was a ransom paid?""Who was responsible?""Mrs. Robbins! Can you give us a statement?"Inside, the family watched the growing spectacle on security monitors with a mix of exhaustion and dread. The private nightmare was now public property."It has to be addressed," Margaret said, her tone clinical. "Controlled disclosure is better than rampant speculation."Nathan
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