2025-07-29 22:41:10The air in Emma Robbins’ office was thick with tension, the scent of fresh coffee mingling with the sharp edge of designer perfume. The sleek lounge, with its glass table and cream leather sofa, felt like a courtroom, the three women—Emma, Stella, and Tracy—staring at Ethan Northstrum as if he were an intruder.
Ethan’s brows lifted in slow realization—this woman in the tailored pantsuit, sharp eyes, and commanding presence… was her.
The pretty lady from last night. The one he saved from Cobra and his men. Now turns out to be the same lady he spent the night with—the CEO, Emma Robbins.
Emma, on the other hand, looked like her soul had just left her body.
Her worst nightmare, standing tall and composed right in her office.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, her voice tight with disbelief and dread.
Her friends, Tracy and Stella, turned to her instantly. “You know him?” Tracy asked, puzzled.
“Wait… Emma?” Stella chimed in. “Is he—?”
Before Emma could respond, Jennifer the PA stepped forward, but Ethan answered first, cutting clean through the awkward silence.
“I brought something back,” he said calmly, holding out the envelope. “Something you forgot last night.”
Tracy’s jaw dropped. “Last night?” She gasped, eyes darting to Emma. “Is he the guy you had—?”
Before she could finish, Stella’s voice came through sharp. She had already scanned Ethan from top to toe—clothing, shoes, demeanor—and dismissed him without hesitation.
“Impossible,” she scoffed. “Emma wouldn’t touch someone like him. Not when she has someone like Danny De Angelis begging for her attention.”
Danny, heir to a telecom empire, was Sun Industrial City’s golden bachelor, his $25 billion fortune a beacon.
Tracy shot back, “Then how do you explain him being here?”
The two began arguing while Emma remained stiff, her face betraying internal chaos. It was all too much—too loud, too fast, too damn real.
“Enough!” Emma snapped.
The room silenced.
She snatched the envelope from Ethan’s hand and tore it open. Her eyes scanned the documents—yes, they were hers. The Enzogrande Corporation proposal she’d forgotten in the whirlwind of last night.
She lowered the papers slightly and looked at Ethan again.
“Thank you,” she muttered, tone stiff, pride barely letting her speak.
Stella’s curiosity was piqued again. “What’s your name, handsome?”
“Ethan Northstrum.”
Emma’s face twitched. Before her friends could pull this in the wrong direction, she cut through the tension herself.
“Yes. He’s the guy I had a one-night stand with.”
Silence fell again. But this time, it was louder.
Ethan stood calm, his excitement hidden—he’d just learned the damsel he saved from Cobra was the same CEO he’d woken beside, a woman of power and prestige.
Tracy blinked several times in disbelief. Jennifer let out a soft “oh my God.” Stella just stared.
“You what?” Tracy asked slowly.
Emma exhaled, bracing herself.
“Tracy,” Stella whispered, “please tell me she’s joking. Emma, please tell me you were at least drunk enough not to know what you were doing.”
“I was drunk,” Emma admitted coldly, avoiding Ethan’s gaze.
Tracy’s jaw clenched. Her CEO instincts kicking in. “Okay. Mr. Northstrum,” she began sharply, crossing her legs and leaning back with judgment in her eyes, “Tell us—what do you do for a living? What cars do you drive? Where do you live? What companies do you own?”
Her questions were a checklist, her $300 million fashion empire sharpening her tone.
“Tracy…” Emma warned.
Emma knew her friends and the kind of world they all exist in. Wealth, status, power, and influence ruled. Tracy, CEO of a $300 million fashion empire.
And Stella, managing director of a top bank in the city, matched Tracy’s net worth and shared her obsession with social rank.
Ethan’s plain clothes screamed nobody to them, a stark contrast to Danny de Angelis’ tailored suits and private jets.
But Tracy wasn’t done. “Because if you’re going to casually sleep with the most powerful woman under 30 in this city, we deserve to know if you’re a billionaire prince in disguise or a regular guy with good hair and lucky timing.”
Ethan paused for a beat. Then, with zero drama or hesitation, he replied:
“I have no car. No house. No job. I just got out of prison yesterday.”
Gasps. Sharp, short, painful.
Even Emma flinched. Her heart sank deeper, her shame a chokehold.
An ex-convict?
Her mistake wasn’t just a drunken fling—it was a catastrophe.
Ethan watched their reactions, their disgust a mirror to Fort-tight’s early doubters.
If only they knew—AMEN, the Almighty Master Ethan Northstrum, who’d tamed mafia lords, advised presidents, and held a $33 trillion empire in his pocket.
One call could reverse Emma’s Enzogrande failure. One call could fulfill all their heart desires.
Danny de Angelis? He and his family would tremble before Ethan.
One push of a button in a device he had in his pocket, the entire military might of the country would be summoned to his location.
But their disdain amused him too much to reveal it.
“You’re… a what?” Jennifer echoed.
“A former inmate,” Ethan replied calmly. “Five years.”
No one spoke. The silence this time was heavier. Judging. Crushing.
Jennifer took a small step back like he was contagious. “Ms. Emma…” she murmured. “You had sex with an ex-convict?”
Emma’s heart sank deeper. She hadn’t looked up once. She could feel the weight of everyone’s disgust. All of it. Her mistake, now a live, breathing reality.
Jennifer circled Ethan, inspecting him like a threat. “Should I call security?” she asked. “Maybe he has a record. Maybe he’s trying to blackmail you or—”
“Wait,” Tracy interrupted. “Let’s not panic. Ethan…” she turned with a sharp smile, “What do you want?”
“Nothing,” Ethan said. “Just came to return what wasn’t mine.”
Stella leaned into Emma. “Girl… you’re worth half a billion. You could’ve had your pick of anyone. And now you’ve slept with someone who just walked out of prison. Do you know how many billionaires would offer their entire fortunes just for one night with you?”
Emma said nothing. The shame was too much. Too heavy. Too consuming.
She sank into the sofa, her face burning, her mind replaying the night—harassed by Cobra’s thugs, saved by someone she couldn’t recall, then waking beside Ethan.
If her savior had been her fling, it might’ve softened the blow, at least she could boast of his might. But an ex-convict? She cursed her blurred memory.
Tracy rolled her eyes. “How about this—we give him a little payoff. Maybe fifty grand. He signs an NDA. Walks away. Never speaks of this again.”
Stella nodded, her eyes sharp. “Agreed. He’s fresh out of prison, broke, desperate. Probably took photos, videos—blackmail material.”
She smirked at Ethan. “Congrats, you lived every man’s dream—You had sex with the beautiful Emma Robbins.”
“Or,” Jennifer added darkly, “we lock him up and force him to sign a confession. Maybe even get him beaten a little—just to be sure. He’s an opportunist, saw Emma drunk and pounced.”
Ethan remained silent through it all, letting them unload every ounce of their assumptions.
They thought he was a scavenger. Their logic was sound—another man might’ve schemed, blackmailed, cashed out.
They didn’t know he was the A.M.E.N.—the man behind empires, the shadow benefactor of their idols, the future heir to the richest private estate in the country.
And he smiled—not outwardly, but within—because their foolishness was protection. Let them think he was beneath them. Let them cast their judgments. He didn’t need to explain himself to anyone.
“I don’t want your money,” he said at last. “I’m leaving. You won’t see me again.”
He turned and headed for the door.
Jennifer rushed forward and blocked it with her body. “You’re not going anywhere until we make sure you’re not a threat!”
Tracy nodded. “We need guarantees.”
Ethan remained calm, his expression unreadable. “Suit yourself.”
Back at the table, Emma finally gathered enough strength to flip through the rest of the documents in the envelope… just to confirm all was intact.
And then she froze.
Her breath caught.
There—beneath the contract proposal—was something she hadn’t expected to see.
A document with a red wax seal.
Marriage Certificate.
Her hands trembled as she read it.
Issued by: Harmony Creek Local Registry, Outskirts of Sun Industrial City.
Date: Yesterday. Time: 11:06 PM.
Bride: Emma Jane Robbins
Groom: Ethan Northstrum
Both names signed. Clearly.
Her own signature mocked her from the paper.
She looked up, eyes wide, her voice shaking.
“Ethan… come back.”
He turned at the door.
She handed the certificate to him.
“What the hell is this?” she asked.
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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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