The Heir's Ascent: From Rags to Fortune.

CHAPTER SIX

Three days after moving into my new loft, I was starting to feel almost normal. Or at least, what passed for normal in this new reality.

The apartment was incredible. Two floors of open space with exposed brick walls, massive windows that looked out over the city, and furniture that probably cost more than I used to make in a year. I'd spent the first night just walking around, touching things, making sure they were real.

Victoria had been true to her word. She'd arranged everything—movers to transport my belongings (though calling them "belongings" was generous; most of what the Blakes had thrown in those garbage bags was hardly worth keeping), a personal shopper to fill my closet with actual clothes instead of secondhand Walmart clearance, even a chef who'd stocked my refrigerator with food I couldn't pronounce.

I was sitting at my kitchen island—because I had a kitchen island now—drinking coffee that cost more per pound than I used to spend on groceries, when I checked my email on my laptop.

My old email. The one I'd had since high school, the one Sarah knew about.

There were three new messages from her.

*Subject: Please read this

Ethan, I know you blocked my number. I know you don't want to hear from me. But please, just read this. We need to talk. It's important.*

Delete.

The second email, sent an hour later:

*Subject: I'm sorry

*I know you're seeing these. Please just give me five minutes. That's all I'm asking. I made a terrible mistake. Dylan means nothing to me. It was just a stupid moment of weakness. You're the one I really care about.*

I actually laughed at that one. A moment of weakness. Right. That's what you called deliberately sleeping with someone's brother.

Delete.

The third email, sent just twenty minutes ago:

*Subject: Please

*Ethan, I'm begging you. Please respond. I need to explain what happened. There are things you don't know about Dylan, about why I did what I did. Please. Just five minutes.*

Delete.

I closed my laptop and went back to my coffee, trying to focus on the documents Victoria had sent over—an overview of Meridian Corporation's various holdings, a breakdown of my investment portfolio, a set of cards that looked like a pass to a side of life that felt like paradise,and a memo about the Blake Insurance Agency's contract proposal.

For about an hour, there was blissful silence. I was halfway through the insurance memo when my building's front desk called.

"Mr. Cole? I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a young woman here who says she needs to see you urgently. A Sarah Mitchell?"

Of course there was.

"Tell her I'm not available," I said.

"I did, sir. She's quite insistent. She's saying it's an emergency."

I rubbed my temples. "What kind of emergency?"

"She won't say. She's asking if she can just come up for a few minutes—"

"No. Tell her to leave. If she refuses, call security."

There was a pause. "Understood, sir. I apologize for the inconvenience."

I hung up and tried to go back to the insurance memo, but I couldn't focus. Part of me—the part that had spent months working myself to exhaustion for her—wanted to know what she was going to say. What possible excuse she could offer.

But the larger part, the part that remembered Dylan's hands on her, remembered her calling me pathetic, remembered the contempt in her eyes—that part just wanted her gone.

My phone buzzed. A text from the front desk security.

*Ms. Mitchell has left the building. She seemed quite upset. We'll keep an eye out in case she returns.*

Good.

I tried to refocus on work, but the morning's peace was shattered. I kept thinking about Sarah, about what she might do next. She'd always been persistent when she wanted something. It was one of the qualities I'd found attractive, once upon a time. Now it just seemed exhausting.

Around noon, Victoria called.

"How's your morning?" she asked cheerfully.

"Sarah showed up at my building."

"Ah. I was wondering when that would happen." She didn't sound surprised at all. "What did she want?"

"To talk, apparently. I didn't give her the chance."

"Good. Did she leave peacefully?"

"Security said she was upset, but she left."

"Hmm." Victoria was quiet for a moment. "I'll have them add her to the restricted list. She won't be able to enter the building again without your explicit permission."

"Thanks." I paused. "Is this normal? Ex-girlfriends showing up like this?"

"When money is involved? Absolutely. You'd be amazed how quickly people reconsider their feelings when they find out someone's net worth." Her tone was dry. "Though usually there's a grace period. Sarah's moving faster than I expected."

“With time you'll see, you'll understand why rich and powerful men tend to mess around.”

"She's being evicted in two days."

"Yes, that would explain the urgency." I could hear typing in the background. "Speaking of which, the building manager wanted to confirm—you're still proceeding with the eviction right?"

I thought about it. About Sarah's emails, her showing up at my building, her desperation to "talk."

"Yes," I said. "Proceed with it."

"Done. She'll receive the final notice tomorrow." More typing. "Now, on to more pleasant topics. Your enrollment at Prestige is finalized. Classes start next week. I've arranged for a car service to take you to and from campus—"

"I don't need a car service. I can drive myself."

"Do you have a car?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it. "No."

"Then let me rephrase: would you like to purchase a car, or would you prefer the car service?"

The idea of buying a car—just buying one, not saving for months or years—still felt surreal. "What kind of car?"

"Whatever kind you want. Tesla, Mercedes, BMW, Audi—take your pick. Or we could go more exotic if you'd prefer. Porsche, Maserati—"

"Nothing too flashy," I interrupted. "I don't want to show up at school looking like an asshole."

Victoria laughed. "Ethan, you're going to Prestige University. Half the parking lot is exotic cars. You'll fit right in."

"Still. Something... reasonable."

"How about a BMW 5 Series? Luxury, but not ostentatious. I can have one delivered to your building by this afternoon."

"That fast?"

"Money moves quickly when you have enough of it." She paused. "Also, I should mention—Dylan posted about you on social media this morning."

My stomach tightened. "What did he say?"

"Nothing specific. Just vague implications that you're 'acting weird' and 'too good for your family now.' The usual bitter nonsense. I'd ignore it if I were you."

"I'm not on social media anyway."

"Smart. Keep it that way." More typing. "One more thing—your father wants to arrange a video call. Nothing formal, just a chance for you two to talk face-to-face, even if it's only through a screen. Are you interested?"

My mouth went dry. "When?"

"Whenever you're ready. He's leaving the timing up to you."

I wasn't sure I'd ever be ready. But I also couldn't avoid it forever.

"Maybe... next week?" I said. "After I start at Prestige. Get settled in first."

"That works. I'll let him know." Her tone softened. "He's very proud of you, you know. The way you've handled everything. A lot of people would have fallen apart."

"I still might," I admitted.

"But you haven't. That's what matters." She cleared her throat, back to business. "Alright, I'll let you go. Your car will be delivered at 3 PM. Black BMW 540i, all the options. Try not to crash it."

"I'll do my best."