She Divorced Boston's Hidden Heir

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Victoria led Ethan into an upscale boutique in downtown Boston—the kind of place where even the doorman's suit probably cost more than most people's rent.

"Wait here," she said, disappearing into the racks.

A few minutes later, Victoria returned, holding a midnight-blue suit draped over her arm. The fabric caught the light—expensive, unmistakably so.

She thrust it toward him. "Put this on."

Ethan blinked. "That's... Victoria, that's too much. I can't—"

"You can, and you will," she cut him off firmly. "This is to prevent you from being looked down upon by just any Tom, Dick, or Harry. I won't have another incident like the one with my secretary." She pushed the suit into his hands. "Now go."

Ethan opened his mouth to protest again, but the look in her eyes told him arguing was pointless.

He sighed and headed toward the dressing room.

---

When Ethan stepped out, Victoria was scrolling through her phone, distracted.

"Alright, I'm—"

She looked up.

And froze.

The suit fit him perfectly—sharp lines, tailored to precision. His hair was combed back, his posture straight. But it wasn't just the clothes. It was the way he wore them. Natural. Effortless. Like he'd been born into this world of luxury and power.

The suit was from a top luxury brand—one she'd paid a fortune for—but on him, it didn't look expensive. It looked right. Like it had always belonged to him.

Victoria's breath caught.

For a moment, she forgot he was the young man who'd looked at her with a crush earlier. Forgot that she'd doubted her father's judgment. Because standing in front of her now wasn't some starstruck kid pretending to be important.

This was someone who belonged here.

Maybe even more than she did.

"Victoria?" Ethan's voice pulled her back. "Is it alright?"

She blinked, recovering quickly. "Yes. It's... perfect." She cleared her throat, forcing herself to look away. "Let's go. We don't want to be late."

But as they walked to the car, her mind raced.

Who is he, really?

---

The sun had set by the time they climbed into Victoria's car. The city glittered outside the tinted windows—skyscrapers lit up like beacons, the streets alive with evening traffic.

They sat in the back while the driver navigated through downtown Boston.

Victoria reached into her bag and pulled out a sleek black card, handing it to Ethan without hesitation this time.

He frowned, studying it. "What's this?"

"A VVIP invitation," she explained. "Reserved only for the most distinguished guests."

Ethan turned the card over in his hands. The design was understated but expensive—embossed gold lettering, heavyweight cardstock. "Thank you. I know even regular invitations are nearly impossible to get."

Victoria waved him off. "For small fries, maybe. But for an honored guest like you? A VVIP invitation should be presented by my own hands."

Ethan pocketed the card, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He opened his mouth to respond—

The car screeched.

Ethan's shoulder slammed into the door as the vehicle swerved hard, tires squealing before jerking to a sudden stop.

"What the hell?" Victoria snapped, bracing herself against the seat.

"Sorry, ma'am!" the driver said, panic edging his voice. "The tire—it went flat!"

Ethan looked out the window.

Three black SUVs had boxed them in—one in front, two behind. Doors opened. Men stepped out.

Not maintenance workers. Not good Samaritans.

Gang members.

"This isn't about the tire," Ethan said quietly.

Victoria's hand slipped into the inner pocket of her dress, fingers closing around cold metal.

One of the men banged on the window. "Get out! Both of you! Now!"

Victoria and Ethan stepped out slowly.

Four men surrounded them—tattoos, leather jackets, the kind of people who got paid to make problems disappear.

"She needs to come with us," one said, nodding toward Victoria.

Victoria let out a low, humorless laugh. "I didn't expect anyone to dare threaten my safety this quickly." Her hand stayed hidden behind her back, gripping the concealed gun.

The men stepped closer.

Ethan moved in front of her, blocking their path.

"Leave," he said calmly. "Right now. Or face the consequences."

Silence.

Then the gang members burst into laughter.

"Did this pretty boy just threaten us?" one sneered.

"Take him out first!" another barked.

The closest one lunged.

Ethan sidestepped, grabbed the man's wrist mid-swing, and twisted—hard. Bone cracked. The man screamed, dropping to his knees.

The second attacker charged from the side.

Ethan ducked under the punch, drove his elbow into the man's ribs, then swept his legs out from under him. The thug hit the pavement face-first with a sickening thud.

The third pulled a knife.

Big mistake.

Ethan caught the man's knife-hand, wrenched it backward until the blade clattered to the ground, then delivered a brutal knee to the stomach. The man crumpled, gasping for air.

The fourth hesitated—then turned to run.

Ethan grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the side of the SUV.

"Who sent you?" Ethan's voice was ice.

The man's eyes darted around wildly. "I—I don't—"

Ethan pressed his forearm against the man's throat. "Wrong answer. Try again."

"Okay! Okay!" The man choked, hands flailing. "I'll talk! I'll talk!"

Ethan eased the pressure slightly. "Name."

"Caleb Stone!" the man gasped. "Head of the Stone family—one of the families second only to Boston's big three! He—he sent us!"

Ethan released him. The man collapsed to the ground, coughing and wheezing.

Behind him, Victoria stood frozen, her gun still half-raised, forgotten.

She'd seen fighters before. Hired muscle. Professional bodyguards.

But Ethan? He moved like something else entirely—precise, controlled, lethal. No wasted movement. No hesitation.

Her father hadn't exaggerated. The man he'd sent to help her was the real deal.

Two black cars pulled up—Victoria's security team, finally arriving.

"Take them," Ethan said flatly, nodding toward the groaning gang members. "I'll deal with them later."

The guards dragged the men away without a word.

Ethan turned back to Victoria. "Let's go."

She blinked, snapping out of her daze. "That was... incredible."

He raised an eyebrow. "It was necessary."

Victoria followed him back to the car, her pulse still racing. She'd underestimated him. Badly. The young man who'd looked at her with a crush earlier—who'd seemed flippant, easily swayed—had just taken down four armed men without breaking a sweat.

Who is he?

She slid into the backseat beside him, her mind spinning.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "Truly."

Ethan nodded, his expression calm. "You're welcome."

Victoria studied him for a moment, then spoke again. "Listen, once we get to the venue, I'll need to mingle. Network. Play the part." She glanced at him. "We might be separated for a bit. Use that time to observe the guests—figure out who's worth my attention and who's wasting it. When it's time to choose partners, I'll call you over."

Ethan nodded. "Understood."

But inside, Victoria's thoughts were spinning.

The helper her father had sent wasn't just capable. He was exceptional.

And she was beginning to realize she'd made a mistake underestimating him.

The car rolled toward the glittering lights of the gala venue.

Tonight was going to be interesting.