Ethan's hand lingered on the charcoal gray suit, the weight of it solid and reassuring under his fingers. For the first time since stepping into the boutique, he felt a spark of certainty—this was the one. Not too loud, not too plain. Something that could let him walk into the Twilight Hotel without immediately being dismissed as an imposter.
But before he could lift it from the rack, another hand shot out and seized the hanger.
Ethan blinked, startled, as the suit was tugged free from his grasp. He turned and found himself staring into the sharp, pale face of a young man a little older than him, dressed in a navy suit that screamed effortless wealth. His hair was slicked back with precision, his watch gleamed with diamonds, and his eyes glinted with disdain as they flicked over Ethan's clothes.
The man gave a low, derisive laugh. "Really? You?" He looked Ethan up and down as though inspecting a stray dog. "Who the hell do you think you are, walking into a place like this and laying hands on that suit?"
Ethan froze. His pulse spiked. He had been prepared for the silent stares, the whispered contempt of the staff—but not for someone to directly snatch what he had chosen.
"I…" His throat tightened, words fumbling. Angering a wealthy man in a place like this could only end badly. Swallowing, he steadied his voice, polite and careful. "If you want the suit, you can buy it. I'm not here to stop you. But you don't have to steal the one I picked out."
The man's brows shot up, and then his lip curled in mockery. "Steal? You're dressed like a busboy and you're talking about buying?" He gave a sharp, humorless laugh that carried across the boutique. Several sales staff glanced over, smirking faintly, their eyes glinting with cruel amusement.
"I'm Adam Vale," the man sneered. "My father owns Solaris Tech. Maybe you've heard of it? A startup worth half a billion and climbing. We're not just old money—we're the new blood of this city. And you—" he jabbed a finger toward Ethan's chest, the suit still draped over his arm—"you don't even have the right to breathe in a store like this, let alone lay hands on what you can't afford."
Ethan's heart thudded painfully. He knew the name—everyone in the city did. Solaris Tech was the darling of the business world, a company that had risen from nothing to dominate in just a few years. Vale's son had been in the news, photographed at galas, rubbing shoulders with politicians. And now he was standing here, dripping arrogance, treating Ethan like trash.
"I didn't mean to offend," Ethan said quietly, forcing calm into his voice. "I only wanted to buy a suit. If you like this one, then—"
"Oh, how generous of you," Adam cut him off, his voice dripping sarcasm. "The stray wants to buy me a suit? Do you even hear yourself? Do you think you're my equal? That you can stand here and negotiate with me?"
Before Ethan could answer, one of the store assistants hurried over. She was tall, elegant, her hair tied in a sleek bun, her expression already set in lines of practiced disdain.
"Mr. Vale, I apologize for the inconvenience," she said smoothly, turning a sharp gaze onto Ethan. "This is an elegant establishment. We pride ourselves on catering to discerning clients. People like him are clearly in the wrong place."
Ethan's mouth fell open slightly. He hadn't even spoken, hadn't been asked a single question. The assistant hadn't bothered to confirm anything—his crime was written in his frayed cuffs and tired shoes. He was guilty the moment he walked in.
"Wait, I—" Ethan began.
The assistant cut him off with a raised hand, as though silencing a child. "Sir, this store is not for window-shoppers or impostors. You are making our valued customer uncomfortable. I'll have to ask you to leave."
Shock rippled through him, followed by a hot, hollow anger. He had expected disdain, yes. But to be dismissed outright, to be treated like vermin without even a chance to speak—it burned deeper than he wanted to admit.
Adam Vale smirked, clearly pleased. "You heard her. Run along, busboy. Maybe the thrift store down the street has something more in your range." He shifted the suit draped over his arm, flaunting it like a trophy. "This one's mine now."
The assistant gave a deferential nod to Adam. "Of course, Mr. Vale. I'll have it packed immediately." She turned back to Ethan, her eyes cold. "Sir, please see yourself out."
Ethan's chest tightened. He had the money. Two hundred thousand dollars in his account—more than enough to buy every suit in the store. But none of them cared. His word meant nothing. His clothes defined him in their eyes. His silence was expected, demanded.
He stood frozen, stunned into wordlessness.
The assistant gestured again, impatient. "Sir. Out."
For a heartbeat, Ethan considered it. Just walking away, avoiding trouble. The mission screamed in his mind, the penalty threatening his family if he failed. But every muscle in his body locked with the weight of years of scorn, years of being dismissed, sneered at, shoved aside.
His lips parted, the beginnings of protest forming.
But before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension.
"Excuse me—what's going on here?"
The words were soft, clear, and unfamiliar.
All eyes turned.
A young woman had stepped out from the back of the boutique, a stack of boxes balanced effortlessly in her arms. She wore the same staff uniform as the others, but on her it seemed transformed—neat lines that framed a figure both graceful and youthful. Her face was striking: delicate features framed by silky dark hair that spilled over her shoulders, eyes wide and curious rather than cold.
Even Adam Vale's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. His gaze flicked over her, surprise flashing in his eyes. She was new—that much was obvious. Ethan, too, was caught off guard. Her presence was like a sudden shaft of sunlight in the cold, polished gloom of the boutique.
The assistant who had been sneering at Ethan straightened, her tone tightening. "It's nothing. Just… dealing with someone who doesn't belong here."
The younger woman frowned slightly, her brows knitting. Her gaze shifted to Ethan, then to the suit draped over Adrian's arm.
Something flickered in her eyes—confusion, perhaps curiosity. But not disdain.
And in that moment, Ethan realized: she hadn't already judged him.
She was the only one here who hadn't decided what he was the moment he walked through the door.
Adam cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "No problem here," he said smoothly, flashing a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Just a busboy getting lost on his way to the bargain bin."
The older assistant chuckled faintly, though her eyes remained sharp.
But the younger woman didn't laugh. She looked at Ethan again, and this time her lips pressed together, as though she were holding back words.
And for the first time since stepping into the boutique, Ethan felt a thread of hope.