The silence in the boutique stretched taut, heavy with disdain and condescension, until the young woman's voice cut through again.
Her tone was polite but clear, carrying a kind of straightforward sincerity that felt utterly foreign in this place. "Sir," she said, looking directly at Ethan, her eyes calm and unflinching. "What would you like to buy?"
The words seemed to freeze the room.
The older assistant stiffened, her lips parting in shock. The other sales staff exchanged glances, eyebrows raised. Even Adam Vale—so smug, so certain of his superiority—blinked in disbelief, his mouth curling in confusion as though he had just been spoken to in a foreign tongue.
It was absurd. This was Adam Vale, heir of Solaris Tech, the shining symbol of new money's rise. And yet the young woman had brushed right past him, ignoring his posturing, his family's name, his sneering entitlement.
Instead, she had addressed Ethan.
Ethan himself stood stunned, caught in her gaze. For a heartbeat he thought he had misheard her, that his mind was playing tricks. But her eyes didn't waver, patient and expectant, waiting for his answer.
"You…" Ethan's voice faltered. "You're asking me?"
"Of course," she replied simply. "You came here to purchase something, didn't you? What would you like?"
Her calm, matter-of-fact tone left no room for mockery, no suggestion of insult. For the first time since stepping into the boutique, Ethan felt treated not like a trespasser, but like a customer.
His chest tightened, a thousand retorts, doubts, and years of humiliation tangling on his tongue. But then, slowly, he forced the words out, his voice steadier than he expected. "A suit. Charcoal, tailored fit. My size—thirty-eight chest. And… I'll need the full set. Shirt, shoes, tie."
The young woman nodded, jotting it down with efficient grace. "Understood. Do you also require accessories? A watch, perhaps?"
Ethan hesitated only briefly. He thought of the Twilight Hotel, of the gilded sharks who would be circling him there. The mission had not demanded more than a suit, but if he showed up looking incomplete, suspicion would follow.
"Yes," he said firmly. "A watch. Something appropriate."
The woman's lips curved into the faintest smile, professional yet genuine. "Very well." She gestured gracefully. "Please wait one moment."
Behind them, Adam Vale sputtered as though finally regaining his voice. "Wait—what? What? I was here first! I want that suit!" His tone was sharp, incredulous, his hand still gripping the sleeve of the charcoal suit like a lifeline. "Do you even know who I am?"
The young woman turned politely, bowing her head slightly. "Of course, Mr. Vale. One of the other assistants will be happy to help you. I'm attending to this gentleman's request."
Adam's face darkened, color rising to his cheeks. For a man used to being deferred to, ignored in favor of another was unthinkable. "You—!" He stopped short, his fists clenching at his sides, his glare boring into Ethan like a dagger.
Ethan kept his eyes forward, ignoring the heat of Adam's stare. His heart still pounded, but beneath it was a steadier current. The young woman's recognition, her simple act of asking what he wanted, gave him just enough ground to stand his ground.
She moved quickly, selecting several items with a practiced eye. As she gathered them, she glanced back at Ethan. "Regarding the suit," she said, "your requested size is uncommon. We only have two remaining in stock. They were specially ordered. That means—"
"I'll take it," Ethan cut in, his voice low but firm. He checked the time on his phone—nearly midnight. The mission loomed over him like a ticking clock. He couldn't afford delays. "I'm in a rush. Please, just prepare it."
For a moment, her brows furrowed, as though she wanted to explain something further. But then she nodded, her expression smoothing into professionalism once more. "As you wish."
The older assistant's lips curved in a cold smile. She turned to Adam, her voice sweet as honey. "Do you see, sir? That suit is special. Seventy thousand dollars. Even most of our regular clients consider it extravagant. And this…" she flicked her gaze at Ethan, disdain dripping from every syllable, "this man dares claim it without so much as hearing the price."
A ripple of contempt passed through the room. The other staff smirked, whispering behind manicured hands. The wealthy shoppers who had lingered to watch the drama shook their heads, their expressions dripping with ridicule.
Even Adam Vale blinked, momentarily taken aback. Seventy thousand dollars for a single suit was a threshold he himself had never crossed. His father might have approved, but Adrian's own allowance—generous though it was—had limits.
His shock quickly curdled into fury. "Ridiculous," he spat. "You—do you even know how much that is? Seventy thousand dollars! You couldn't scrape together seven hundred if your life depended on it!"
Ethan felt their eyes stabbing into him, heavy with scorn. But he didn't flinch. He couldn't. His pulse was steady now, driven by a single thought: he had the money. Two hundred thousand dollars sat waiting in his account. For once, the chains were gone.
The young woman packed the suit carefully, her hands deft and precise. She added shirts, ties, shoes, and finally, a watch in a sleek box. Her movements were smooth, practiced, but Ethan caught a flicker of curiosity in her eyes when she glanced up at him.
"That will be everything," she said quietly.
Ethan nodded. He pulled out his card—plain, unimpressive, a humble bank card that had once been his greatest embarrassment at the academy. He held it out, his hand steady.
The boutique fell silent. The staff stared. Adam's smirk widened, eager to see the humiliation when the card was declined. The older assistant folded her arms, lips already curving in anticipation.
The young woman swiped it.
The machine beeped once. Then again.
Transaction Approved.
Total: $120,000.
The receipt printed, crisp and merciless.
The silence shattered.
Ethan picked up the bags without a word. His shoulders were straight, his gaze forward, his movements calm. He didn't look back at Adam's stunned face, or at the staff's wide eyes, or at the whispers already spreading like wildfire.
He simply walked to the door, his steps steady, his heart pounding not with fear but with something sharper.
Freedom.
The young woman blinked after him, her professional mask slipping for just a moment. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes wide with surprise. He had not only paid—he had tipped generously, the numbers blinking across her tablet making her breath hitch.
She watched his retreating figure, her curiosity burning brighter with each step he took.
Who was he?
And how could a man dressed in rags walk into a boutique like this… and spend more in one night than most of their richest clients would dare?