Ethan Cole's POV
The boardroom smelled of stale coffee and expensive cologne. The heavy glass table was scattered with reports, charts, and too many pens that nobody actually used. The low hum of the projector still rang in my ears even though the screen was already black.
"Cole Industries needs to move faster on the merger." one of the directors had said earlier, his voice sharp like he thought urgency was enough to solve problems. Another chimed in about investors, about numbers on paper that didn't bleed but demanded everything from us.
For two hours, I'd listened. Nodded. Spoken in clipped sentences that sounded like I meant them, even when my head was a storm of half- finished thoughts. Really.
Now, as I sank into the backseat of my car, Sighing, I loosened the tie from my neck like it had been strangling me all evening.
"Home, sir?" my driver asked.
"Yes." I muttered, leaning my head against the seat. My temples throbbed. That was a long meeting.
The city outside was a blur of lights— neon signs flickering, traffic horns blaring, strangers' faces rushing past like shadows. It always amazed me how the world outside my tinted glass felt both so alive and so far away.
When we finally pulled up to my house, the silence greeted me first. My housekeeper had already left. The house felt heavier than usual when I stepped through the door. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was the day clinging to me like damp clothes I couldn't shake off. The marble floors and tall ceilings seemed colder without the sound of footsteps moving through them.
I tossed my keys onto the entry table and shrugged off my jacket, and walked straight to the living room. For a moment I just sat there in the dark, head resting against the back of the couch, breathing in the silence. The silence inside was almost startling after hours of voices— colleagues, board members, advisors— all of them talking at once, all of them wanting something from me.
Meetings drained me more than I cared to admit. People assumed I thrived in them— after all, I was the CEO, wasn't I? I was supposed to command the room, make decisions with sharp precision, and walk out untouchable. That was the image. But the truth? The truth was that sometimes, when the last hand had been shaken and the last smile forced, I just wanted to sink into a couch and not exist for a few hours. Exhaustion was heavy in my chest, pressing me down. I didn't want food. I did not want wine. I did not want anything except a moment where nobody needed something from me.
The chandelier light threw soft gold across the white walls, but the space still felt cold. Too clean, too perfect, like a hotel suite. I had chosen everything here— every piece of furniture, every polished surface— but it never felt like home. Just a place to collapse when the world let me. I let my head fall back and closed my eyes. My shoulders ached from tension, my temples from the beginning of a headache. I could still hear the echoes of the meeting— voices arguing about profit margins, expansions, risks. I had settled it, of course. They had left with nods and half- hearted smiles. But their noise was still inside me.
For a long moment, I just sat there in the silence, staring at the ceiling as though it might answer the questions I didn't even want to ask.
Almost without thinking, I reached for the remote and pressed the button.
The TV came alive, spilling blue light across the quiet room. I expected to hear about politics, or maybe sports— something meaningless enough to half- listen to.
But instead, the newscaster's voice was sharp and dramatic, pulling my attention like a hook.
"…breaking update on the disappearance of Tracy Alcott, heir to Alcott Enterprises, one of the wealthiest families in Northstone City. Authorities say she vanished on her wedding day, just hours before the ceremony was to begin. Family representatives claim that she left with a large sum of money. Rumors are circulating that she fled intentionally, abandoning both her family and her fiancé at the altar."
I sat up straighter. My brows knit together as the anchor continued.