Two hours earlier…
The boardroom reeked of polished wood and tension.
Ethan Hayes sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his fingers drumming lightly against the leather folder in front of him. A dozen eyes bored into him as he laid out projections for the new real estate development project. He was precise, clipped, and every word carried weight,just the way he liked it.
Except for the fact that she was sitting at the other end of the table.
Vanessa.
His ex-wife, co-founder, and the woman who had managed to turn betrayal into a daily reminder.
She wore her power like perfume; expensive, suffocating. Her red nails tapped against her tablet as she interrupted, her voice sugarcoated but edged with steel.
"I still don't see how this expansion in Atlanta makes sense," she said smoothly, flipping her hair back. "It's risky. Investors don't need to be risky. They need security. And security doesn't come from throwing millions into a maybe-market."
Ethan's jaw ticked. The boardroom hushed. They all knew this dance. Vanessa would challenge him, he would counter, and one of them would walk away with bruised egos.
But only Ethan carried the bruises that never healed.
He leaned back in his chair, deliberately calm. "It's not a maybe-market. It's growing. Numbers don't lie, Vanessa. People need homes. And while you're clinging to the past, I'm building the future."
Her smile was like broken glass. "Funny. That's exactly what I told you before you walked out of our marriage."
The words sliced through the room. A few board members shifted uncomfortably. Ethan didn't flinch. He'd had years to perfect that skill.
What he did feel was the heat of the memory, her laughter that used to belong to him, the nights she came home smelling like another man's cologne, the divorce papers slapped down like a final insult.
He had given her everything: years of loyalty, a business built with his bare hands, a life most people envied. And she'd traded it for cheap thrills and someone else's bed.
Now she still sat across from him every week, looking like victory while he carried restraint like a prison sentence.
The meeting dragged on for another hour. By the time Ethan adjourned it, his patience had worn to threads. He left without sparing Vanessa another glance.
His office was a sanctuary of order: glass, steel, and the faint scent of coffee lingering from earlier. He dropped his folder onto the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Rough one?"
Ryan, his personal assistant, leaned casually against the doorway. Twenty-eight, sharp as a tack, and with the kind of humor Ethan tolerated only because it was laced with competence.
"You tell me," Ethan muttered, loosening his tie.
Ryan smirked. "I'd tell you to get laid, but I'm not sure that's language suitable for a CEO's ears."
Ethan shot him a glare, but Ryan only grinned wider.
"Come on, boss. You're wound tighter than a drum. All this brooding, all this pent-up rage… it's not healthy."
"I don't pay you to analyze my health."
"No," Ryan said cheerfully, "you pay me to keep your schedule, which includes reminding you that your daughter called,twice. Something about a 'meeting' tonight? With her friend?"
Ethan exhaled, sinking into his chair. "Maddie's been on me for weeks about this. She swears her friend is the next big thing in fashion. Wants me to… consider investing."
Ryan's brows lifted. "You? Mr. Skeptical? Investing in a twenty-something's dream of running Vogue from her bedroom?"
"Exactly why I've avoided it until now." Ethan's lips thinned. "But Maddie doesn't let things go. You know how she is."
Ryan chuckled. "Yeah, stubborn like her old man. You'll sit through the pitch, tear it apart with your spreadsheets, then tell her no. Simple."
"Simple," Ethan repeated, though his chest felt heavier than it should.
Because truthfully, he didn't believe in passion without discipline anymore. He'd seen too many dreamers burn out when reality bit them. Passion was Vanessa laughing in someone else's arms. Passion was fleeting, dangerous, reckless.
And Ethan Hayes didn't do reckless anymore.
By the time he drove home, dusk had draped the city in shadows. His house,large but not ostentatious,glowed with warm lights spilling from the windows. Maddie's car was already in the driveway.
Of course.
Ethan straightened his tie again, slipped his hands into his pockets, and reminded himself: he was doing this for his daughter. Not for some stranger with sketches and big eyes.
The door swung open to the familiar sound of Maddie's laughter echoing through the living room. He stepped inside, the scent of cinnamon candles hitting him first, then the sight of them,Maddie sprawled comfortably on the couch, and next to her, Ava Collins.
For a split second, he didn't breathe.
Ava wasn't what he expected. Not the wide-eyed amateur or over-polished socialite he had imagined. She sat upright, posture tense, a portfolio pressed against her lap like a shield. Her hair framed her face in soft waves, and when her eyes flicked up to meet his, something in his chest shifted.
Recognition.
Not of her, but of the way she looked at him. Startled, wary, almost like she'd been caught.
Ethan's mask snapped back into place. Business. Only business.
"So…" his voice cut through the room, low and steady, "you're the designer Maddie thinks I should invest in."
Ava swallowed, forcing a smile that didn't quite hide her nerves. "Yes, Mr. Hayes. Thank you for… taking the time."
Maddie rolled her eyes, nudging Ava playfully. "Dad, don't scare her. She's brilliant, I promise."
Ethan's gaze lingered on Ava a beat longer than necessary before he finally moved toward his chair. Strict. Controlled. Guarded.
But under the discipline, a thought flickered,and he hated that it flickered at all.
She's beautiful.