THE BOY FROM GLASS TOWERS
Ethan Cole had everything people prayed for—and nothing that made him feel alive.
From the thirty-seventh floor of the Cole International building, Manhattan looked like a living thing. The city breathed. Cars moved like blood through its veins, people rushed with purpose, and lights flickered even in daylight. Ethan stood behind the glass wall of his father's office, hands in his pockets, tie loosened, wondering how a place so alive could make him feel so empty.
"You weren't listening."
His father's voice cut through the silence.
Ethan turned slowly. Richard Cole—billionaire, real-estate titan, legend—sat behind a polished desk that probably cost more than some people's houses.
"I was," Ethan lied.
Richard sighed, the sound of a man who never had time for excuses. "I asked if you're ready to take over the Brooklyn development project."
Ethan hesitated. "I don't think I'm ready to take over anything yet."
That earned him a look—sharp, disappointed, familiar.
"You're twenty-eight," Richard said. "I built this company before I was thirty."
Ethan forced a small smile. "Congratulations."
Richard stood. "This isn't a joke, Ethan. The Cole name means something. People depend on us."
People depend on you, Ethan thought. I just inherited the benefits.
He nodded out of habit. "I'll think about it."
Richard waved him off. "Think faster."
Ethan left the office, walking past assistants, executives, and men in suits who treated him like royalty because of a last name he never earned.
Outside, the city swallowed him whole.