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Everything shifted after that. After she saw me in that bathroom with Irina. The same thing she threw in my face the night I asked her to be exclusive.

“Fuck…” I mutter roughly, the weight of it landing differently. “You’re right. It might’ve been my fault.”

Laughing under his breath, he repeats, “Might’ve?” Then he shakes his head, his expression sharpening as he looks straight at me. “You’re the most successful CEO in New York, London and, fuck, probably the whole world, considering what you turned Hartho into. Don’t tell me you’re too stupid to see the reality, Ethan,” he says, firm, with authority.

And I don’t respond. Because I know what he’s talking about.

I just don’t want to think about it.

Not yet.

“Thalia’s in love with you, Ethan.”

“Fucking hell, Theo,” I mutter, my voice strained, rougher than before.

I push back from the desk and stand, needing the movement, the change, something to ground me as I pour myself a glass of whiskey, the familiar motion automatic.

Glass in hand, I walk to the window and look out over London—a city I have at my feet, literally and figuratively—its chaos stretching endlessly beneath me.

And yet, right now, none of it feels like enough.

FORTY-THREE

Thalia

With my phone in one hand and a folder overflowing with plans and sketches in the other, I step through the restaurant door where I’m supposed to meet John and his sister.

I had been just about to leave when I received an email from John asking if we could meet today, if possible, because his sister was extremely excited about my proposals and wanted us to choose and book one of the venues.

Of course, I couldn’t reply with a “no,” so I gathered my things and came straight here.

I arrive ten minutes early, as I always do, making sure nothing interferes with my schedule or risks making me late. After giving the hostess my name and John’s, she leads me toward his table, and I spot him from a few meters away, standing alone.

Maybe his sister is in the bathroom. Maybe she’s running late.

As soon as I reach the table, he lifts his gaze from his phone and smiles wildly at me.

“Thalia,” he greets, rising to hug me.

The gesture catches me off guard, but I manage to keep my composure, returning the hug briefly before pulling back and taking my seat.

“I’m glad you could make it today,” he says warmly. “And thank you for agreeing.”

I offer him a polite smile, nodding before asking, “Is your sister running late?”

He holds my gaze for a few moments, then a playful smirk curves his lips.

“No,” he says. “She’s not coming,” he admits. “I emailed you because I wanted to see you and had no other way of reaching you.”

My breath hitches, my entire body instantly alert.

What is this about, then?

“I’m sorry, I hope you’re not upset,” he adds gently. “I had no other way to contact you, and since I used your work email, I had to write something appropriate, but also something that would make you say yes,” he finishes, a flirtatious edge slipping into his smile.

“John,” I say, my tone accusatory. “I schlepped this entire folder full of proposals, sketches, recommendations…”

I place my phone face down on the table, as I always do in meetings, fixing him with a serious look.