Chapter 2 - THE PRIVATE SUITE
The morning sun hit the glass towers of Manhattan,
casting long shadows over the streets below.
Ethan had not slept,
he had remained in the chair beside Maya’s bed.
The private suite was quiet,
the machines hummed with a soft,
reassuring rhythm.
He watched the way the light played across her features.
She looked different when she wasn't in pain.
There was a delicacy to her,
a softness that seemed out of place in his world.
He had spent the night making calls,
finding out everything he could.
Maya Lane,
twenty-four years old.
A struggling artist with no family left.
She had been working three jobs to keep her studio.
She had been at the restaurant to deliver a painting.
Ethan felt a surge of anger at the world that had let her fall.
And then he felt a surge of anger at himself.
Why did he care?
He was a man who dealt in numbers,
not emotions.
But when she stirred,
his heart skipped a beat.
Her eyes opened slowly,
blinking against the brightness.
They were a deep,
clear amber.
She looked around the room,
confusion clouding her gaze.
Then her eyes landed on him,
and she froze.
“You,”
she whispered,
her voice raspy.
“You’re the man from the restaurant.”
“I’m Ethan,”
he said,
his voice surprisingly gentle.
“You’re at the hospital.”
“You had surgery.”
She tried to sit up,
but winced and fell back.
“My painting,”
she said,
her eyes filling with tears.
“I dropped it.”
“It’s fine,”
he lied,
knowing the canvas had been ruined in the rain.
“I’ll take care of it.”
She looked at him,
really looked at him.
“Why are you here?”
“Because you collapsed at my feet,”
he replied.
“And because I don't like unfinished business.”
She looked away,
a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks.
“I’ve never been in a place like this,”
she said,
gesturing to the luxury around her.
“You don't belong in a ward,”
he said.
“You’ll stay here until you’re well.”
“I can't pay for this,”
she said,
her voice trembling.
“I don't have anything.”
Ethan leaned forward,
his eyes locking onto hers.
“You don't need to pay.”
“Consider it an investment.”
She laughed,
a small,
bitter sound.
“An investment in what?”
“In a life,”
he said.
He stood up,
straightening his suit jacket.
“I have to go to the office.”
“But I’ll be back tonight.”
“Don't try to leave.”
She watched him as he walked to the door.
“Ethan?”
He stopped,
his hand on the handle.
“Thank you,”
she whispered.
He didn't answer,
he just nodded and stepped out.
In the hallway,
his assistant was waiting.
“Cancel my meetings,”
Ethan said.
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
He walked to the elevator,
his mind spinning.
He was a billionaire,
a man of logic.
But as he descended to the lobby,
he felt like he was falling.
He felt like he was losing control,
May you like
and for the first time,
he didn't mind.
