Chapter 1
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Amid fragrant perfumes and elegant attire, wine glasses clinked as laughter filled the air. This was Westlake City's annual Business Leaders Gala, where only the elite of the business world received invitations.
Ethan Blake stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his slender fingers gently swirling amber liquid in a crystal tumbler. His chiseled features revealed nothing.
His flawlessly tailored black suit accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist, giving him the appearance of a living sculpture.
"Mr. Blake, it's been too long," a middle-aged man approached with a wine glass, his face plastered with a practiced smile. "Word is Blake Industries grew by 30% last quarter. Damn impressive."
Ethan nodded slightly, his lips curving into the bare minimum of a social smile. "Market conditions were favorable, that's all, Mr. Lee."
"Always the modest one," Mr. Lee leaned in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "My daughter just returned from Oxford and she's quite taken with you. Perhaps we could arrange—"
"Not interested," Ethan cut him off, his eyes turning to ice. "I don't mix business with marriage."
Mr. Lee's smile faltered before he smoothly changed the subject.
This scene had played out countless times tonight. At just 28, Ethan was not only Westlake City's youngest business prodigy but also its most eligible bachelor, a fact not lost on the city's ambitious socialites.
Unfortunately for them, Ethan was famously cold toward romantic pursuits, leading to whispered speculation about his interests altogether.
"Sir, VP Reynolds needs you regarding tomorrow's board meeting," Marcus Lane, his assistant, materialized at the perfect moment to extract him.
With a curt nod to Mr. Lee, Ethan turned to leave. The crowd parted instinctively as he walked, their gazes a mixture of envy and admiration.
"How much longer must I endure this?" Ethan muttered to Marcus, not bothering to mask his irritation.
"Another hour, sir," Marcus replied, unfazed by his boss's mood. "Want me to create an exit strategy?"
Ethan was about to respond when he felt a sudden wetness against his back. He turned sharply to find a woman in server's attire staring in horror—not at him, but at the spreading red wine stain on his immaculate suit.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" The woman hastily set down her tray and pulled out a handkerchief. "I tripped on the carpet edge and—"
The banquet hall fell silent instantly. Everyone knew of Ethan's infamous perfectionism; last month, a server who merely brushed against his sleeve had been fired on the spot after a dressing-down that left the man in tears.
Ethan glanced down at his ruined suit—a custom piece worth more than most people's monthly salary—his brow furrowing slightly.
He raised his eyes slowly, his gaze razor-sharp.
Yet when he fully registered the woman before him, something unexpected flickered across his face.
She was young, mid-twenties at most. Unlike the other servers who would be quaking in their shoes, she stood straight-backed, her eyes showing genuine regret but not a trace of the expected terror—and was that defiance he detected?
"Any idea what this suit costs?" Ethan asked, his voice deceptively soft.
The woman took a measured breath. "I can't quote the exact price, but judging by the fabric and cut, it's a Zegna custom piece. Market value between twelve and fifteen thousand dollars, I'd estimate."
A murmur rippled through the onlookers. Ethan's eyebrow arched slightly. "You know your menswear."
"My father was a tailor," she replied with unexpected composure. "If you'll allow it, I can have this professionally treated. No trace will remain, or I'll cover the replacement cost myself."
The crowd's collective intake of breath was audible. A server offering to replace a five-figure suit? Was she insane?
Ethan, however, found himself intrigued. "Your name?"
"Rachel Adams."
"Rachel Adams…" Ethan rolled the name on his tongue, a hint of curiosity replacing his anger. "And you're certain you can salvage this?"
"Ninety percent confident," Rachel met his gaze unflinchingly. "Red wine's stubborn, but with the right treatment applied quickly, it'll come out completely."
Ethan studied her for a long moment, then shrugged off his jacket and handed it over. "Well then, show me what you can do."
The room erupted in whispers. Had Ethan Blake just let someone off the hook? Without even raising his voice?
"Thank you for the opportunity," Rachel accepted the jacket respectfully, then jotted her number on a small notepad. "I'll contact you once it's ready."
Ethan pocketed the note, watching her composed retreat with undisguised interest.
"Find out everything about her," he murmured to Marcus. "Everything."
Three days later, in the executive suite of Blake Industries…
"The information you requested, sir." Marcus placed a slim folder before Ethan. "Rachel Adams, 24, former top student at Westlake Design Academy. Dropped out junior year when her father suffered a cerebral hemorrhage. He was quite respected in tailoring circles. She's working three jobs to cover his medical care. Clean record, excellent references from everyone I spoke with."
Ethan leafed through the file, pausing at photos of Rachel's design portfolio. The work showed remarkable vision—far beyond typical student projects.
"Interesting." Ethan closed the file decisively. "Arrange a meeting."
"She returned your jacket this morning," Marcus added. "It's genuinely good as new."
A rare smile played at Ethan's lips. "All the more reason to meet her, then."
When Rachel's phone displayed "Blake Industries," her stomach dropped. She'd been preparing for this call, even considering which of her father's precious tools she might need to sell.
But when she stepped into the cavernous office, the words from the imposing man behind the massive desk left her speechless.
"Miss Adams, how would you like to be my personal assistant? Thirty thousand monthly, full benefits package included."
