Ethan Carter held tightly to his father’s hand as they exited the grand lobby of the Blackstone Hotel. Behind them, the revolving doors flashed gold, as if the building itself breathed luxury—men in tailored suits laughing softly, champagne glasses chiming like bells, expensive perfumes clinging to the air. To Ethan, it all felt like a different universe. Beautiful, but cold. Like a toy you’re not allowed to touch.
Marcus Carter walked fast. He spoke into his earpiece, checking his watch, every sentence a calm command: the documents were in his office, the deal had to close before Monday, money never waited. To the world, he was decisive, unshakable. To Ethan, he was just Dad—though tonight, he felt distant, as if his hand was present but his heart was still inside the ballroom, signing an invisible contract.