The city never slept, but Ethan Cole often wished it would. From the floor to ceiling, glass windows of his penthouse. The skyline stretched endlessly, glowing with life. Cars crawled like ants beneath him, headlights flickering in steady streams. Neon lights pulsed. Music drifted faintly from distant rooftops.
Somewhere, people were laughing, celebrating, falling in love. But up here, high above it all, Ethan felt nothing. He stood still, a half-finished glass of whiskey resting in his hand, his reflection staring back at him from the glass. Sharp jawline, tailored suit, cold eyes. A man who had everything, a man who trusted nothing behind him.
The soft click of heels echoed across the marble floor. “You’re doing it again?” Ethan didn’t turn. “Doing what?” he asked flatly. His mother, Margaret Cole, walked into the room with quiet confidence, her presence commanding without effort, even in her early 60s. She carried herself like a queen, elegant, composed, and observant, staring at the city like it owes you something, she replied.
Ethan took a slow sip of his drink. Maybe it does, Margaret stopped beside him, following his gaze. No, she said gently. You owe yourself something. That made him scoff. I’ve given myself everything, Ethan replied. Power, stability, success. Margaret tilted her head slightly. And love, she asked. Silence. Ethan’s grip tightened slightly around the glass.
Love, he repeated, almost like the word tasted bitter. Love is a transaction. People give it when there’s something to gain. Margaret turned to face him fully now, studying him. That’s not true. Ethan finally looked at her, his expression calm. But there was something underneath it, something worn. Every woman I’ve ever been with, he began slowly, has had a price tag attached to her feelings.
Margaret said nothing, letting him continue. The first one loved my ambition until I became successful. Then suddenly it was about what I could give her. He set the glass down on a nearby table. The second one pretended to be different. She said she didn’t care about money. He let out a short, humorless laugh. Turns out she just cared about it more discreetly.
Margaret’s brows furrowed slightly. And the last one? She asked quietly. Ethan’s jaw tightened. She stayed, he said, long enough to meet investors. Long enough to get connections. long enough to build her own empire. “And then she left,” he said simply, without even pretending it was about love.
“The room fell silent again. Margaret walked toward the couch and sat down gracefully, folding her hands in her lap. “You’ve built walls,” she said after a moment. Ethan leaned against the glass window, arms crossed. “I’ve built protection. You’ve built isolation.” He didn’t respond to that. Margaret watched him carefully, her voice softening.
You weren’t always like this. Ethan’s eyes flickered slightly. That was before I learned how the world works. No, she corrected gently. That was before you got hurt. That struck something deeper. But Ethan masked it quickly. Same thing, he said. Margaret sighed quietly, shaking her head. No, Ethan, it’s not. She stood and walked toward him again, stopping just a few steps away.
Pain can teach you lessons, she continued. But it shouldn’t rewrite your entire belief system, Ethan’s gaze hardened. It’s not belief, it’s evidence, Margaret raised a brow. So, three failed relationships define the entire world. It’s not just three, he replied. It’s everyone. Business partners, friends, even distant relatives. Everyone wants something.
And what about me? Margaret asked. Ethan looked at her, his expression softening slightly. You’re different. Why? Because you’ve always been there, he said. Before the money, before the success, Margaret smiled faintly. And what if there are others like me? Ethan shook his head. There aren’t. You don’t know that. I do, he said firmly.
Because I’ve looked. Margaret studied him for a long moment, then spoke carefully. “No,” she said. “You’ve searched in the wrong places.” Ethan let out a quiet breath, clearly tired of the conversation. “I don’t have time for this,” he said. “I have meetings in the morning. You always have meetings,” Margaret replied.
“But somehow, you never have time for your own life. My life is my work. That’s not a life,” she said firmly. That’s an escape. Ethan’s eyes narrowed slightly. From what? From feeling anything real. That hit harder than he expected. For a brief second, something flickered in his eyes. But it disappeared just as quickly.
I don’t need feelings, he said coldly. They complicate things. They make things meaningful. They make things vulnerable. Margaret stepped closer, her voice lowering. And what’s wrong with being vulnerable? Ethan didn’t hesitate. Everything. The word landed heavy in the air. Margaret exhaled slowly, realizing how deep his walls had become.
“You’re afraid,” she said softly. Ethan’s expression sharpened. “I’m not afraid.” “You are,” she insisted gently. “You’re afraid of being hurt again. So, you’ve convinced yourself that love doesn’t exist.” Ethan turned away, running a hand through his hair. I’m not afraid of love, he said. I’m afraid of illusions, Margaret nodded slowly.
Then maybe you’ve just never seen the real thing. Ethan let out a dry laugh. And where exactly do I find that? Margaret’s eyes lit with quiet determination. Somewhere money doesn’t matter. Ethan turned back to her, skeptical. That place doesn’t exist. It does,” she said. “Where?” She paused for a moment, then smiled slightly. “You’ll see.
