"Great time, huh?"
The words rang in Ethan's ears like the sound of a fire alarm going off in a silent room. Loud. Jarring. Unavoidable. For a moment, he felt like the entire world had started closing in on him, as if the ground beneath his feet had cracked and he was slowly being swallowed. He couldn't believe this. Couldn't believe what he was seeing, what he was hearing. Not now. Not like this.
He instinctively closed his eyes, hoping that maybe—just maybe—it was a hallucination. A trick of the light. A daydream turned bad. But when he opened them again, there she was.
Sydney.
Still standing there. Still staring at him. The soft, beautiful smile she had worn earlier had vanished without a trace, like it had never existed. In its place was a blank, unreadable expression. Not angry, not sad—but that kind of emptiness that said everything without saying anything.
Ethan rubbed his eyes. Once. Then again. He blinked hard as if trying to reboot reality. But nothing changed. Sydney was still standing there, silent, holding his phone in her hand like it was some cursed object that had burned her.
And Ethan? He already knew what she had seen.
He didn't need to check the screen. He knew what that message said, and more importantly, he knew exactly how it would look to someone reading it out of context. He knew what conclusions she might have jumped to. And the panic in his chest grew faster than he could control. He had to say something. He had to fix this. Fast.
"Sydney, about that message—it's not what you think it is," he said quickly, his voice firm but laced with desperation.
But Sydney tilted her head slightly, her expression still unreadable. There was something distant in her eyes now, something guarded.
"It's fine. There's no need to explain," she replied, her tone so calm it sent a chill down his spine. She extended his phone toward him.
He took it back slowly. But unlike her words, he knew—it wasn't fine.
Not even close.
Ethan had spent years around his mother. And if there was one universal truth he had learned—one rule that was as unshakable as gravity—it was this: when a woman said "it's fine," it almost always meant the exact opposite. It was code. It was the opening line in a silent war of emotion. And he knew he would have to explain himself, eventually.
But right now, before the words could even fully form in his mouth, something else happened.
The first thing that had come to his mind when he saw her standing there… he just did it.
He stepped forward.
Sydney looked at him with surprise, her brows knitting slightly. "What?" she asked, her voice sharper now, a flicker of anger slipping through the cracks in her calm. It was clear—she wasn't over what she'd seen.
But Ethan didn't say a word. Not yet.
Instead, he just smiled. A soft, small, genuine smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. He raised his arms gently, his gaze never leaving hers.
And then, without hesitation, he pulled her into a hug.
A big, warm, full-body hug.
He held her tightly, like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. He closed his eyes as his arms wrapped around her, drawing her in like he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go. He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent, that familiar scent that somehow felt like comfort, like calm in the middle of a storm.
And then, in the softest voice he could muster, as if whispering a secret to her soul, he said, "It's nice seeing you, Sydney."
He meant it. Every word.
And in that moment, he didn't want to explain, didn't want to argue, didn't want to rush into any frantic defense. He just wanted to hold her. To let her feel the sincerity in his arms, in his stillness, in his voice. He just wanted her to know—he cared.
Sydney, who seconds ago had been full of doubt, full of that awful regret that bubbled up from the pit of her stomach the moment she read those messages, stood frozen in his arms. Her entire body was stiff, as if resisting the feeling, resisting him.
She had regretted coming here. She had been angry at herself for letting her guard down. For walking into his space thinking this would be something beautiful. She felt foolish. Naive.
But then… she felt it.
His hug.
That warmth.
That unwavering embrace.
Slowly, as if her body was acting before her mind could catch up, her hands moved. First, one arm. Then the other. She wrapped them around Ethan. Gently. Then more firmly. She hugged him back.
And the moment Ethan felt her hug him back, his entire body relaxed.
He sank deeper into the hug, his cheek brushing against her hair, a soft smile appearing on his face. And unknown to him, a matching smile had also crept onto Sydney's lips, small but present, born out of the unspoken connection between them.
For someone who always claimed he didn't like K-dramas, Ethan was now living one. Right here. Right now. In the middle of the mess. This was it. This was the scene that made people believe in slow burns and second chances.
They stayed like that.
For thirty whole seconds.
Thirty seconds of complete silence. Of nothing but the beating of two hearts against each other's chests. Of forgiveness and feeling and maybe… just maybe… a spark rekindling.
And then, as gently as it began, they pulled away.
Ethan stepped back slightly. Sydney, her cheeks now dusted with red, lowered her gaze for a second before putting her hands behind her back, trying to act composed.
"So…" she said softly, the word slipping out like a sigh, her voice carrying both uncertainty and something delicate—something hopeful.
Ethan, his grin spreading wider, his heart still pounding, repeated after her.
"So…"
Their eyes met. And in that gaze, everything they wanted to say but hadn't yet spoken hung between them like invisible threads, tangled and alive.
They just stood there.
Two people.
Two words.
And one moment that felt like everything.
While Ethan's heart had finally calmed.
For Bill Miller, Ethan's trusted agent and strategist, it was the complete opposite.
While Ethan was falling deeper into peace and romance, Bill was on the verge of something massive—something that had the potential to shift the trajectory of Ethan Jones's career forever. Something he had been working on for weeks.
And right now, Bill was in none other than Atlanta, Georgia—the bustling city that housed the headquarters of some of the biggest corporate giants in the United States.
But Bill hadn't flown across the country for sightseeing.
No. He was here for something far more powerful.
He was standing inside one of the largest multinational companies in Atlanta and the whole world, an iconic brand whose name echoed across continents. And why had he come? What exactly had he been working on?
Well—he and his assistant Lisa had been carefully negotiating, fine-tuning, and setting the stage for none other than Ethan Jones's first-ever endorsement deal.
Not just any deal—but one with one of the biggest companies in the world.
Despite Ethan's massive popularity, viral hits, chart-topping debut album, and ever-growing fanbase, he hadn't signed a single endorsement deal. Not one. And that wasn't an oversight. That was intentional.
Because Bill understood the game.
As an experienced agent, he knew endorsements weren't just about free products and fancy commercials. No. They were about positioning. About strategy. About longevity. He had a list of reasons longer than a Grammy acceptance speech.
Endorsements brought in enormous revenue—sometimes more than the music itself.
They expanded a celebrity's reach to markets outside music.
They created branding opportunities, legacy deals, and influence over cultural trends.
They solidified a celebrity's image in the eyes of the public.
They unlocked future business ventures, investment deals, and even ownership stakes.
They attracted collaborations with other top-tier artists and influencers.
They built the kind of public trust that even hits couldn't guarantee.
And the money?
Let's just say it wasn't a "couple thousand." It was millions. Straight-up life-changing, generational wealth kind of money.
Ethan had already received tons of endorsement offers in the past—from sneaker brands, energy drinks, fashion labels, tech companies. But he never replied to them. They thought it was because he was too distracted or just uninterested. But no, it was all part of Bills plans
And after a while, those offers began to die down.
But recently? Thanks to Ethan's viral resurgence, the massive numbers his album had racked up, and the Emmy-worthy drama of his personal story? They came flooding in again. The inbox was back to being packed.
But Bill wasn't Still biting.
Because he had a plan.
He didn't want Ethan's first deal to be just any deal. He wanted it to be a moment—something that screamed: if you're not coming with this kind of offer, don't come at all. He was crafting Ethan's market image carefully. This was about quality, not quantity. Prestige, not popularity. Ethans first deal would be like his album 'One of a Kind' it was only fitting.
And now—after months of quiet negotiations, holding the line, and waiting for the perfect wave—he was finally here.
Today was the final round of negotiations.
As Bill stood in the glass-walled lobby of the corporate tower, the soft hum of air conditioning in the background, he adjusted the sleeves of his blazer. He wasn't just attending a meeting. He was about to make history—at least in Ethan's career.
A young assistant walked up to him, holding a tablet in her hands.
"Mr. Miller, they're ready for you," she said with a polite nod.
Bill nodded once, then turned to Lisa, his assistant, who stood beside him. She was sharp, poised, African-American, and someone he trusted with everything. Dressed in a sleek black pantsuit, she gave him a small nod of readiness.
"Lisa, let's go," he said calmly, voice low but firm.
Together, they walked down the hall, the click of their shoes echoing against the polished floor. A glass door swung open as they entered a sleek boardroom where five people were already seated—each one a high-level executive, dressed in business formal, smiles ready, eyes watchful.
They all rose slightly to greet him as he and Lisa took their seats at the long conference table.
After the handshakes and formalities, a man seated at the center of the opposing side—likely the head of this operation—cleared his throat and leaned forward.
"Okay then, Mr. Miller. Let's begin."
Bill smiled lightly, laced his fingers together, and leaned in as well. His mind was calm, his vision razor-sharp.
He looked around the table, then whispered to himself in his head:
"This is the beginning of a legacy. A signature carved in gold. Not just a deal… but a declaration."
And with that, the room leaned into silence, and the real conversation began.