Maya turned sharply, her heels barely making a sound against the carpeted floor of the grand hall. A strong hand still gripped her wrist.
It was him.
Ethan Cole.
His gaze met hers, cool yet layered with something unreadable—something she couldn't quite place.
"Where are you rushing off to, before giving your speech, Maya Sinclair?" he asked, his voice laced with mock amusement.
She blinked.
Playful? Ethan?
That wasn't the man she remembered. Back then, if Ethan was upset, he'd shut down—emotionless and silent, a cold machine of a man who preferred silence over confrontation. But now… this playfulness felt foreign. Disorienting.
She yanked her hand free from his grasp.
"Whether I give a speech or not is none of your business, Mr. Ethan Cole," she said, her tone icy enough to freeze the air around them.
A flicker of sadness danced across his face—quick, fleeting—but it was there. Then, just as quickly, he buried it beneath that unreadable mask of his.
"Excuse me," Maya said curtly, and without sparing him another glance, she turned and walked away.
By the time she reached the hotel, her body felt like it was carrying the weight of every emotion she had suppressed that night.
The suite was quiet.
Inside, Noah was fast asleep, curled up under his little dinosaur blanket, a picture of peace. Dane sat beside the bed, watching over him like a quiet guardian.
"Hey, how did it go?" Dane asked softly, careful not to disturb the boy.
Maya let out a tired sigh. "Not so great."
"You need rest. I'll get going. Take care, alright?"
"Yeah... Thanks, Dane."
With a small smile, he nodded and let himself out.
Maya headed to the bathroom, letting the water wash away the remnants of the evening—Ethan's smirk, the weight of the award in her hands, the bitter sting of the past.
Clad in her soft cotton lounge wear, she was just about to lie down beside Noah when—
Knock. Knock.
She froze.
She hadn't ordered anything. And Dane had just texted her that he reached home.
Her heart skipped a beat as she approached the door cautiously.
From the other side, a woman's slurred voice called out, "Hey! I'm outside, open the door…"
The voice sounded drunken—and female. Slightly relieved it wasn't a man, Maya opened the door just a crack.
A woman in a skimpy, wrinkled dress and smudged lipstick leaned against the wall. Reeking of alcohol.
Maya stepped out quietly and closed the door behind her to avoid waking Noah. She guided the woman toward the hallway camera, just in case.
"I think you've got the wrong room, miss," she said firmly.
Suddenly, the door across the hall opened.
Maya's breath caught.
Ethan Cole.
What was he doing there—right next door?
Before she could even process the implications, Ethan stepped out and called casually, "Hey, Jennifer. I'm here."
The drunk woman lit up. "Oh Ethan! You're here!" she giggled and stumbled into his arms. "Shall we go inside?" she asked, her arms lazily wrapping around his neck.
Maya watched silently, disbelief twisting in her chest.
This wasn't like him. Ethan never indulged in such public displays. He never even seemed interested in women back then. Cold. Reserved. Career-obsessed.
And now this?
Ethan glanced at Maya, just for a moment.
Then, he smirked and whispered something into the woman's ear.
"Yeah, why not, dear?"
Maya's stomach turned. But she didn't flinch. She gave nothing away.
With an expressionless face, she turned and went back into her room.
Inside Ethan's suite, the woman laughed, twirling around like she owned the space.
"Whisky! Give me some!" she demanded, collapsing onto the couch.
Ethan, unfazed, poured a drink and handed it to her.
But the moment she leaned into him, lips parting for more than alcohol—
He pushed her away.
She stumbled back. "Ethan?! Why did you push me away?!"
"If you're sober now, get up. Get out."
His voice was like ice.
"What?! You're insane! You called me here!"
"And you'll be paid for your time. Ask my secretary tomorrow."
"YOU CRAZY BASTARD!" she screamed, storming out of his suite, slamming the door behind her.
Ethan stood there for a moment, still and silent. Then he reached for the whisky bottle, poured another drink, and stared out the window—expression unreadable.
---
In Maya's suite, her phone buzzed.
Dad.
She stepped out into the balcony to answer, keeping her voice low.
"Maya, I just saw the news. Why was Ethan Cole there? Are you alright? Did he find out about Noah?"
"I'm fine, Dad. So is Noah. He doesn't know. We'll be back in two days. Please don't worry."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. Now rest. I'll check in tomorrow. Love you."
She ended the call and tiptoed back to Noah's side.
As she laid down, her eyes fluttered shut—until—
"YOU CRAZY BASTARD! YOU'RE INSANE!"
Maya bolted upright.
It was that same woman—now screaming outside Ethan's door.
Didn't she go inside?
Maya slipped out again, stepping into the hallway.
"What happened? Why are you outside?" she asked, half-confused, half-curious.
The woman turned, blinking in drunken frustration. "That Ethan Cole just—ARGH!" she shrieked again.
Maya raised a brow. "Yeah, that man's like that only. Cold. Detached. Better not waste your time. Focus on yourself."
The woman paused. "Do you… know him?"
Maya hesitated.