Chapter 3 - The CEO’s SecretEthan picked up his phone, stared at the flashing caller ID for three agonizing seconds, and pressed the volume button to silence the ringtone. He didn't answer it. He simply flipped the phone face-down on the table, though his eyes remained dark and stormy.
"You know him," I whispered, the bottle slipping slightly in my hand as Sophie continued to nurse peacefully.
"I know of him," Ethan replied, his voice dropping into a cold, controlled register that filled the tiny kitchen. "Marcus Vance. He’s one of our regional vice presidents in the commercial supply division. He's also been positioning himself for a board promotion over the last six months."
My stomach churned violently. Marcus Vance. The man who had promised me the moon, sworn that we were building a future together, and then vanished into thin air the moment my pregnancy test turned positive, leaving behind a nasty text message telling me to 'sort out my own mess' before blocking me on every platform.
"He's the father," I whispered, the confession tearing out of me because, at this point, what dignity did I have left to lose? "He told me he was just an assistant manager when we met. I didn't know he worked for Cole Industries until months later. By the time I found out, he had already changed his phone number and transferred to a different regional office."
Ethan’s gray eyes darkened further, a flash of pure fury crossing his features before he masked it behind his professional composure.
"Marcus Vance has been climbing the corporate ladder by stepping on everyone in his path," Ethan said quietly. "Including, it seems, cutting corners in his personal life to maintain the pristine image required for a corporate executive."
"He doesn't even know Sophie exists," I said, looking down at my daughter's peaceful, milk-drunken face as her eyelids began to droop. "And honestly? I don't want his money. I don't want his charity. I just want to be able to buy my own formula and keep a roof over my daughter's head without begging strangers online."
Ethan leaned back in his chair, studying me with a new level of intensity. "You applied for positions at Cole Industries twice. Both times, your resume crossed my desk through our automated talent-acquisition filter. You have a degree in healthcare administration and five years of logistical management experience from your nursing home coordination days. On paper, you were overqualified for both jobs."
"Then why did I get rejected?" I asked bitterly. "Within forty-eight hours, both times."
"Because Marcus Vance sits on the internal regional hiring review board," Ethan said smoothly. "And while he didn't review every entry-level application personally, his administrative assistant—acting under his general standing directives to screen out potential liabilities—flagged your name. Marcus made sure you wouldn't get a foothold anywhere near our corporate ecosystem."
The room seemed to shrink around me. The man who had ruined my life, who had abandoned his child to starvation and debt, had actively worked to ensure I couldn't even claw my way back up from the bottom.
"So what now?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mixture of grief and rising anger. "You're a billionaire CEO. You found out your stray vice president knocked up a CNA and left her to rot. Are you going to fire him? Or are you going to offer me hush money to make sure I don't go to the press?"
Ethan stood up slowly. At six-foot-two, he towered over the small kitchen, his presence commanding yet entirely restrained. He walked over to the counter, picked up his business card, and set it back down—this time placing a heavy silver pen right beside it.
"I don't deal in hush money, Victoria," he said, using my first name for the first time. "And I don't tolerate executives who lack basic human integrity. Marcus Vance's career at Cole Industries was already hanging by a thread due to an ongoing internal audit regarding supply-chain discrepancies in his division. What I learned tonight just signed his corporate death warrant."
He turned toward the door, pulling his charcoal coat back on as the sleet continued to tap against the windowpane.
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"As for you," Ethan added, pausing with his hand on the doorknob, "you aren't looking for charity. You're looking for a fair shot. Come to my downtown office tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m. Ask for my executive assistant, Sarah. Tell her Ethan sent you."
Before I could answer, he pulled the door open and stepped out into the night, leaving me alone in the quiet apartment with a sleeping baby, two bags of groceries, and a black business card that promised to change everything.
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