Novel & Cerita Ethan Glen

The view from the corner office of Vale-Cross Global hadn't changed in ten years, but the man looking at it had. Liam Cross stood at the window, nursing a cup of tea. He drank less coffee these days. Dr. Hale had been right about the cortisol; survival was a marathon, not a sprint. Behind him, at the smaller desk usually reserved for junior associates, sat Ethan. Ethan was sixteen now. He had grown into his height, filling out the lanky frame with the lean muscle of a runner. He wore a button-down shirt that fit him properly, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing wrists that looked capable.

“Ethan, this is Mr. Thorne. From the Global Alliance.” The man was in his forties, dressed in an expensive, understated suit. He had sharp green eyes and an easy smile, but there was a quiet intensity about him. He felt… powerful. In control. An Alpha, but one who kept his scent locked down tight. I could barely smell anything from him, which was more impressive than if he’d tried to dominate the room. “Ethan Chase,” he said, his voice smooth. “May I call you Ethan? I’ve heard some fascinating things about you.”

“Yeah, well, the prophecy didn’t ask for my permission.” Footsteps in the hallway. Heavy, deliberate, not running like the others. A figure stepped through the wreckage—tall, lean, dark hair pulled back, eyes sharp as broken glass. Ethan. Relic Discovery Lead for the underground network that had been feeding us scraps of truth for months. He looked like he’d run through hell to get here and still had the energy to look pissed. “You picked a hell of a night for a family reunion,” he said, stepping over a dead wolf without looking down. “But I’ve got something. Something that might keep you from tearing yourself apart the next time that happens.”

Nora remain stilled in her position, not daring to breathe too loudly, else disrupting the man’s thoughts. Since climbing the ladders of success, Declan has been faced with all kinds of opposition. But not one has directly attacked his reputation like this. The door to his office opened a second time, neither Declan nor Nora needed to turn around to know who had entered. Ethan Webb had a particular way of entering a room, he always took very loud and large steps and his cologne always arrived three seconds before the rest of him. Ethan was Rowe Consolidated's head of Public Relations, he first placed his own tablet on the desk rather than simply holding it, as though he needed both hands fre

“You couldn’t find out a reason why?” “There’s nothing documented about it,” Max answered. “So, if there’s a reason, he’s keeping it locked inside.” Walter’s frown deepened and he scowled. He didn’t need Max to tell him the reason behind Ethan’s motives; he already knew. It was obvious. Irene was the daughter of Gavin Landry, the most powerful Lycan Chairmen in the world. Ethan wanted to become an Alpha and the best way for him to do that was to get to Gavin through his daughter.

I said quietly. “Postpone?” Mom looked horrified. “Honey, all those people are already at the venue. The flowers, the catering, the musicians…everything’s ready.” “But I don’t have a proper dress—” Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, interrupting my protest. Everyone turned toward the door as a familiar figure filled the doorway. Ethan stood there in his perfectly tailored black tuxedo, looking like he stepped off the cover of a magazine. His dark eyes took in the scene…the destroyed dress, Emma’s tear-streaked face, Mom hovering protectively, the general chaos of my bedroom.

“What about you?” Ethan cuts into his steak while answering, “I work in the heart of the pack as a funds manager, but I’m also a Gamma, so I help with security and protection when necessary.” I nod, taking a bite of my pasta. Our conversation is stiff for a while, but soon, we fall into a polite rhythm of taking turns asking questions. “Did you always want to be an assistant?” Ethan questions, looking up from his plate. “Or did you have a dream job that’s different?”

The apartment smelled like coffee and the faint lemon of detergent; sunlight stitched gold across the scratched laminate table where Ethan had spread out paper and pencils and a carefully wrecked shoebox that he claimed would become a model studio. “I’m not!” Ethan protested, but his grin gave him away. He had that messy brown hair and the same hazel eyes as Elena, bright with a mischief that had softened the nights in hospital waiting rooms. “This is conceptual,” he said, holding up a bent swatch like a proud flag. “See? It’s modern art.”

He collapsed flat onto his stomach in the drift, his breath coming in shallow, frantic gasps that formed tiny white clouds in the freezing air. His eyes, bloodshot and wide with unhinged hunger, locked onto the tiny spot in the snow where the thumb-sized piece of stale rye crust had fallen. It was buried three inches deep in the powdery drift, partially covered by white frost and grimy dirt kicked up from Victor’s heavy boots. Ethan had been a proud corporate CEO, wearing five-thousand-dollar tailored suits, drinking imported wine, and looking down on ordinary people with arrogant disdain. He had managed multi-million-dollar boardrooms and dictated the lives of hundreds of employees with a s

“Was that the Solvane announcement?” “Yes.” He nodded and began sorting through the documents. “Marcus is quite impressive.” I looked at him sharply. “I didn’t ask.” “I know,” Ethan said, barely managing to hide his amusement. “I was just saying.” I returned my attention to the laptop, but Ethan continued anyway. “He’s expanded three major investment portfolios, helped launch two renewable-energy companies, and apparently has a private aviation company too.” “I said I wasn’t interested.” “Right,” Ethan replied, nodding seriously. “Not interested.”