Ethan Glen 소설 & 이야기

The radio was a low hum of static and a country song about a man losing everything, which felt a little too on the nose for our lives. "You’re thinking too loud again," Ethan said. He was leaning against the driver’s side door, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his knuckles stained with grease from the shift he’d just finished at the marina. At nineteen, Ethan Cole didn't have a billion-dollar empire or a suit tailored in London. He had a jawline that could cut glass, a pair of boots with holes in the soles, and a way of looking at me that made me feel like I was the only thing on earth that wasn't broken.

had blocked it from behind me. A black cashmere coat, retaining body heat and mixed with the faint scent of tobacco and cold cedar, wrapped tightly around me. "Halen, standing out in this wind... are you trying to test my patience?" A deep, resonant voice sounded above my head, laced with restrained concern. I turned around. Ethan stood behind me like a towering mountain. He possessed deep, chiseled features akin to a Greek sculpture. His height of nearly six-foot-three carried an intense pressure, and his broad shoulders seemed capable of shouldering all the storms in the world.

Alpha Ethan was a man in his late thirties, standing at about 5’7, and his appearance was unusual, yet impossible to ignore. Ethan was dressed in red leather pants that clung tightly to his legs, paired with a plain white T-shirt and a matching red leather jacket thrown over it. His ginger-colored hair was tied into a messy man bun at the back of his head, making him seem so odd and at the same time giving him a weird, careless but striking look. Also, a tattoo of a naked woman was on his neck, adding to the dangerous aura he carried.

Ronan began, his tone overly enthusiastic as if trying to sell the man to the entire family, “tell us more about your background. I’m sure we’d all love to hear.” Ethan, with his sandy hair and overly polished demeanor, smiled politely. “There’s not much to tell, really. I come from a small pack in the west, but I’ve spent most of my time traveling, working with various alphas on… diplomatic matters.” I could feel Lila’s leg brush against mine under the table, and I nearly choked on my drink. I glanced up at her, and she had the audacity to look innocent, her face neutral as if nothing had happened. But there was a glint in her eyes that told me she was playing with fire.

People danced like their lives depended on it, and for one night, I wanted to be one of them. At the bar, I ordered something strong and downed it in one gulp. It burned, but the sting was welcome. I leaned back, letting the world blur around me. “Rough day?” a deep voice asked, cutting through the noise. I turned to see him—Ethan. Everyone in the city knew his name. CEO of Meadow Textile, heir to a fortune, and the kind of man who could make headlines by just breathing. He looked out of place here, his tailored suit a stark contrast to the chaos around us.

“Killian Cole Stone. Billionaire, boardroom tyrant, breaker of global records. And yet, somehow manages to dress like a catalog ad.” “Killian turned, grinning for the first time that day. “Ethan?” Ethan Caldwell, Killian’s best friend from childhood, sauntered in. All ease and charisma, dressed in a navy open-collar shirt and jeans. He spread his arms wide.’ “Surprise,” Ethan said. “Heard about your latest win. Figured that was my excuse to leave the European chaos and come breathe real air again.” Killian crossed the room and pulled him into a brief hug. “When did you get back?”

“Where are you going?” “Shit,”Ethan curses under his breath. He takes a breath, composing himself, then turns around. “Duncan, I need to speak with James.” The man in the doorway is shorter than Ethan, and has blond hair scraped into a bun. He’s wearing a blue tartan kilt—so he’s not one of Ethan’s clan. He grins, then gestures behind him. “Come inside,” he says. Ethan pauses for a beat before he sighs. He heads back toward the door, his hand still clasped around mine.

Far enough that their eyes never met. Then the new account manager—Ethan, twenty-eight, easy smile, expensive watch—slid into the seat beside Jamie. “Mind if I join?” Ethan asked, already sitting. Jamie shrugged. “Free country.” Ethan leaned in. Too close. Smelled like cedar and ambition. “You’re the motion guy, right? Saw your reel on the shared drive. Killer work.” “Thanks.” Ethan’s knee bumped his under the table. Stayed there. Jamie didn’t move away.

Before Chloe could start an argument, a tall, incredibly handsome man stepped out of the shadows near the bar, a slow, amused smile on his face. This was Ethan Thorne. Ethan was a legend on campus—a brilliant, young, twenty-four-year-old legacy heir whose family owned half the shipping ports on the Eastern Seaboard. Unlike the stuffy, older donors on the board, Ethan was sharp, wildly charismatic, and possessed a terrifyingly quick mind that had earned him a master's degree in economic history by the age of twenty-two. He was one of the few people on campus who didn't look intimidated by the Vance name.

He simply picked up his crystal tumbler of neat scotch, taking a slow, quiet sip, his face flat and emotionless against the backdrop of the stormy night sky outside. "Ensure her accounts remain fully funded, Marcus," Ethan instructed coldly, his voice dry and devoid of any personal feeling. "Understood, Boss," Marcus confirmed smoothly, making a quick note on his tablet. "Will you be attending the annual European Commerce Gala in Geneva next month?" Ethan slowly turned his head, looking out the glass window at the dark, rain-slicked skyline of Zurich. He was a titan of the world, commanding an empire of unimaginable wealth and power. He didn't look back; he looked forward, building a corpora