The buzz of his phone snapped Ethan Shaw back to the present. He stared at Liana Hartley's message blinking on the screen.
**[Liana: Ethan, I'm here. But it's still so crowded? I thought you were clearing the place?]**
The sheer, world-altering shock of Molly's reappearance had completely obliterated the reason he'd come to StarGlow Galleria in the first place. Liana Hartley had vanished from his mind like smoke.
He frowned, his left thumb instinctively finding the smooth, cool surface of the obsidian worry stones on his right wrist, rolling them with a familiar, agitated rhythm.
Carla Vance, seated beside him, recognized the telltale signs: the furrowed brow, the restless fingers on the stones. Ethan Shaw was deep in thought. She'd also heard the distinctive chime – Liana's special notification tone. A quick, discreet glance confirmed the sender. *He's trying to figure out how to tell Molly he has to leave,* she deduced. The mall wasn't cleared, but other exclusive boutiques existed. This was, to her knowledge, the first time Liana had ever suggested shopping *with* Ethan. A golden opportunity.
Molly Lin, blissfully focused on the menu at "Ember" – her inner foodie dubbed her the "Ravenous Renegade" – missed the subtle exchange. "Alright, Ethan," she declared, snapping the menu shut. "What are you having?"
Ethan looked up, momentarily speechless.
"I'll order for Mr. Shaw," Carla interjected smoothly. "He's… preoccupied."
"Preoccupied with what?" Molly's gaze sharpened.
Ethan shook his head, dismissing the question. His fingers flew over his phone's screen:
> **[Liana: Change of plans. Couldn't clear the mall. Something urgent came up. Rain check?]**
Molly was back. Explanations about Liana could wait. Liana was charming, radiant; Molly would undoubtedly like her once they met.
Carla's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. *He didn't drop everything for Liana?* A spark of hope ignited. *Sister complex! There might be hope for his sanity yet!*
---
Inside her idling luxury SUV, Liana Hartley stared at her phone, disbelief morphing into irritation. *Change of plans? Urgent?* He'd been blowing up her phone minutes ago! She'd specifically tipped off her favorite paparazzo. Pictures of Ethan Shaw shutting down Fifth Avenue for her exclusive shopping spree would be pure gold, guaranteed to infuriate Cole Sterling. Sure, Cole was crawling back, full of apologies, but she wasn't making it easy. He needed a lesson! This was supposed to be it!
She took a deep breath, crafting another message, her voice in her head adopting its most wounded tone.
> **[Liana: Ethan, are you mad at me? :( I fell asleep in the car, totally missed your earlier texts! Didn't mean to ignore you! /kitten crying emoji/]**
The extended, distinctive notification chime sounded again, impossible to miss this time.
"Who's blowing up your phone?" Molly asked pointedly, eyeing the device vibrating near his untouched water glass.
The food arrived – sizzling steaks, vibrant vegetables, and a platter of thinly sliced beef for Molly's requested spicy hot pot experience. Ethan immediately picked up the tongs, expertly searing a piece of premium Wagyu beef for Molly, the aroma rising with the steam. He barely glanced at his phone. "Don't worry about it. Try this. Should be perfect." He placed the perfectly cooked beef onto her plate.
Carla's jaw nearly hit the tablecloth. *Ethan Shaw cooking for someone?* Unheard of. *Ignoring Liana Hartley's messages?* Absolutely unprecedented.
"What?" Ethan caught her stare. "Something on my face? Help yourself, Carla." He gestured vaguely at the spread.
Carla managed a tight smile. "Thank you, Mr. Shaw." This was also her first time sharing a casual meal like this with the CEO. For years, his world had been boardrooms, power lunches, and solitary, efficient dinners. The steam rising from the hot pot swirled around the obsidian stones on his wrist, lending an unexpected, almost domestic warmth to his usually austere presence.
Carla had witnessed Shaw Enterprises' meteoric rise from the ashes of a failing family real estate firm Ethan had ruthlessly wrested from his uncle's incompetent (and allegedly corrupt) grip. Four years. That's all it took. The business world dubbed him "The Wall Street Recluse" or sometimes, less kindly, "The Ice Prince." He'd always seemed… detached, except around Liana, where he transformed into an unsettlingly eager devotee. Now, seeing this quiet attentiveness towards Molly, Carla glimpsed a different layer entirely.
---
Fifteen minutes passed. No reply. Liana's frustration boiled over. Her assistant's phone buzzed – the paparazzo was getting impatient.
*How dare he?!* Ethan Shaw was just another rich simp orbiting her star! Who did he think he was, blowing her off? "Forget it!" she snapped at her assistant, her chest heaving. "Tell the pap we're leaving. What a joke! Standing me up?" She fired off one last message, lacing it with carefully crafted disappointment.
> **[Liana: Heading out, Ethan. Didn't mean to interrupt your 'urgent' business. Talk later, maybe.]**
This time, the reply was almost instantaneous.
> **[Ethan: Not mad. Just have something to handle.]**
> **[Ethan: Money Transfer Sent: $50,000]**
> **[Ethan: Truly sorry, Liana. Next time, I promise.]**
Liana scoffed, tossing her phone onto the seat beside her. *Fifty grand? Pocket change.* She wouldn't accept it. Not yet. He'd send more; that was his pattern when he felt guilty. His "apology" needed to be *substantial* before she'd consider gracing him with her attention again.
---
Back at the table, Molly watched Ethan casually transfer fifty thousand dollars. Her vision momentarily dimmed. *Fifty grand!* That could buy… well, a *lot* of gold bars! She took a deep, steadying breath. *He's blood. Can't murder blood. Even if he's acting like a golden retriever with a diamond-encrusted credit card.*
"*Arigatou, Simp-sama!*" Molly chirped brightly at Ethan as they left the restaurant, flashing him a dazzling, utterly insincere smile.
Ethan blinked, confused. "What was that?"
Molly, deciding to spare him full humiliation in front of Carla, just waved a dismissive hand and strode ahead. *Should've borrowed money from that security guard for a nice, sturdy leather belt after all.*
Ethan turned to Carla, his expression bewildered. "What did she mean?"
The ever-capable Carla Vance cleared her throat delicately. "Well, sir… 'Arigatou' is Japanese for 'thank you.' And 'Simp'… is internet slang. It refers to someone who is excessively submissive or attentive to someone they're infatuated with, often to their own detriment. Typically used for men."
Ethan's features hardened into a familiar glacial mask. "So?"
Carla offered a small, tight smile. "So, I believe Miss Molly was… expressing her opinion on your financial gesture towards Ms. Hartley. Quite colorfully." She quickly moved to catch up with Molly. "Molly! Wait up!"
Ethan stood frozen for a second, a flush creeping up his neck. *A simp?!* The accusation stung. It wasn't… it wasn't like that!
Fueled by the philosophy of *'If I don't spend this walking ATM's money, Liana Hartley definitely will,'* Molly embarked on a retail therapy mission. First stop: the latest, most expensive smartphone. Then, a systematic sweep of StarGlow's luxury boutiques – Hermès, Chanel, Prada. By the time they exited the final store, Ethan and Carla were laden with enough glossy shopping bags to stock a small boutique. Only then did Molly's righteous indignation subside slightly.
Unbeknownst to her, the paparazzo Liana had summoned, packing up his disguised janitorial cart near the service entrance, spotted Ethan Shaw. But instead of Liana, he was flanked by his intimidating assistant and… a stunning, unknown brunette, laughing as she adjusted the strap of her new designer purse. The paparazzo's professional instincts screamed *SCOOP!* He raised his long-lens camera, clicking furiously.
Ethan Shaw was internet catnip: young, obscenely wealthy, notoriously private, and dubbed "The Wall Street Recluse." His rumored entanglement with rising starlet Liana Hartley had generated massive buzz. The pap had come expecting sugary "power couple" shots. But this? The Recluse ditching the It-girl for a mystery shopper? *Drama! Scandal!* This was pure traffic gold. The jackpot! He snapped away, but Ethan's protective positioning and Carla's vigilant presence meant he only captured fleeting profiles and tantalizing glimpses of the girl. Still, it was enough.
By 7 PM, the pictures were live. The internet exploded.
> **#WallStreetRecluseSpottedWithMysteryBabe #SHOPPINGSPREE** (Trending)
> **#LianaHartleyDumped? #RecluseMovesOn**
> **#WhoIsShe? #FifthAvenueMystery**
---
Meanwhile, gliding through Manhattan's evening traffic in a custom grey Rolls-Royce Phantom, Finn Young, analyst to the notoriously selective investor Xavier Thorne, scrolled through his tablet. He made a dismissive noise. "Sir, Ethan Shaw's making headlines again. More… romantic entanglements." He glanced at the quarterly reports overlay on his screen. "Shaw Enterprises' numbers are dipping. Are we… reconsidering our position? His recent focus seems… scattered." Finn couldn't fathom his boss's continued, substantial backing of Shaw. What did the elusive Thorne see in the mercurial Recluse?
Seated in the plush rear seat, Xavier Thorne was a study in restrained elegance. Dressed in immaculate ivory silk, a pair of slim silver-framed glasses perched on his nose, he possessed an almost ethereal beauty – like a Renaissance angel rendered in marble. Yet, a single, captivating flaw anchored him to earth: a small, tea-colored mole nestled beside the bridge of his nose. As passing streetlights strobed across his face, the mole seemed to shift, adding a whisper of unexpected, tantalizing warmth to his otherwise remote perfection. He looked weary. Removing his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice a low murmur. "Which starlet is it this time?"
Finn shook his head, tapping the trending topic and enlarging the grainy paparazzi shots. "Unidentified. Paps only got angles, no clear face. But the profile… striking." He angled the tablet towards his boss.
Xavier Thorne's gaze, initially dismissive, swept across the screen. The image showed Ethan Shaw, burdened with bags, the obsidian beads visible on his wrist. Beside him stood Carla Vance, equally laden, her posture rigidly professional. But Xavier's eyes didn't linger on them. They snapped, laser-focused, to the figure caught mid-laugh between them.
Long dark hair cascaded over one shoulder. The angle offered only a glimpse of a flawless profile – a delicate jawline, the curve of a cheekbone that hinted at something achingly familiar, like a half-remembered dream. An exquisite porcelain doll caught in a candid moment.
No distinctive marks. No overt clues.
Yet, in that fragmented, stolen image, the bustling world outside the Phantom's soundproofed cabin ceased to exist. The hum of the engine vanished. Xavier Thorne's breath hitched, trapped in his throat. The only sound was the sudden, deafening thunder of his own heartbeat, hammering against his ribs like a frantic prisoner.
***Thud. Thud. THUD.***
Finn blinked in surprise as the tablet was abruptly plucked from his hands. He turned, a question forming on his lips.
It died instantly.
Finn Young had served Xavier Thorne for years. He'd seen the cool intellect, the detached amusement, the glacial indifference. But the expression now contorting his boss's usually impassive features was entirely new: a raw, desperate, almost *hungry* intensity, utterly devoid of its customary remoteness. It was the look of a man who'd glimpsed a ghost he'd never dared hope to see again.