Page 46 of Ethan: The Untouchable CEO

My head snaps up, fingers curling into a fist at my side.

“Why would he do something that stupid?” I ask, genuinely taken aback. People will burn entire empires just to preserve an illusion.

“Image is everything to him, son,” my father replies, calm again, back in his element. “He considers this scandal a stain on his family’s reputation. And Ethan, this is the Bordeaux family we’re talking about. They need someone as strong as they are, or stronger, to shift the spotlight exactly where they want it—a relationship between the heiress of the Bordeaux empire and the heir of a more powerful one.”

I turn away from the window, resting a shoulder against the cold glass, the rain beating softly behind me. His words hang in the air, heavy with implication, with expectation.

“If you accept, you’ll have absolute control over New York’s business market,” he continues, explaining something I already know.

That’s the only reason I haven’t ended the call.

Hartho wouldn’t just expand, we’d dominate. Majority influence across every major corporation.

“I’d end up buying those shares anyway when the timing is right. And you know it.” My voice stays even, but tension coils tighter in my jaw.

It’s true. Bordeaux has been on my radar for months. Strategies are already in motion. Offers drafted. Numbers calculated.

“Yes, but you don’t know if you’d get twenty percent. And you don’t know if you’d get it that fast.”

“Fast?” I push from the glass, pacing across the office, the storm now a dull roar behind me. “Pretending for a few months to be the boyfriend of some spoiled heiress sounds fast or easy to you?” My patience is thinning. I need to end this.

“You’re missing the point, Ethan. This is a business offer you can’t refuse,” he says, his voice cutting, reminding me who I’m speaking to.

He’s right.

I know he’s right.

Doesn’t mean I’ll make it easy.

I drag a hand through my hair, forcing the frustration back under control, locking it where it belongs.

“I want a proposal on my desk by tomorrow morning for twenty-five percent of the shares,” I say finally, my tone turning cold, precise. Final. “And I’m giving it a maximum of two months. A few public appearances, she’ll probably attend some events with me. Everything stays discreet. Simple. Then we ‘break up’ amicably, she releases a statement, and we’re done.” I pause, letting the conditions settle. “That’s all I’m offering. Don’t come back with anything else. Accept it, or there’s no deal.”

I end the call without waiting for a response. I’ve already wasted more time than this deserves.

I lean back against my desk, exhaling slowly, the weight of the past few days pressing down harder now that the conversation is over. Outside, the storm hasn’t eased. Grey light spills across the office floor, dull and heavy.

It fits.

When I stepped in this morning, I activated the privacy mode. No calls, no interruptions unless it’s urgent. A clear message.

I’m not available.

Not today.

And it’s not an exaggeration. The past days have been relentless—back-to-back meetings, site visits, a last-minute flight to Asia and back for a single boardroom session.

Today, finally, there’s nothing scheduled. And all I want is to go home, clear my head at the gym, and sleep.

A few hours later, long after office hours, I’m still in my chair, privacy mode still active, London fading into deep blue beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

My phone buzzes against the desk, loud in the silence.

Zayn.

I pick it up, leaning into the leather, exhaling. “Hey, man.” My voice comes out lower than usual.

“Ethan, you’re still at the office?” he asks, surprised.