The tuxedo felt like a costume.
Ethan stood in front of the mirror, fidgeting with the stiff collar, his fingers betraying the quiet storm inside him. The black fabric hung sharp and unfamiliar on his frame, too smooth, too silent—like something meant for someone else's life. Someone older. Wealthier. Less afraid.
He exhaled slowly, reaching for his watch, the cheap metal clasp clicking shut like the final piece of armor. He looked at his reflection—neatly combed hair, pressed cuffs, polished shoes—and wondered who he was pretending to be.
"This is a big night," his mom said from the doorway, voice breathless with anticipation. She wore a deep plum dress, her hair pinned back in a way Ethan hadn't seen since his middle school graduation. "We should be proud. You should be proud."
"I am," Ethan said, forcing a smile. "I just... don't know if we belong there."
"We belong wherever our work takes us," she replied, smoothing a wrinkle from his sleeve. "Don't let money make you feel small."
From behind her, his father spoke—low, measured, unsure. "Sometimes, it's not about how you feel. It's about what they want."
Ethan met his dad's eyes. There was caution there. Quiet resistance. But also... surrender.
"We'll go," his father added. "But keep your eyes open."
And with that, they stepped out into the night.
The Sterling Mansion rose like a palace carved from ambition—stone pillars wrapped in ivy, fountains lit in soft blue light, the kind of opulence that made even the moon seem dull. Luxury vehicles lined the circular drive, men in tailored suits and women in gowns that shimmered like starlight mingling beneath the golden arch of the entrance.
Inside, chandeliers the size of small cars dangled from the ceilings. The scent of truffle oil and champagne lingered in the air, blending with polished wood and something colder—something metallic.
Ethan swallowed.
This isn't a celebration. It's a show.
The Carters moved through the crowd like tourists in a foreign land. His mom clutched her handbag tightly, trying to contain her wonder. His dad kept one hand in his pocket, the other nursing a drink he barely touched. Ethan drifted somewhere between them—trying to smile, trying to breathe.
He saw suits without wrinkles, smiles without warmth, and eyes that seemed to size him up like a number on a ledger.
And then he appeared.
Henry Sterling. The man moved through the room like a lion among housecats—tall, silver-haired, and tailored to perfection. His handshake was warm, firm, rehearsed.
"Ethan Carter," he said, as though the name were old velvet. "I've heard a great deal about you. And your charming little diner."
"Thank you, sir," Ethan replied, careful to keep his tone even.
Henry turned to his parents. "Your son is impressive. Ambitious. You must be proud."
His mother beamed. His father nodded stiffly.
"But ambition," Henry said, placing a hand lightly on Ethan's shoulder, "only takes you so far without... guidance."
There was a pause—just long enough for the room to feel colder.
Then: "Let's talk soon. I think there are... possibilities here."
He vanished into the crowd before Ethan could respond.
Lucas Sterling arrived fashionably late, of course—flanked by laughter and expensive cologne. He moved like someone who had never been told no, dressed in designer confidence, eyes flicking lazily through the room until they landed—precisely—on Ethan.
"Carter," he drawled, approaching with a drink in hand. "Didn't expect to see flannel royalty here tonight."
"Didn't expect you to remember the peasants," Ethan replied, coolly.
Lucas smiled, shark-like. "Your waffles are good. Real good. But good doesn't always cut it. You've got a fire. But the city's full of places that burn out."
He clinked his glass against Ethan's. "Just don't get too cozy with success. It moves faster than most people can chase."
Before Ethan could speak, Lucas turned—and there she was.
Melanie.
Dressed in silver, lips painted in red he didn't recognize. Laughing at something Lucas whispered near her ear. She didn't see Ethan at first—or pretended not to. When their eyes finally met, hers flicked away too fast.
When he pulled her aside minutes later, her voice was soft and distant.
"I'm just networking," she said, tone airy. "Don't make a scene."
"Networking with him?"
"He's got connections, Ethan. He knows people who could help—people who see real potential."
"In me?" Ethan asked, voice cracking.
She hesitated. That was all it took.
"I just want you to think bigger," she said. "Don't cling to something small because it feels safe."
"It's not small," he said, hurt rising in his throat. "It's home."
She touched his arm but it felt like a stranger's hand. "Enjoy the night, okay? Don't worry about little things."
And just like that, she was gone again—back into the shimmer and laughter and lies.
Later, as the crowd thinned and the music slowed, Henry Sterling found him again—alone at the edge of the ballroom.
"I meant what I said," he began smoothly. "We're looking for partners. Innovators. People with vision."
Ethan didn't answer.
"You've got heart, Ethan. That's rare. But heart isn't enough. You need support. Strategy. A place in something bigger."
He handed Ethan a card. Plain. Elegant.
"Think about it. You could make something the world remembers. Or you could stay where you are. Comfortable. Forgotten."
Then he was gone.
The balcony was quiet.
Ethan stepped outside into the night, the city lights blinking in the distance like stars trying to reach him.
He held the card between his fingers, the ink still warm.
Inside, his parents spoke with strangers in suits. Melanie laughed at a joke that wasn't his. Lucas Sterling raised a glass like a man who already owned the ending.
And Ethan stood alone.
Alone, but awake.
He looked out at the city.
At everything he loved.
At everything he might lose.
What price is my family willing to pay for success?
And how far will I go to protect what's mine?