EVELYN’S POV

What a small world!

The moment my eyes met his, my whole body tensed. I had seen him before, in Sean’s office. But now, under the colorful lights of the bar, he looked completely different. His tailored suit jacket was gone, replaced by something more casual, and his confidence seemed even stronger in this loud, chaotic atmosphere.

I had some doubts about his purpose. Why was he here? Why did it have to be me he approached? The man came closer, leaning in slightly so I could hear him over the music.

“Good evening,” he said smoothly, his voice warm but edged with something unreadable.

I responded with a half-hearted nod, almost perfunctorily. “Good evening.”

After a few meaningless words about the bar, the music, and whether I came here often, I felt my patience slipping away. I wasn’t here to play games with strangers—especially men who seemed too polished, too perfect, and surrounded by women who hung on their every word.

Finally, I sighed and looked straight at him. “What do you want from me?” My tone was sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. “I’ve met you before. You should be Sean’s friend.”

For a moment, he seemed taken aback. His brows lifted slightly, and his expression softened. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled—a quiet, genuine laugh that caught me off guard.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “You recognized me already. Yes, I’m Sean’s friend. I’ve known him since we were kids. It’s… really a coincidence to meet you here tonight.”

His smile this time was more sincere, less like the practiced grin of a man used to attention.

Still, I wasn’t fully convinced. I crossed my arms, studying him carefully. “So you’re also a rich guy? No wonder there were so many beautiful women around you earlier.” My voice carried more sarcasm than I intended, but I couldn’t help it.

He didn’t get offended—in fact, he seemed amused. A slow grin spread across his face. “You noticed that, huh? Yes, there are always many women who come for my money. But unlike Sean, I wasn’t born rich. My family is just me and my mother. Everything I have now, I built with my own effort.”

Something in his tone shifted—calmer, rawer. Not boasting, but telling the truth.

I blinked, caught off guard. For the first time that evening, I felt my walls soften a little. “Really?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “It wasn’t easy, but I managed. I work hard because I want my mother to live a good life. She sacrificed everything for me.”

Hearing him speak like that struck a deep chord in me. I hesitated, then admitted softly, “I can understand you very well… I also only have my mother.”

For a moment, silence hung between us, not awkward but… gentle. His eyes searched mine, as though he truly understood the weight behind those words. I quickly looked away, afraid of what might show on my face.

Just then, Celina came bouncing back, breathless from dancing, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She froze for a second when she spotted him sitting next to me. Her eyes sparkled mischievously, and she gave me the most obvious wink ever.

I nearly choked on my drink.

“Celina…” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes. She only shrugged, gulped down another glass of wine, and with a playful grin, disappeared back onto the dance floor.

Ethan—yes, that was his name—watched the whole exchange with an amused smile. “Your friend is really interesting,” he commented.

I laughed despite myself. “You have no idea. She’s been my partner-in-crime since college. She once dragged me out of bed at three in the morning because she wanted pancakes.”

That made him laugh. A genuine, warm laugh that didn’t match the smooth, mysterious man I had first judged him to be. Encouraged, I went on to share more funny stories about Celina—her quirks, her dramatic moments, and the way she always found a way to brighten up my darkest days.

He listened attentively, not interrupting, his eyes focused on me the entire time. Somehow, the noisy bar faded into the background as we talked.

Then, he began sharing too. About his childhood. About the struggles of growing up without a father, about how his mother worked two jobs to support him, and how determined he was to change their lives. There was something raw in the way he spoke—something that didn’t sound like the arrogance of most wealthy men I had met.

Maybe that was why, for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to relax. To talk freely. To feel seen.

Hours passed without me realizing it.

By the time we finally left the bar, the streets were quieter, the neon signs casting a faint glow over the pavement. Celina was completely drunk, clinging to my arm one second and then nearly collapsing the next.

“I’ve got her,” Ethan said quickly, stepping in to support her. He was strong but gentle, carefully helping her walk without making it look awkward. Together, we managed to get her into a taxi.

Before I got in, I turned to him. “We had a great time chatting tonight.”

His lips curved into that easy, confident smile again, though now it carried a softness I hadn’t noticed before. “It was my pleasure.”

We exchanged contact information, and then, unexpectedly, he reached into the taxi to adjust Celina’s seatbelt so she wouldn’t slump forward. That simple gesture—practical and thoughtful—stirred something inside me.

As the taxi pulled away, I looked back through the window. Ethan was still standing there at the entrance of the bar, hands in his pockets, his figure tall under the streetlight. He lifted a hand and waved, his smile steady.

I couldn’t look away until the car turned the corner and his figure disappeared from view.

A strange feeling settled in my chest—something between warmth and panic.

I didn’t understand it, but as the city lights blurred past, I found myself wondering what role Ethan would play in my life. A stranger? A friend? Or something much more complicated?

For the first time in a long time, I felt both uncertain and… hopeful.

And that scared me more than anything else.