A Son's Regret

High above the city, in the elite Windsor Tower, Paige bustled with a mixture of anticipation and despair as she orchestrated Ethan Windsor's Welcome Home party for her boss. The office's large conference room had been transformed into a club-like space. Music blared so loudly it made her body vibrate. She held her breath, heart racing, as the low lights and thick air heightened the tension and nerves. Tonight would change everything. Six years. That’s how long it’s been since Paige last laid eyes on Ethan—before he vanished into the world with only that razor smile and a promise to make something of himself. Now he was coming home. I thought I would be happy, but I'm not; he's nothing but trouble. The heir of Legacy Inc. And Marcus—President Marcus Windsor—can’t stop talking about his return. Is he thrilled? Or is it worry? Earlier that day, he paced the glass-walled conference room—eyes sharp, voice clear, suit perfect. Marcus drew everyone's attention, shining at the center, everyone else revolving around him. Except Paige Allen. She stood nearby, always drawn to him. It had been this way for years. Always her protector. Keeping her safe. She knows she shouldn’t feel this way. Not about her boss. Not about the man who encouraged her dreams, taught her loyalty, and trusted her with his secrets. But she does. God, does she. “Paige, how long has it been since you last saw Ethan?” She blinked, trying to look casual. “Six years, sir.” “Far too long.” Marcus’s smile is warm, but there’s a flicker in his eyes. Something like worry. Or fear. “I want this party to be perfect. Spare no expense. Buy yourself a dress—knock us off our feet.” “Yes, Marcus. Anything for you.” If only he knew what those words cost her. Anything—for you. She watched him leave, feeling the pressure of his legacy. Alone, Paige wondered why Ethan was returning—and what kind of man he was now. Was he returning to play in her face? Or was there some big announcement, like he's getting married? She remembers the boy he was: full of swagger and charm, without a care in the world. With a look that could undress you and a laugh that tempted you to break the rules. She remembers how he sometimes looked at her, as if he truly saw her. Then he was gone. Letters turned to silence. Silence to questions. Questions turned into hurt and longing. Tonight, that longing sours in her belly. She tried to swallow. She dressed with care: black silk, sharp heels, gold accents. Her dress said she was bold, not innocent. In the mirror, she saw someone new—a woman who knew what she wanted, someone strong enough for Ethan’s return. Or was it a facade? The party brimmed with opulence and light. Laughter sparkled off marble floors, mingling with the clink of crystal. The city’s elite glided through the room, champagne flutes flashing in their hands, eyes glittering with envy and gossip. Paige moved through it all with a perfect smile and calm poise. But inside? Chaos. She presses her fingers to the stem of a glass, knuckles white. Every time a stranger leans in, her heart spikes. She scans the crowd for Marcus, for Ethan. For safety or for threat. A trio of women clusters near the bar, whispering. “That’s her,” one says, not quietly enough. “Paige, the favorite.” She pretends not to hear. But their voices echo. The favorite—or the pawn? A hand brushed her arm; she startled. Marcus materialized at her side, murmuring, "Relax. You look like you're about to bolt." She forced a laugh, brittle as glass. "Just nerves. It’s a big night." He leaned in, voice dropping. “You’re safe, Paige. As long as I’m here.” Are you? She wondered. For how long? He squeezed her shoulder, then was swept away by a group of board members. She was alone again, eyes darting to the entrance. Suddenly, hush. Heads turn. The elevator dings. The elevator doors slid open. Ethan emerged—taller, sharper, shadows clinging to his Armani suit. Taller. Sharper. Darkness wrapped in Armani. His eyes swept the room, searching. When his gaze found Paige, it crackled through her—sharp, electric, impossible to ignore. His gaze lands on her and holds, heat flaring up her spine. He moves toward her, slow, deliberate. The crowd surrounds him, then parts. Some people just command space. Ethan is one of them. “Paige.” His voice is lower, rougher. “You look… different.” So do you, she wants to say. But her words tangle. A thousand memories, a thousand questions. Is he dangerous? Is he broken? Or is he just hungry for something he can’t name? She forces a smile. “Welcome home, Ethan.” He studies her, gaze lingering. “Did you miss me?” The lights above them flicker. She swallows. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back.” A flicker of a smile, almost sincere. “Neither was I.” Marcus appears, all charm, radiance, and pride. He hugs Ethan and slaps his back. “My son. The city’s been waiting for you.” Ethan’s gaze flicks to Paige. “Has it?” It’s a game. It’s always been a game. Dinner. Speeches. Toasts. Marcus smiles brightly; Ethan smiles too, but his eyes keep moving. He watches and judges. Paige feels his attention every moment. She wonders if she is just an asset, a secret, a pawn, or even bait. Later, she hears a rich, deep voice standing behind her. “You still drink red?” he asks, plucking a glass from a tray and offering it. Their fingers brush, sparking heat. She nods. “Some things don’t change.” He leans closer, voice barely above a whisper. “Some things do. Dance with me.” She feels exposed, like he’s reading her mind. Shaking her head no. “Why did you really come back, Ethan?” His smile is sharp. “You’ll see. Dance with me.” How do you survive a man like this? “Thank you for asking, though.” “I didn’t ask you. Dance with me.” His demanding her to do something she’d rather not do did not sit too well with her. But Marcus' eyes were on her too. She didn’t want to disappoint him or cause trouble. “Please, just one dance.” Instantly, he now had her hand in his. "I said I don't want to dance." “But, I do. So come on.” Again, not liking being forced to do something she would rather not, she told him. Cutting her words short, he continued toward the dance floor. He would not accept anything from her other than what he wanted. That's the Windsor way. The short walk to the dance floor gave her time to look him over. He was taller than she recalled, still very good-looking. Brown hair, but not too dark, tousled free on top. It gave her the urge to run her fingers through it to tame it. What shocked her was realizing his hair would be the only thing anyone could tame. His eyes, unlike his hair, were dark—almost black. When the thought, almost as black as his soul, flashed across her mind, she couldn’t control the shiver that ran through her. Smoothly, he took her into his arms and pressed her snugly against him. “I like to hold my woman close to me.” “I’m not your woman. I’m your dance partner for this dance only. So please…” Not bothering to answer, he just laughed. She realized he had no intention of easing up.