THE FACE SHE STOLE

CHAPTER 9 : SOMETHING ABOUT HER

Ethan’s POV

I got back from work feeling exhausted, as usual.

The pressure of keeping up appearances as a responsible CEO and a responsible son was starting to weigh heavily on me. Running Blackwell Industries was never supposed to be easy, but some days it felt like the entire company rested on my shoulders alone.

Every decision mattered and every move was watched. One mistake could destroy everything my father had spent his life building. But it was my duty now, and I couldn’t afford to fail.

I loosened my tie the moment I stepped inside my penthouse and tossed my jacket over the couch. The apartment was silent, the kind of expensive silence money buys. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering city lights, but tonight even that view did nothing to calm my mind.

I walked straight toward the bathroom, already unbuttoning my shirt as the stress of the day pressed harder against my chest.

The hot water hit my shoulders a moment later, steam filling the glass shower as I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Normally this was the one place where I could finally stop thinking about work. The shower was where the noise of the day washed away.

But tonight my mind refused to cooperate.

Because of her. One of my staff members had managed to crawl into my thoughts again.

I exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand over my face, irritated at myself for even thinking about it. She got on my nerves every single day.Always late, always rushing into meetings like she had just remembered she worked there. She never bothered hiding it either. No desperate excuses like the others would give when they were late.

Just that same slightly breathless entrance, clutching a folder of sketches or notes like she had been racing against time. It was incredibly unprofessional. I should have fired her weeks ago.

Yet somehow… I hadn’t. I couldn't do it

Amelia.That was her name. Amelia Rivera.

The water continued running over my shoulders as I frowned at the tiled wall in front of me.

What exactly was it about her that bothered me so much? Or maybe the real question was why I couldn’t seem to ignore her.

Blackwell Industries had hundreds of employees. Designers, assistants, executives, interns. Most of them blended into the background of my daily routine. I remembered the names of department heads and senior designers because it was necessary. But Amelia Rivera wasn’t important enough to occupy space in my mind. And yet she did.

I turned the shower off with a frustrated sigh and stepped out, grabbing a towel and drying my hair quickly before wrapping it around my waist. The cool air of the bathroom hit my skin as I walked into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of loose sweatpants.

My apartment was still silent. Why was I even bothered about the silence when it's kinda normal.

I moved toward the kitchen and poured myself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the faint light from the city outside. I leaned against the counter and took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in my chest.

And like an unwelcome guest, the memory of earlier that day surfaced again.

The conference room had been tense as usual. Designers sat around the long glass table presenting their ideas for the upcoming luxury line. Most of the presentations were predictable—safe designs meant to please investors rather than impress anyone creatively. I had been half listening, already bored.

Then the door had opened. She was late again.

Amelia walked in carrying a stack of sketches clutched tightly against her chest. Her hair looked slightly messy, like she had rushed there without bothering to fix it properly. A few strands had fallen over her face as she tried to slip quietly into her seat.

But everyone had already noticed. I had glanced at the clock deliberately.

Ten minutes late. Again.

Normally that would have been the end of it. One warning. Maybe two and after that, the employee would find themselves looking for another job. But when it was her turn to present, something unexpected happened.

She stood up slowly, clearly nervous, and spread her sketches across the table.

“I know this is a little different,” she said softly.

Her voice had been calm, even though she looked like she expected someone to interrupt her any second. No one did.

Because the moment we saw the designs, the entire room had gone quiet.

They were bold and different.

Sharp silhouettes mixed with soft flowing fabrics. Modern structure combined with vintage elegance. It wasn’t what Blackwell Industries usually produced, yet somehow it still fit the brand.

I remembered leaning back in my chair, studying the sketches more carefully.

She had talent.Real talent, but that wasn’t what had captured my attention, It was the way she spoke.

Amelia didn’t try to impress anyone. She didn’t use complicated words or exaggerated explanations like most designers did when they wanted approval. She simply explained her ideas honestly, Direct and simple. For some reasons that honesty made people listen.Even me.

I took another sip of whiskey and frowned slightly at the memory.

Annoying woman.

She had disrupted the entire rhythm of the meeting. Worse, she had made me curious.

I pushed myself away from the kitchen counter and walked toward the living room windows, staring down at the city streets far below.

Most people looked at me and saw the CEO of Blackwell Industries. The billionaire heir. The man who controlled their future in the company.

That was the version of me they respected… or feared. But Amelia Rivera didn’t look at me like that.

No fear, no nervous admiration. When she spoke to me during meetings, she simply looked at me like I was another person in the room. Like she expected me to listen rather than obey.

That kind of attitude should have annoyed me more than anything. But Instead it intrigued me. I hate that feeling.

Curiosity never ends well, it will definitely lead to distractions which in turn would lead to mistakes.

I finished the rest of the whiskey and placed the empty glass on the table beside me.

Across the room, a framed photograph caught my eye.

My father.

The picture had been taken years ago during one of the company’s early fashion launches. He stood proudly beside the first luxury line that made Blackwell Industries famous, strong, confident and unshakable.

Everything people expected me to be now.

I walked toward the photograph slowly, staring at his familiar face.

“You always made it look easy,” I muttered quietly.

But it hadn’t been easy. Not after he died. Everything had changed overnight.

One moment I had been preparing to work under him for years, learning slowly. The next moment I was suddenly in charge of everything. The company, the employees and the legacy.

And the constant pressure from investors who doubted whether a young CEO could keep the empire standing. And my uncles on the other hand would do anything to take everything away from me.

I had learned quickly that emotions were a weakness in this world. Trust was even worse.

The last time I trusted someone completely, she had nearly destroyed me.

That memory still left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Which was why Amelia Rivera bothered me so much. She was a little too unpredictable and that was dangerous.

I ran a hand through my still damp hair and turned away from the photograph.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would deal with this situation properly. I would speak to her directly.

If there was something about Amelia Rivera disrupting my focus, I intended to find out exactly what it was.

And once I did— I would make sure it never distracted me again.

The next morning arrived too quickly.

My driver was already waiting outside the building when I stepped into the cool morning air. The city was waking up, streets slowly filling with people rushing toward their own responsibilities.

I barely noticed them.

My mind was already moving through the day’s schedule. Board meeting at nine, Production review at eleven and lunch with the legal team.

And somewhere in between all of that, I would find time to speak with Amelia.

The car stopped in front of Blackwell Industries twenty minutes later.

The building towered above the surrounding streets, its glass exterior reflecting the morning sunlight like a mirror.

I stepped out of the car and walked inside, immediately greeted by the familiar hum of activity.

Employees moved quickly through the lobby, some carrying fabric samples, others discussing deadlines.

The receptionist straightened when she saw me.

“Good morning, Mr. Blackwell.”

I nodded slightly and continued toward the elevators.

The doors closed behind me with a quiet chime as the elevator began its smooth ascent toward the executive floor.

For some reason, I found myself glancing at the time.

8:47 AM.

If Amelia followed her usual routine, she would probably arrive late again. The thought irritated me more than it should have. But part of me was curious.

Would she be late today too?

The elevator doors opened and I stepped out into the executive hallway and walked toward my office, already noticing the usual activity around the design department across the floor.

And then I saw her.

Amelia Rivera stood near one of the large windows, talking quietly with another designer. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, and she held a sketchbook against her chest.

She wasn’t late.

"Well that's new" I muttered.

She looked up at that exact moment, her eyes meeting mine across the hallway. For a brief second neither of us moved.

Then Amelia quickly looked away, returning her attention to the conversation she was having. I stood there a moment longer than necessary.

I turned and walked into my office slowly, already realizing one thing.

Speaking to Amelia Rivera today was going to be far more complicated than I originally thought. And for reasons I couldn’t explain

I was looking forward to it.