Sunday Morning: After the Fall, Someone Arrives
The morning sun bathed New York City in light, but for Ethan Calloway, everything felt darker than usual.
Inside his luxurious penthouse in Manhattan, Ethan stared at his phone screen.
No messages.
No calls.
Sienna Montgomery was truly gone.
He opened Instagram—Sienna was already in Paris. There were photos from backstage at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, her face still flawless, her smile still dazzling. As if last night's incident on the yacht hadn't affected her at all.
Ethan put down his phone and let out a deep sigh.
For the first time in a long while, he felt empty.
Central Park – Sunday Morning Awakening
The morning air in Manhattan was crisp, carrying the scent of coffee from a small kiosk at the corner of the park. The sun peeked through the towering skyscrapers, casting a golden glow over the small lake in the middle of Central Park.
Ethan sat on a wooden bench, a cup of black coffee in his hand, staring blankly ahead. He looked like a man who had everything—but this morning, he looked like a man who had just lost something big.
Across the walkway, Emily had just finished her jog. Her brown hair was tied in a ponytail, and the oversized hoodie made her look more relaxed than usual. When she spotted Ethan, her eyebrows lifted.
She walked over.
EMILY: "Ethan Calloway? In Central Park? Alone? Wow. Guess the world really is ending."
Ethan turned and let out a tired chuckle.
ETHAN: "And here I thought I'd get some peace and quiet."
Emily smirked and sat beside him, leaning against the bench.
EMILY: "You look like someone who just realized money can't buy happiness."
Ethan scoffed, taking a sip of his coffee.
ETHAN: "Maybe. Or maybe I just realized happiness is a scam."
Emily tilted her head, studying him with curiosity.
EMILY: "Let me guess—Sienna?"
Ethan let out a long sigh and gave a slow nod.
ETHAN: "She left for Paris this morning. Big fashion show. Victoria's Secret. You know how it is."
Emily nodded slightly, then looked at him more intently.
EMILY: "But that's not what's really bothering you, is it?"
Ethan stared ahead, trying to ignore the question. But Emily could always read people—and this time, she wasn't letting it go.
ETHAN: "Last night was... a mess."
Emily leaned in slightly, her voice softer now.
EMILY: "What happened?"
Ethan let out a small laugh, but it was empty.
ETHAN: "Let's just say, being a billionaire doesn't mean you don't screw up."
Emily exhaled, crossing her legs, then looked at him with quiet concern.
EMILY: "Okay, real talk. When was the last time you did something for yourself? Not for the company, not for the board, not for your image. Just… for you?"
Ethan fell silent. The question was simple, but the answer that surfaced in his mind surprised even himself.
He couldn't remember.
Emily shrugged, then stood up.
EMILY: "Well, since you look like you need a major distraction, I have an idea."
Ethan looked up at her, slightly intrigued.
ETHAN: "Oh yeah? What is it?"
Emily grinned.
EMILY: "We're going on an adventure."
Ethan chuckled.
ETHAN: "Emily, I don't do 'adventures'."
Emily leaned forward, eyes gleaming with challenge.
EMILY: "You do now."
Ethan shook his head, still smiling.
ETHAN: "And where exactly is this 'adventure' taking me?"
Emily folded her arms.
EMILY: "Have you ever been on the subway?"
Ethan froze.
ETHAN: "You're joking."
Emily shrugged.
EMILY: "Nope. Come on. The real New York experience? You can't be a real New Yorker without at least once getting stuck underground with a saxophone player and a guy yelling about the end of the world."
Ethan laughed, this time more genuinely.
ETHAN: "Okay, fine. But if I step in something questionable, you're buying me new shoes."
Emily laughed, then grabbed his hand and pulled him up.
EMILY: "Deal. Now let's go, Mr. CEO. It's time you meet the real city you own."
And for the first time in his life, Ethan Calloway—the man who always knew exactly where his life was headed—decided not to know.
The Subway Chronicles
Beneath the glittering luxury of Manhattan, Ethan Calloway—accustomed to limos and private jets—stood on the cramped subway platform alongside Emily, his unpredictable new employee.
ETHAN: "I can't believe I'm doing this."
Emily laughed at his skeptical expression.
EMILY: "Oh, come on. It's just a train."
Ethan glanced around. Dirty walls covered in graffiti, an old man strumming a battered guitar while singing Empire State of Mind, and in the corner, a woman yelling into her phone in a language he didn't understand.
ETHAN: "Yeah, a train… filled with potential serial killers."
Emily patted his shoulder.
EMILY: "Relax, Mr. CEO. This is culture."
As the subway screeched to a halt, its doors slid open, revealing an already packed car. Ethan hesitated, but Emily grabbed his hand.
EMILY: "Come on, we don't have the luxury of a private jet here."
Ethan sighed but followed her in. They held onto the metal pole, trying to balance as the train jerked forward. A massive man with a backpack triple the normal size stood beside Ethan, practically squishing him against the pole.
Ethan leaned closer to Emily.
ETHAN: "This is an HR violation waiting to happen."
Emily just chuckled.
---
Fifteen Minutes Later – Brooklyn
They finally emerged from the station, Ethan inhaling deeply as if he had just survived a battlefield.
ETHAN: "Okay, you win. That was—" (shaking his head) "—an experience."
Emily grinned proudly.
EMILY: "Welcome to the real world."
Ethan looked around. This wasn't Manhattan with its towering glass buildings and fleets of black SUVs. This was Brooklyn—grittier, more authentic. Small shops, street murals, hip-hop blasting from passing cars, and the tempting aroma of pizza drifting from a street corner.
ETHAN: "I don't think I've ever been here."
Emily stared at him as if he had just confessed to never having eaten food before.
EMILY: "Are you serious? You've lived in New York your whole life!"
Ethan shrugged.
ETHAN: "I own buildings here. Doesn't mean I've actually been here."
Emily shook her head, then grabbed his hand.
EMILY: "Okay, let's fix that."
They strolled down the street, passing a tiny pizza shop. Emily gestured for Ethan to stop.
EMILY: "This, my dear billionaire, is where you get the best pizza in New York."
Ethan eyed the small, slightly run-down shop skeptically.
ETHAN: "This place looks like a health hazard."
Emily patted his back.
EMILY: "Trust me."
They stepped inside, and moments later, Ethan took his first bite of a classic New York-style pizza slice—thin, greasy, and deliciously cheesy. His eyes widened slightly.
ETHAN: "Holy shit. This is actually amazing."
Emily nodded, satisfied.
EMILY: "Told you. Now, let's go. Party's waiting."
---
Brooklyn Underground Party – A Different Kind of Night
They arrived at a hidden bar beneath an old building. No neon signs, no VIP lines like in Manhattan. This was underground, raw. A smooth blend of jazz and electronic music filled the dimly lit space, where people danced freely—without pretense, without care.
Ethan scanned the room. This was different. No wealthy investors discussing stocks and mergers. No supermodels in thousand-dollar dresses.
Emily ordered two whiskeys and handed one to him.
EMILY: "To your first real New York night."
Ethan smirked slightly, raising his glass.
ETHAN: "To new experiences."
They drank.
Emily pulled him onto the dance floor. Unlike the penthouse and yacht parties he was used to, people here danced as if no one was watching. No cameras. No judgment.
Ethan, usually too composed for this kind of thing, shook his head with a laugh.
ETHAN: "I don't dance."
Emily arched an eyebrow, stepping closer.
EMILY: "Correction—you don't dance yet."
She pulled him in, their bodies almost touching. Ethan looked into her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he saw something new—something he had never found in business meetings or high-society parties.
Emily leaned in, whispering into his ear.
EMILY: "Just let go, Ethan."