He Thinks He Hates Me

The rumor was that Ethan Prescott, the undisputed prince of New York’s high society, had a thing for a girl in a photograph.

I have the kind of figure that was made for a silk sheath dress. After my family’s empire crumbled, I was shipped off to Manhattan as collateral for a debt.

This prince, however, wanted nothing to do with me. He wouldn’t even grant me a meeting, sending a text message designed to make me crawl back to where I came from:

【I’m in love with someone else. Don’t waste your time.】

At that exact moment, his assistant handed me a file—a dossier on the woman who held Ethan Prescott's heart.

I stared at the photo of the smiling girl in the cheongsam, and a memory surfaced.

It was me. A candid shot from a college trip to the city, taken years ago.

1

The file began with a psychological profile of Ethan Prescott. Cold, it said. Aloof. Never showed interest in women. Then, five years ago, that had changed. He’d fallen for someone. Love at first sight.

Beneath the text was the picture. Me, standing in the middle of Washington Square Park, looking over my shoulder with a smile. The photo was taken from inside a passing car, grainy and immediate. It had the distinct feel of a hurried glance, a fleeting moment that had somehow been stolen and frozen in time.

"The private investigator couldn't dig up anything more than this," said AJ, my father’s last loyal man. "Now that we know who she is, you want us to go have a word with her? A warning, maybe?"

"A warning?" I asked, my voice flat.

AJ rolled up his sleeves. "Yeah. Teach her a lesson."

"Oh? And you're aware that assault is a felony, right?"

The men my father left me were as brilliant as he was. My father, the third-generation heir who had managed to run the formidable Hayes Corporation straight into the ground, leaving a mountain of debt in his wake.

AJ’s face fell. "But Ms. Hayes, this guy is throwing a fit about the engagement. He’s been fighting with his family for days. Said he'd rather die than marry you. He even defied his grandfather and moved out of the family estate."

I gave a slight nod. "I see."

"Ava," AJ pleaded, his tone softening. "The Hayes family may be bankrupt, but we were once one of Boston’s most powerful families. You don't have to humiliate yourself like this. Let's just go back home and figure out the debt another way."

What home? I wanted to ask. There was nothing left to go back to.

My finger traced the outline of my own younger, brighter smile in the photograph.

"Not yet," I said, closing the file. "Do we know Ethan Prescott's schedule for today?"

"He has a reservation at The Summit Lounge this afternoon."

"Get me a table there. Not a private room. I want to be in the main hall."

AJ blinked. "You're going to see him? But he can't stand the idea of you."

"I'm not going to see him," I corrected, rising from my chair to gaze out at the river of yellow cabs flowing below the hotel window. "I'm simply going for a drink. To enjoy the view."

I paused, a small smile playing on my lips.

"And to let the view come find me."

AJ looked completely lost, scratching his head before heading off to make the call. He’d been a street fighter before my father saved him from being beaten to death by a rival gang. His loyalty was absolute, even if his intellect wasn't. He was the only one who stayed after everything fell apart.

"The reservation is made, Ms. Hayes."

"Thank you."

I walked into the dressing room and selected a moon-white, halter-neck silk dress. I twisted my hair into a loose chignon, securing it with a single pearl pin. The dress was understated, its clean lines exposing the pale curve of my shoulders. Elegant, but with a quiet magnetism.

They say you should never meet someone too dazzling when you’re young. If it doesn’t work out, they become the yardstick by which you measure everyone else, and no one ever measures up.

But what if you’re the ghost he’s been measuring every other woman against?

When I arrived, The Summit Lounge was an oasis of hushed tones and old money. The air smelled of expensive perfume and aged whiskey. The furniture was all dark mahogany, and even the tables in the main hall were partially enclosed by ornate privacy screens. It was easy to see why it was a favorite haunt for Manhattan's elite.

My table was strategically placed along the path to Ethan's private room.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text from AJ.

【His car just pulled up.】

I silenced my phone and took a sip of my martini.

Showtime.

Through a gap in the screen, I watched the doorman respectfully pull open the heavy glass door. A tall, impeccably dressed figure stepped inside. He wore a dark grey suit that seemed molded to his frame, and he moved with the unhurried confidence of a man accustomed to being in charge. His face was lethally handsome, sharp angles and intense eyes that immediately drew the attention of everyone in the room.

"That's him," a woman whispered nearby. "Ethan Prescott. The only son."

"Did you hear? The Hayes family from Boston went bust. They're basically selling their daughter to him to cover their debts."

"Can you imagine? What kind of woman from a bankrupt family does she think she is? As if Ethan Prescott would ever look at her."

"Exactly."

"Look how tense he is. Bet he's furious about the whole arrangement."

Ethan’s gaze was fixed straight ahead as he walked toward his room. Just as he was about to pass my table, I picked up my glass, tilting my head down as if completely absorbed in the drink.

In my mind, I counted his steps.

One.

Two.

Three.

As he passed, his peripheral vision caught my profile. It was just a glimpse, but it was enough. Ethan Prescott, the unshakable prince of New York, faltered.

His stride broke. He stopped, turning his head to get a better look, but in that same instant, I leaned back in my chair.

The privacy screen perfectly obscured my face.

2

From where Ethan stood, all he could see was the table, the stem of a martini glass, and a pair of long legs, clad in silk, crossed delicately beneath the hem of a white dress.

He remained frozen outside the screen, his well-manicured hand trembling slightly. It was probably the first time in his life he’d ever had to approach a woman. When his voice finally emerged, it was a low, pleasant baritone, but laced with an uncharacteristic nervousness that clashed with his cool, distant persona.

"Excuse me."

"Could I… see you for a moment?"

When I didn't respond, he quickly added, "I don't mean to be forward. It's just… you look like a friend of mine. I wanted to be sure."

"Sir, your pickup line is painfully cliché," I said, slowly swirling the olive in my glass. "So cliché it's uncomfortable." I finally lifted my eyes, though he couldn't see them. "You're a creep."

Ethan couldn't have expected this. First, the rejection. Then, being called a creep. A man of his looks, wealth, and status was used to women falling at his feet. Rejection wasn't just uncommon; it was nonexistent.

The whispers in the lounge started up again.

"Did you see that? Ethan Prescott, making a move on a woman? I thought he was completely untouchable."

"I have to know what the woman in that booth looks like. To get the Ethan Prescott to approach her like that…"

The word "creep" seemed to strike him like a physical blow. He stood there, rigid with a mixture of shame and indignation. Because, of course, no one knew that he wasn't hitting on me. He was genuinely trying to confirm if I was the girl he’d been searching for.

But to the outside world—and to me, the woman he assumed was a stranger—it looked like a clumsy, low-class pickup attempt.

After a long moment of silence, he flexed his fingers, his knuckles turning white. "I apologize. I was out of line."

Then, Ethan did something that stunned the entire room. The famously composed gentleman reached out and shoved the ornate screen aside.

The air in the lounge seemed to thin.

The screen slid halfway open. My face was just about to be revealed when his phone, tucked inside his suit jacket, began to vibrate insistently. The buzzing was relentless; it was either a family emergency or urgent company business.

He took a deep breath, pulling out his phone to check the caller ID. His brow furrowed in annoyance as he turned his back to me to answer it.

"What is it?"

I leaned forward slightly, studying the man who was supposed to be my fiancé. His back was broad, his shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, the perfectly tailored suit accentuating a physique that was like a drawn bow, taut with latent power. He was even more handsome in person than in his photographs. At six-foot-two, with a body like that, even the back of him was enough to make you look twice.

"Grandfather, I told you," he said into the phone, his voice sharp with frustration. "I will not marry the Hayes girl."

There was a pause. The old man on the other end seemed to be making a concession.

"I'm not forcing you, Ethan. It's just… old man Hayes and I were friends, back in the day. His family is bankrupt, and they owe us a hundred million dollars. I thought if his only granddaughter could marry into our family, become a Prescott, the debt would be forgiven. She wouldn't have to suffer."

The old man sighed. "But if you refuse, you refuse. It's your life. But your grandmother chews me out every day since you moved out in a huff. Just come home, will you?"

Ethan’s irritated tone softened, replaced by a hint of relief. "Fine."

"I'll move back in a few days."

3

On the other end of the line, his grandfather, clearly not ready to give up, made one last attempt.

"Are you sure you don't want to at least meet her? The Hayes girl? I've met her myself, you know. She's brilliant, beautiful… a vision in a qipao. Graceful, elegant… honestly, she's exactly your type. I'm telling you, just one look, and you'll be hooked."

"No," Ethan said, his refusal immediate and absolute. "I told you, I have someone."

"Alright, alright," his grandfather conceded, sounding defeated. "I'll call her family and tell them to send her back to Boston. But if you have someone, you bring her home for us to meet. You're twenty-seven, Ethan. It's time to settle down."

A flicker of something crossed Ethan’s face, and the corner of his mouth lifted into an almost unconscious smile. "I think I just found her."

"Found who?"

"Nothing, Grandfather. I have to go."

He ended the call, a smile still playing on his lips as he turned around.

But the booth behind the screen was empty.

The chair was vacant, the martini glass gone.

Ethan’s eyes scanned the room, searching. A moment later, a man eager to curry favor with the Prescott family approached him, holding out his phone. He had, with the dedication of a professional paparazzo, captured my departure from every conceivable angle: front, side, back, a perfect forty-five-degree shot.

By the time I returned to the hotel, AJ was waiting for me.

"Ms. Hayes, the Prescott family called." He paused, his expression grim. "They said the engagement is off. They want you to go back to Boston."

It was exactly what I expected.

"Son of a bitch!" AJ exploded, unable to contain his fury. "Who the hell do they think they are? They summon you here, they kick you out… Ms. Hayes, just say the word, and I'll go find that prick, stuff him in a sack, and beat the ever-living crap out of him."

He took a breath, his anger shifting to curiosity. "But what happened at the lounge? You just saw him, and now his grandfather is calling off the whole thing? Did you… did you slap that asshole when he was rude to you?" There was a hopeful, almost excited glint in his eye, as if he truly hoped I had put the high-and-mighty prince in his place.

"I didn't meet with him," I said calmly, sitting at the vanity and removing my earrings. "I told you. I just went for a drink and to enjoy the scenery."

I met his gaze in the mirror. "And AJ? From now on, you will not refer to Mr. Prescott as an asshole."

"But Ms. Hayes!" he protested, his voice rising with indignation. "What are we to them? A toy they can just pick up and throw away? Why should we take this?"

I placed the earrings in their velvet box and replied softly, "Because the Hayes family owes the Prescott family one hundred million dollars."

"How… how… how much?"

I ignored AJ's stuttered shock, remaining silent.

4

AJ’s voice dropped to a defeated whisper. "I'll book the flights back to Boston."

I stood up, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as I crossed to the sofa. "No flights. We're not going back. Pack our things, check out of the hotel, and find a cheap, run-down apartment to rent somewhere in the city."

AJ stared at me, bewildered. "The engagement is off. Why are we staying?"

I gazed out the window at the glittering, seductive sprawl of New York. This city was a hunting ground, and the game of cat and mouse was about to get more interesting.

"I saw the scenery today," I said quietly. "And now, the scenery is on its way to find me. How could I possibly leave?"

AJ rubbed the back of his neck. "Ms. Hayes, sometimes I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You don't need to understand. Just do it. I want to be moved in by tonight."

Just then, I heard a faint noise from the hallway outside our suite. A small smile touched my lips. I hadn't even been back from the lounge for an hour, and the man Ethan sent to investigate me was already at my door.

I raised my voice, deliberately making it loud enough to be overheard.

"AJ, we can't go back to Boston! If we go back now, my father will kill me!"

AJ froze, his face a mask of confusion. My father adored me; he would never lay a hand on me. He opened his mouth to object, but I pressed a single finger to my lips.

Shhh.

"I'm out of money," I continued, my voice laced with panic. "We can't afford this five-star hotel anymore. Please, just find a small place for us. We have to move out right away." I turned to him, my eyes wide with manufactured despair. "AJ, I'm so sorry you have to live in some awful place because of me."

AJ, the tough guy with a straight-shooting heart, had no idea what I was doing. He thought I was truly broke. "Ms. Hayes, I was nothing before you. An orphan, a street rat. Your father saved my life. I know all this. Before, I wasn't even worthy of walking behind you. Now that everyone else is gone, I'm happy that I get to be the one to protect you."

His voice was earnest. "I don't care if the place is a dump. I'm a person with no roots. Wherever you are, that's my home." He pulled a bank card from his wallet and held it out. "Ms. Hayes, this is all my savings. You take it. I'll find work tomorrow. I swear I won't let you suffer."

I gently pushed the card back. "I can't take your money, AJ. You earned it." I beckoned him closer. As he leaned down, I whispered, "I need to live in a broken-down apartment. It's part of the plan. Don't ask why, just do as I say."

I met his loyal, confused eyes. "And AJ? We will go back to Boston. Sooner than you think. I'm going to rebuild the Hayes Corporation, and I'm taking you with me."

New York was a massive market. To rebuild my family's legacy, I needed capital, connections, and power. And to get all of that, I needed one person to be my springboard.

AJ was ruthlessly efficient. Just as I'd asked, he found a top-floor walk-up in a grimy corner of the Lower East Side. The stench of stale beer and fried food from the dive bar downstairs hung in the air, punctuated by the slurred curses of drunks in the alley. The tiny apartment was permeated with the damp, musty smell of old New York.

"Ms. Hayes, wait on the fire escape. I'll clean this place up before you come in."

"Don't bother," I said, leaning against the doorframe he'd wiped down. "Leave the luggage outside. And go hire a few guys to act like loan sharks. I want them to cause a scene."

A short while later, three beefy men AJ had hired were putting on a convincing performance.

"You think you can just ignore us? Pay up, or else!" one of them bellowed.

AJ glanced nervously down the stairwell and then rushed over to me. "Ms. Hayes, Prescott's car is parked downstairs."

"Why is he here?" he whispered frantically.

Because, of course, he is.

I had left the lounge deliberately. I knew someone had taken my picture. Once Ethan saw that the woman in the photo was the same one he’d been searching for, he would use all his power to find me. I’d noticed the tail as soon as I got back to the hotel.

That's why I staged the whole performance for AJ about being broke. Before, he despised the idea of me, refusing to even look at my file. But now? Now he knew that the fiancée he'd so callously rejected was the very woman who haunted his thoughts. And because of his rejection, she had fallen into poverty and despair. What would that do to a man already consumed by a five-year-old infatuation?

The guilt would be the final ingredient.

Love is most intoxicating in the moments just before it blooms. Obsession sinks its roots deepest in the soil of regret.

I needed him to feel guilty. I needed him to blame himself.

5

From the five-star hotel to this slum, cornered by thugs—it was a perfectly tailored trap, a damsel-in-distress narrative designed for an audience of one.

I explained to AJ that the woman in the file was me from five years ago. Understanding finally dawned on his face.

"Ms. Hayes," he said, a look of dawning horror on his face. "In my world, we have a name for what you're doing. It's called a pig-butchering scam."

"You pay us today!" one of the hired thugs roared, getting back into character. "Back in Boston, you might have had powerful friends, but this is New York! Who's gonna save you here?" He took a menacing step forward. "No money, no life!"

The sound of expensive leather shoes ascending the metal staircase echoed in the cramped hall.

I gave the lead thug a subtle nod. He raised his hand, preparing to deliver a fake slap. I squeezed my eyes shut, feigning terror.

The rush of air from his hand passed by my ear, but the impact never came. A strong, long-fingered hand shot out and clamped around the thug’s wrist like a vise.

Then, a low, cold voice cut through the air. "In New York, I’m her protection."

I slowly opened my eyes.

Ethan Prescott stood before me. He'd changed into a high-quality black dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. He looked less like a ruthless CEO and more like a dark, brooding aristocrat. The neon lights from the street below cast a glow on his face, highlighting a small, alluring mole just above his collarbone. His handsome face was slick with a thin sheen of sweat. He must have run up the stairs.

He released the thug’s wrist and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, fastidiously wiping his fingers.

"How much does she owe you?" he asked, his voice dripping with ice.

"A million," the thug blurted out.

Ethan didn't even blink, as if he'd said a hundred dollars. He took out a checkbook, scribbled the number, and tossed the check at the man's face like it was garbage.

"Take it. And get lost."

"Wait," I said.

I had AJ retrieve the check and hand it back to Ethan. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know you. Why would you pay my debt?"

AJ, now fully committed to his role, chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Ms. Hayes, that's Ethan Prescott. You know, the one from the Prescott family who was kicking and screaming about breaking off your engagement. The same family that summoned us from Boston with one word and is now sending us away with another."

My expression was serene as I looked at Ethan, whose face was burning with shame.

"So you're Ethan Prescott?"

I met his cool, clear eyes, and saw a storm of emotions swirling within them: joy, embarrassment, guilt, self-reproach.

But the strongest emotion of all was the raw, blazing thrill of having finally found the woman he was looking for.

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