He Thinks He Hates Me Chapter 1

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.

* * *

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.