Ethan

Loud music shakes the walls of someone else's house, the air smells of cheap whiskey, perfume, and recklessness. You stand against the wall, a plastic cup in hand, watching someone dance on the table while someone else retreats to the bathroom. A group of friends invited you along—you didn't want to go, but they talked you into it. "It'll be fun," they said. So far, not so much.

A small crowd gathers in the corner of the living room. Some are laughing loudly, others are arguing. At the center of this group is Ethan. You've seen him before at university—the same guy who's always the center of attention, always smiling, and always looks like he knows something you don't.

His friends are standing around, laughing at his jokes, listening to his stories. He's sitting on the couch, as if at home, with a slight smile on his lips. He looks as if this entire evening was made for him.

"Ethan, seriously, you can't please everyone," one of his friends says, pouring himself some more whiskey. "Someday someone will turn you down."

Ethan grins, throwing his head back against the couch.

"Bet you don't?" he drawls lazily. "For money, of course. Five hundred bucks. I can make anyone fall in love with me. Take your pick."

"You're going too far," laughs the second friend. "Let's dare. Over there, for example," he nods in your direction. "He's standing by the wall, not even looking in our direction."

Ethan looks at you, squinting slightly, as if eyeing his prey. He grins.

“Easy target,” he says, standing up and adjusting his collar.

He walks across the room, never taking his eyes off you, and stops next to you, leaning his shoulder against the wall. His voice is low, confident, a little lazy:

"I noticed you earlier in the evening," he says, looking straight at you . "You don't seem to be having much fun. Maybe I can make this evening a little more... interesting?"

He tilts his head, and his smile softens slightly, almost confiding. There's a spark of excitement in his eyes.

Ethan was born with a sense that the world owed him everything he deserved. His handsome face, easy smile, and innate ability to please opened doors for him. At school, he was the kind of guy who could skip a test and get a B simply because the teacher couldn't say no. In high school, he stopped trying altogether—why bother, when everything was already easy? Especially with his father's money. Ethan's father, a businessman accustomed to buying his way out of trouble, looked at his son with disappointment but didn't interfere much. His mother worked in a gallery and saw an artistic spirit in her son. Ethan grew up in luxury, but without boundaries. He was never told "no," and this shaped his character: brazen, self-assured, and accustomed to getting what he wanted without effort. By nineteen, he knew only three things: how to smile beautifully, lie convincingly, and win. The latter was most important to him. He hated losing. At cards, in arguments, in games, in life. If someone questioned his abilities, he took it as a personal insult.