Chapter 65 – A Formal Invitation
After finishing his conversation with Old James, Ethan returned to the ballroom.
The crystal chandeliers still glared brilliantly overhead. The clinking of glasses and soft music filled the air. No one here would guess that the man who had paid for this lavish wedding was an elderly gentleman suffering from Alzheimer's.
Missy was currently smiling politely while firmly rejecting a man who was bragging about how he owned three yachts—one of which was permanently docked in Miami.
The man had even pulled out his phone and was about to show her photos of himself standing proudly beside his boats.
When Missy spotted Ethan, she casually said,
"Sorry, my boyfriend needs me."
Then she turned and walked away without hesitation, leaving the poor guy standing there with his phone still raised.
As she approached Ethan, her eyes carried a silent question.
Ethan lowered his voice.
"He came to me… asking for medical help."
Missy raised an eyebrow.
"Medical help? Why you? Do you look like the Harry Potter of private doctors?"
Ethan cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders.
"Because I'm a very good doctor."
After a pause, he added seriously,
"And I look trustworthy."
Missy's eyes curved into a smile.
"Yeah… that reason sounds much more believable than Harry Potter."
Ethan asked, "How about you?"
She naturally slipped her arm through his, her tone light but slightly affectionate.
"My side was much simpler. Everyone here is civilized."
She leaned closer so only he could hear.
"Although… if you want, I could analyze the groom for you."
"His look at you has already shifted from 'possible romantic rival' to 'potential business partner I should probably flatter.'"
Ethan glanced toward the groom, who was currently surrounded by guests. At least the wealthy young man seemed smart enough not to approach Missy again.
"Well then," Missy said with a mischievous smile,
"Brooklyn's rising medical star…"
"Did he at least pay you a consultation fee?"
"Or did he just hand you a blank check and say fill in whatever number you like?"
Ethan pulled the black-and-gold hotel keycard from his pocket.
"He gave me this. Said it was a small gesture of thanks."
"Whoa! The Starlight Penthouse Suite?"
Missy took the card and examined the gold-embossed hotel logo and suite name. Her eyes widened immediately.
"This 'gesture of thanks' came at the perfect time. Especially considering someone insisted on sleeping on the couch last night."
She lightly waved the keycard.
"Now you can enjoy this luxurious experience all by yourself."
She deliberately emphasized the words "all by yourself."
Ethan looked at her and immediately understood the implication. Anyone with half a brain could hear the subtext.
"All by myself?"
He leaned slightly closer.
"Just a moment ago, you were introducing me as your boyfriend… and now you're sending me to spend the night alone in a penthouse suite?"
He paused, glancing at the guests who were still sneaking looks at Missy.
"Missy… I would like to formally invite you to stay in that suite with me tonight."
After saying it, he seemed to feel that sounded too formal, so he added quietly—so only she could hear:
"The size of the room doesn't really matter."
"As long as you're there… even sleeping on the couch might be exciting."
He chuckled softly.
"But without you… even a penthouse suite would just be a larger prison."
"So—would you stay with me tonight? I'd really like you to be there."
The smile on Missy's face lit up instantly, like sunlight spreading across the wide Texas prairie.
She almost immediately clutched the keycard in her hand and grabbed Ethan's other hand.
"Of course I would! I can't wait."
"Right now?" Ethan asked.
But she was already pulling him toward the exit.
"Of course right now! Compared to standing here listening to the groom lecture everyone about the history of his family business, I think we have a responsibility—"
"—not to waste Mr. Whitmore's generous gift."
As she spoke, she was already leading Ethan toward the ballroom doors, her steps quick and light, almost excited to escape.
"Wait," Ethan said, laughing slightly as he followed.
"We're just leaving like this? Shouldn't we at least say goodbye to the bride and groom?"
Missy didn't even turn around.
"Say goodbye? What would we say?"
"'Thanks for the wedding. We really love the suite your father gave us, and now we're going to go use it'?"
"Oh please, Ethan. Sometimes leaving early is the most polite social etiquette."
She glanced over her shoulder and winked.
"Or would you rather stay here and watch me 'politely' deal with the next guy who comes over to flirt with me—possibly someone who owns a private island?"
Ethan immediately tightened his grip on her hand.
"Let's go."
---
The elevator rose smoothly and quickly, the numbers lighting up one after another.
With a soft ding, the doors opened on the top floor.
A private hallway stretched ahead, carpeted thickly, with only a single door at the end.
When the keycard touched the lock, the door slid open.
Both of them froze for half a second.
Calling it a suite felt like an understatement.
It was more like a palace in the sky.
The living room ceiling soared upward, and an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling glass windows revealed the sweeping view of New York City like a moving painting.
In the distance, the spires of the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building emerged through a thin veil of mist like silver brushstrokes in watercolor.
Unlike the dazzling crystal chandeliers in the ballroom, the light here felt natural and quiet—a softer, warmer kind of luxury.
"My God…" Missy breathed.
She released Ethan's hand and walked inside quickly, her heels sinking into the plush carpet.
"This place is incredible!"
Like a curious child, she began exploring.
One door opened into a private mini theater with top-tier speakers and a row of comfortable leather seats.
Another door revealed exactly what she had predicted earlier—a massive marble bathroom larger than their apartment living room, complete with a spacious whirlpool bathtub in the center.
"Ethan! You have to see this bathtub!" she called from the bathroom, her voice full of delighted exaggeration.
Meanwhile, Ethan walked over to the small bar in the living room.
Inside an ice bucket sat a perfectly chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon champagne.
Two elegant champagne flutes stood beside it, along with a handwritten card in graceful script:
"Wishing you a wonderful evening."
Damn capitalism, Ethan thought.
All it does is corrupt our spirits and weaken our will…
But… this corruption feels unbelievably comfortable.
He picked up the cold champagne bottle and gestured toward Missy, who had just stepped out of the bathroom.
"Would you like a drink?"
"Yes!"
Missy bent down and quickly unclasped the straps of her high heels—the beautiful torture devices that had been punishing her feet for hours.
She kicked them aside casually.
Standing barefoot on the soft carpet, her pale toes curled slightly in relief.
"Ah… finally free."
She stretched lazily, her graceful curves visible beneath the dress, then flopped without ceremony onto the enormous couch nearby, sinking deeply into it.
"This trip to New York might end up being the best memory of my year."
She pointed at him dramatically.
"And I hereby announce… that I forgive you!"
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