The Fifth One to Leave
7:30 p.m. — Vancouver.
The sun was sinking over the city, drenching the skyscrapers in a fading orange glow. Friday night: bars alive with laughter, champagne glasses clinking, the streets buzzing with joy. Everyone was celebrating—everyone except him.
Ethan Rhodes rubbed his temples. The migraine had been tormenting him for hours, but his eyes never left the glowing spreadsheets on his laptop. Nearly eight o’clock, and he still had three files open.
His phone buzzed on the desk. He barely glanced at it.
“Two hours waiting. Are you coming or not?”
Ethan sighed, shut the laptop, and walked into his private bathroom. The mirror reflected a flawless image—immaculate suit, perfect hair, the picture of a man meant for any dinner table. But was it Nathalia? Glenda? He couldn’t even remember her name.
Twenty minutes later, he was at the most exclusive Mediterranean restaurant by the bay. The salty breeze curled through the candlelit terrace. Waiting for him was a blonde in a fitted dress, her wine glass half empty. She folded her arms the instant she saw him.
“Do you think you can keep me waiting?” she demanded, voice sharp with pride.
“Sorry, Nathalia,” Ethan said, hesitating just a fraction. “I was busy. We can still order dinner, if you’d like.”
Her eyes blazed.
“Nathalia?! Two months together and you don’t even know my name? I’m Estefany Rochefort! How foolish I was to think this could work.”
Clutching her Dior purse, she stormed out with heels clicking like gunshots. Ethan didn’t even turn his head. He sat down, asked for the menu, and relaxed. Eating alone had never been a problem for him.
When he arrived home, the lights were on. A tailored suit with the tag still dangling was draped across a chair—he had forgotten to wear it for dinner.
“You’re early,” his mother’s voice drifted from the sofa. “So you didn’t go on your date.”
Ethan loosened his tie, dropped his jacket over the chair, and answered without looking at her.
“I had work.”
“You always have work,” Elena replied coldly. “Meanwhile, another woman leaves. And this one—she was truly beautiful. Did you see her eyes? Your children with her would have been stunning.”
He walked to the dining table, poured himself a glass of water, and downed it in one breath.
“She wasn’t the one.”
“No, Ethan. The problem isn’t them. It’s you.”
He didn’t argue. He simply collapsed into the armchair.
“Five women in one year!” Elena’s voice rose. “You can’t keep anyone by your side. You’re almost thirty, and I am close to my death. Your father would be devastated.”
“I don’t need anyone, Mother. I’m fine with my life. Besides, I’m always busy.”
“Yes, you do. And I do.”
Ethan lifted his gaze slowly.
“What do you mean?”
Elena leaned forward, her eyes piercing into his.
“I received the results today. The cancer is back. This time, there’s no promise of remission. I don’t have much time left, Ethan. And before it’s too late, I want a grandchild.”
Silence pressed against him, heavier than his migraine.
“I’m sorry for what you’re going through, Mother, but you can’t demand a child from me.”
“It isn’t a demand. It’s my last wish. I’ve carried this family alone since your father died. I gave everything to you and your sister—and she ran off abroad. All I ask is one thing: I want to see you build a family. I won’t leave this world without knowing you won’t be alone.”
He shook his head.
“I’m not ready for marriage. And honestly, being alone doesn’t bother me at all.”
“You’ll never truly be alone. There will always be another contract, another meeting, another excuse. That’s why I made the decision for you.”
His head snapped up in disbelief.
“What did you do?”
“Tomorrow morning, you’ll have breakfast with a candidate. If she isn’t the one, there will be another. But you will give me that grandchild, Ethan. I refuse to leave without holding one.”
Ethan turned to the window, anger twisting in his chest.
“You’re really using your illness to manipulate me? Unbelievable, Mother. Let me guess—you and your club friends decided to hire one of those agencies for a contract bride? Absolutely not.”
“This isn’t manipulation. It’s reality. The medical report is in my purse—you can read it yourself. I may have only a couple of years left. And don’t forget: to inherit your share of the company, there must be an heir. Otherwise, when I die, the shares will go to charity. You’ve worked too hard for that to happen.”
He shut his eyes, crushed beneath the weight pressing on his skull.
“I don’t care about the inheritance. Your will and Father’s are just excuses to force me into your traditions.”
“No more excuses!” she snapped. “You hide in the company because there, you’re in control. But when you come home, you have no one. I don’t want you to die alone—empty, bitter. I want you to know the one thing money can’t buy: your own family.”
Elena’s voice softened, but her stare was unyielding.
“Tomorrow. Eight a.m. The woman I’ve chosen will be here.”
Ethan didn’t reply. He walked to his room and shut the door. The migraine throbbed mercilessly, but it wasn’t the pain that kept him awake. It was his mother’s words.
Five women had fled from his coldness. Now, she was demanding a future he had never imagined.
And he knew there would be no escape. Elena never backed down.
He collapsed onto the bed, leaving the lights on. The phone buzzed once more—
Meeting with Singapore: Reminder.
Too exhausted to care, Ethan simply turned it off.
