Alright 💕
Here is a long, full novel-style chapter written in simple romance grammar, emotional, slow-burn, and easy to read.
Ethan Blackwood stood across the street from the glass building that carried his name.
Blackwood Press.
The sunlight reflected off the tall windows, making the building look powerful, cold, untouchable. Just like the reputation he had built over the years. At thirty-two, Ethan was already a billionaire CEO in Los Angeles. His company published best-selling novels, magazines, and digital content read across the world.
Yet none of that brought him peace.
Women smiled at him too quickly. They laughed too loudly at his jokes. Their eyes always glittered when they heard his last name. Ethan was tired of it. Tired of wondering if anyone would ever love him without knowing his bank balance.
That was how the crazy idea was born.
Today, he wasn't walking into his company as the CEO. He was walking in as an intern.
He adjusted the plain button-down shirt he wore and pushed his hands into his pockets. No designer watch. No luxury shoes. Just an ID card that read: Ethan Blake – Editorial Intern.
Security barely glanced at him. That alone felt strange. Usually, people straightened their backs when he passed. Today, he blended in. Invisible.
And for the first time in years, he felt free.
The publishing floor buzzed with noise. Phones rang. Printers hummed. Editors argued over deadlines. Ethan observed everything quietly, pretending to be nervous, pretending to be new.
"Hey! Move!" a soft but rushed voice said.
Someone bumped into him, almost spilling a stack of papers.
"I'm so sorry!" the girl said quickly, bending to gather the fallen documents.
Ethan crouched to help her. "It's okay."
That was when he really looked at her.
She wasn't dressed like the wealthy women he usually met. Simple blouse. Faded heels. Hair pulled into a loose ponytail. But her eyes—her eyes were warm, honest, and tired in a way that told a story.
"I should watch where I'm going," she said with a small laugh. "Mondays are chaos."
"I'm Ethan," he said.
"Lena. Lena Moore." She smiled. "Are you new?"
"Is it that obvious?"
She laughed, and something shifted inside him.
Lena hurried from desk to desk all day, carrying coffee, delivering manuscripts, running errands no one else wanted to do. Ethan noticed how everyone called her name, how they relied on her, yet never really thanked her.
During lunch, he found her sitting alone in the break room, staring at a worn notebook.
"Mind if I sit?" he asked.
She nodded. "Sure, Intern."
They talked about nothing at first. The city traffic. Deadlines. Coffee that tasted like regret. But slowly, she opened up.
"I want to be a writer," she admitted quietly. "But dreams don't pay rent."
Ethan felt something tighten in his chest.
"You should write," he said. "The world needs more voices like yours."
She looked at him like no one had ever said that before.
Days passed, and Ethan found himself looking forward to work—not because of meetings or profits, but because of Lena. He learned the sound of her laugh. The way she bit her lip when nervous. The kindness she gave freely, even when no one noticed.
Late one evening, the office was almost empty. Lena sat across from him, reviewing manuscripts.
"You're different," she said suddenly.
"How?" he asked.
"You listen," she replied. "Most people don't."
Ethan wanted to tell her everything right then. That the desk she sat at belonged to him. That the company was his. That he could change her life with a signature.
But he didn't.
Because for once, he wasn't Ethan Blackwood, billionaire CEO.
He was just Ethan.
And Lena smiled at him like that was enough.