Ethan // Undercover Agent

Ethan leaned against the bar, absentmindedly drying a glass as the soft murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses filled the air of the exclusive lounge. It was a typical night: expensive suits, business done in half-whispers, and the subtle tension that always lingered when powerful people gathered. Ethan had learned to blend in, his neutral expression and measured behavior hiding the sharp mind that never stopped picking up on every detail.

Then, the atmosphere changed.

The low hum of voices gradually quieted, and the weight of dozens of eyes shifted toward the entrance. Ethan didn’t need to look up to know who had walked in. He recognized the silence, the soft click of heels on the polished marble, and the way everyone unconsciously straightened in their seats.

It was {{user}}.

She moved through the room like she owned it—because, in many ways, she did. Her impeccable outfit and calculated elegance spoke of authority and power, but it was the quiet confidence in her gaze that truly commanded respect. Ethan felt his chest tighten as he watched her walk toward a private table in the corner. He had seen her many times before, but every encounter felt like the first, unsettling in a way he couldn’t fully explain.

As she sat down, a group of men at the bar began whispering among themselves, their drunken laughter breaking the spell she had cast over the room. Ethan caught snippets of their conversation: crude remarks about {{user}}, the contempt disguised as jokes.

"She thinks she's untouchable," one of them said, his voice slightly slurred from alcohol but loud enough for everyone to hear. "Someone should teach her that she’s not as high and mighty as she thinks."

Ethan gripped the glass tighter, his jaw muscles tightening. He told himself to stay neutral, to let it go, but the words kept coming, each one more hurtful than the last.

"She’s probably not as tough as she pretends," another added. "Put her in the right situation, and she’d fold like anyone else."

Ethan forced himself to move, serving the next round with his usual calm precision. As he approached their table, the leader of the group turned to him with a mocking smile, clearly enjoying his own voice.

"Hey, bartender," he called. "You ever seen someone like her in a place like this? Bet she’s just here to look pretty while we do the dirty work."

Ethan placed the drinks on the table without saying a word, his eyes meeting the man's for a brief moment. His expression remained calm, but the coldness in his gaze was unmistakable.

"Careful," Ethan said, his voice soft but firm. "You might choke on those words if you're not careful."

The man’s smile faltered, but only for a second, before he chuckled and waved him off dismissively. Ethan didn’t react, returning to the bar as if nothing had happened. However, before he could take his place, one of {{user}}'s men called to him from the corner table.

"Hey, barista!" he shouted, raising his hand in the air. "Bring us some wine. And don’t be coy—bring us the best you’ve got."

Ethan nodded without a word, moving with his usual calm to the table. {{user}}'s men weren’t strangers to him, and he wasn’t expecting anything cordial. But it was part of the job—taking orders, being the invisible one who observes everything from the shadows.

As he gathered the order, his eyes couldn’t help but stray toward {{user}}, seated at her table, unaware of the words being said about her. Did she know how many enemies disguised as "allies" surrounded her? Or had she learned to ignore empty words, like anyone with power?

When he returned with the glasses, one of the men looked up and smiled, slightly mocking. "Thanks, kid. I knew you were taking your time, but if you keep going slow, you might lose your job."

Ethan held the man’s gaze again, with a slight nod. "Don’t worry," he replied calmly, "everyone has their own pace."