The spacious manager's office at StarGlow Galleria suddenly felt claustrophobic, the air thick with disbelief.
Ethan Shaw couldn't breathe. He stared, utterly stunned, at the young woman who had just stormed in and slammed his portfolio on the desk. Her eyes, usually sparkling pools of mischief, were now twin furnaces of righteous fury – a look that had always triggered a primal flicker of fear deep within him.
Just like now.
But that familiar fear was utterly dwarfed by the seismic shock reverberating through him. *This couldn't be real.*
John Henderson, the manager, was also gasping for air, eyes bulging like a startled bullfrog. *This girl had just yelled at the CEO of Shaw Enterprises!* Who did she think she was?
"Get your hands off Mr. Shaw!" Henderson sputtered, lunging forward to physically remove Molly.
A hand shot out, cold and implacable, blocking him mid-reach. The voice that followed was glacial. "Out. Now."
Henderson gaped, pointing incredulously at his own chest. "Out? Me?"
Carla Vance, Ethan's Executive Assistant, barely suppressed a snort. She grabbed Henderson's arm. "Yes, *you*. Let's go!" She recognized the immediate need for privacy. If her memory served – and it always did – this girl bore an uncanny resemblance to the photo Ethan kept locked away. The one he'd drunkenly pointed to years ago, voice thick with grief: *"My sister. Beautiful, wasn't she? Gone too soon."* This situation was beyond bizarre, but professional discretion was paramount.
The bewildered security guard hovering outside the door could only stare. The *manager* was getting ejected? Talk about a role reversal!
The heavy door clicked shut behind them. The silence was deafening. The phantom sting on his ear (even though she hadn't touched it) felt absurdly real. Ethan's vision blurred, a treacherous heat rising behind his eyes. His voice, when it finally emerged, was a raw scrape. "Molly?"
His sister, dead for eleven years… standing here? *Alive?*
Molly Lin dropped unceremoniously into the plush executive chair behind the imposing desk, treating it like a bus seat. Her first order was pure, unadulterated Molly. "Water. Now. That sprint took it out of me!" Getting hung up on by Ethan had forced Plan B: interrogate the guard about the manager's office location. Guard clammed up? Fine. She'd search floor by floor, the poor man huffing and puffing behind her until she'd burst into the top-floor office.
Ethan Shaw, the feared "Wall Street Recluse," the man who commanded boardrooms with an icy glare, reacted purely on instinct. He moved swiftly to the sleek chrome water dispenser in the corner, filled a crystal tumbler, and placed it before her. Different last names (Molly had taken their mother's), same fierce, unbreakable bond. Seeing the sweat beading on her forehead, he automatically picked up a nearby leather-bound report and began fanning her, despite the perfectly calibrated office AC humming softly.
Molly gulped down half the water, slammed the glass back on the desk with a decisive *thunk*. "Right. First things first: Cancel the shutdown. Get this mall open for business. Now."
Ethan's gaze, shimmering with unshed tears, remained locked on her face, searching for proof this wasn't some cruel hallucination. "Molly… is it really you?"
Molly reached across the desk and gave his forearm a sharp, sisterly *thwack* – the kind reserved for profound stupidity. "Focus, Ethan! Do it!"
The familiar, stinging rebuke cut through the fog of disbelief. *It was her.* His sister. Alive. A wave of pure, unadulterated joy, so intense it was almost painful, crashed over him, obliterating rational thought. He surged to his feet, strode to the door, and yanked it open. Henderson and Carla were still lingering nearby.
"Cancel the shutdown. Resume normal operations immediately." Ethan's voice was rough but commanding. He didn't wait for a response, shutting the door again before Henderson could get a clear look at his undoubtedly red-rimmed eyes.
Henderson blinked rapidly, turning to Carla. "Ms. Vance… did Mr. Shaw just look…?"
"You saw nothing," Carla stated firmly, her own mind reeling. "Just execute the order. Now." She didn't need Henderson's gossip complicating this impossible situation.
Henderson, utterly bewildered about the girl's identity but recognizing an iron command, scrambled for his phone and radio.
Back inside, Ethan sank into the chair opposite Molly, the obsidian worry stones forgotten on the desk. He continued fanning her mechanically, his mind struggling to catch up. "So… you're saying you… time-traveled? From eleven years ago?"
Molly figured full disclosure was the only option. She hadn't aged a day. "Spot on. Notice anything familiar?" She gestured down at her simple black dress. "This is what I was wearing the day I… well, you know."
Ethan's gaze flickered over the dress, a shadow passing over his face. "Yeah," he murmured, the word thick. "The dress you wore for your date with Cole Sterling." He remembered that day with painful clarity. Her flitting around the house, trying on outfit after outfit, asking his opinion. He'd been sullen, resentful of her dating, muttering "They all look dumb." She'd promptly whacked him upside the head, and he'd grudgingly admitted the black dress looked good. It was because of *that date* with *Sterling* that she'd been driving… The old, familiar hatred for Cole Sterling bubbled up, momentarily eclipsing his joy.
Hearing Cole Sterling's name dropped so casually made Molly's expression darken. Back in high school, she'd been the popular girl, swarmed by admirers. Cole Sterling, the charming, slightly arrogant trust fund kid, had pursued her relentlessly since freshman year. She'd initially been unimpressed. But three years of persistent effort, punctuated by a few genuinely decent moments, had worn her down. After graduation, amidst a ridiculously over-the-top promposal involving half the senior class, she'd agreed to date him. The crash happened on her way to their first *actual* date.
Truthfully? She hadn't been deeply in love. More like, "Graduation's over, why not try dating?" Senior year had been an academic siege, fighting tooth and nail to maintain her valedictorian spot. According to her dream, Cole had entered Hollywood and promptly embraced the playboy lifestyle, his tabloid exploits constant until meeting the heroine, Liana Hartley. That's when he supposedly "reformed." Their sizzling on-screen chemistry in a hit show bled into a real-life romance. But then Liana learned about Cole's tragically deceased high school sweetheart. The inevitable "Do you love her or me more?" question arose. Cole's infamous two-second hesitation sparked a breakup. Liana, hurt and wanting to provoke him, started cozying up to Ethan, even starring in his financed film. Cole, the entitled billionaire-turned-Oscar-winner, initially dismissed her as dramatic, then spiraled into a frenzy of public apologies when she wouldn't take him back. Bottom line: she and Ethan were just pawns in their messy romantic drama!
"Ancient history," Molly declared, pushing the unpleasant thoughts away. "Let's get lunch. I'm starving."
Ethan watched the storm clouds pass over her face. *She knows about Cole,* he realized. Sterling's reputation as a serial Hollywood dater wasn't exactly a secret. She must be devastated, thinking he was still her devoted boyfriend. A fresh wave of protective anger surged through him, mingling with the overwhelming relief of having her back. He wouldn't mention Sterling again. Not now. He stood. "What do you want?"
The answer was immediate. "Something spicy. And messy."
Ethan trailed Molly out of the office. The imposing CEO, known for his glacial demeanor, looked distinctly like an overgrown puppy trailing its owner. Some things, it seemed, were immune to time and corporate power structures – like the immutable force of an older sister.
Carla Vance, maintaining her impeccable professional facade despite the internal earthquake, stepped forward smoothly. "Mr. Shaw." She then turned to Molly, extending a hand. Her grip was firm, professional. "Carla Vance, Mr. Shaw's Executive Assistant. A pleasure."
Carla was the picture of cool competence – tailored suit, sharp gaze, an air of quiet efficiency. Molly, who had always appreciated formidable women, beamed. "Hi Carla! Love the suit! I'm Molly Lin." Her smile was genuine and warm.
Ethan blinked, glancing between his eternally eighteen-year-old sister and Carla, who was, in fact, a year *younger* than him. A faint frown creased his brow.
Carla, catching the subtle shift in Ethan's expression, suppressed a smile. She liked Molly's energy instantly, but boundaries mattered. "Ms. Lin is fine, really."
Molly waved a dismissive hand. She knew from her dream-haze that Carla had stuck by Ethan through thick and thin, even after the empire crumbled. She was practically family. "Nonsense! We'll sort the titles later. He calls me sister," she pointed a thumb at Ethan, "and I call *you* sister!" She grinned.
Carla: "…"
Ethan: *Pinches the bridge of his nose, the obsidian stones clicking softly as he massages his temples.* He had objections. Strong ones. But voicing them felt… unwise.
"Lunch," Ethan stated flatly, cutting through the awkward/amusing moment. "Now." He subtly gestured for Carla to handle Henderson, who was loitering nearby looking desperate for intel.
"Of course. Enjoy your meal," Carla said smoothly, ready to deflect the manager.
Molly looped her arm through Carla's before she could retreat. "Oh no you don't! You're coming with us. Lunch is always better with three!" She gave Carla's arm a friendly squeeze.
Carla froze, momentarily thrown. She looked questioningly at Ethan. Trusting his EA implicitly, especially with something this monumental, Ethan gave a curt nod. "Carla comes."
A quick scan of the mall corridors showed customers milling about again. Good. Molly nodded in satisfaction. *Never mess with the bottom line.*
They settled into a plush booth at "Ember," a high-end steakhouse known for its searingly spicy sauces – the closest upscale equivalent to Molly's desired "messy and spicy." Just as Carla was discreetly adjusting her cufflinks and Molly was eyeing the menu with predatory interest, Ethan's phone buzzed on the polished tabletop. He glanced at the screen. A notification from Liana Hartley.
**[Ethan, I'm here. But it's still so crowded? I thought you were clearing the place?]**