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Chapter 51: Necessary Sacrifices
"Come," Ethan said again, his voice a velvet lure, gesturing toward the far edge of the rooftop. The one that dropped away from the manicured lawns and twinkling neighbor lights, into the endless black maw of the woods beyond. "There's something you need to see. Over here."Samuel hesitated, his small frame rooted to the spot. The boy's mind raced—he could feel it in the way his fingers drummed against the railing, a silent Morse code of panic. Wrong place. Wrong time. Uncle Ethan's not right. Grandpa... he's sick because of him. What if he knows I know? But curiosity, that treacherous spark in every child, warred with the terror. And Ethan knew how to fan it."Don’t be scared, come on. It's just a firefly," Ethan added, injecting a note of boyish wonder into his tone, the kind he'd practiced in front of mirrors to disarm boardrooms full of sharks. "A big one. Glowing like a star that fell too low. You like fireflies, don't you? Remember the ones in the garden last summer? We chased t
Chapter 50: "Come Here Boy"
Ethan didn’t move.The champagne glass slipped completely from his hand this time, shattering against the marble with a dull, final sound. Tiny shards glittered across the floor like splintered stars. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hiss of bubbles dying away.He slowly turned his head.There, framed by the soft yellow light of the hallway, stood Samuel — his sister’s young son. The boy’s knuckles were white where he clutched the balcony railing, eyes wide and trembling, chest rising and falling too fast for someone his age.The two stared at each other for a long, unbearable minute.Ethan’s heart pounded once, twice — then went still, cold as stone. The boy’s gaze said it all. He had heard everything. The phone call. The name “Petrovic.” The talk of death. The truth Ethan had buried beneath smiles and lies.Finally, Samuel turned, reaching for the doorknob. He wanted to run. But Ethan’s voice — smooth and low like a blade sliding free from its sheath — stopped him in his t
Chapter 49: A Little Shadow
The night over the Cross estate was calm — almost too calm. The meeting had ended in roaring approval, wine glasses clinking, laughter echoing through the corridors. Yet upstairs, away from the noise, Ethan Cross’s mind was restless.He walked briskly up the marble staircase, his polished shoes tapping softly against the floor, and made his way to the private balcony overlooking the city. The sprawling skyline glittered below, towers piercing the darkness like shards of gold. It was a view John had loved — one Ethan intended to claim for himself, permanently.He shut the balcony door behind him and slipped a hand into his pocket, drawing out his phone. His fingers trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the electric pulse of ambition surging through him.He dialed a number. It rang twice before a calm, accented voice answered.“Doctor Petrovic speaking.”“Petrovic,” Ethan said, his tone low, almost a growl. “I just came from the meeting. The family believes Father won’t make it. Bu
Chapter 48: The Banquet Of Triumph
The storm from earlier had passed. Ethan, calm once more, leaned back in John Cross’s chair — his chair now, at least in practice. He tapped his fingers against the table, surveying the faces of his gathered relatives like a king studying his court.“Enough of distractions,” he said smoothly, taking a deep breath. “The matter of succession is settled. But a declaration without celebration carries no weight. It is time we show the world where power truly lies. The Cross family will hold a banquet.”The words fell like coins scattered across a table. Excitement rippled through the hall. A banquet was more than a dinner — it was a spectacle, a declaration of dominance, a stage upon which Ethan could present himself as the new axis around which the family revolved.One of the uncles leaned forward eagerly. “Yes, Ethan. You are right. It must not be a small affair. It must be the kind of event that cannot be ignored.”Another chimed in. “We should invite not only our allies, but those who
Chapter 47: A Lesson In Loyalty
The mahogany table in the Cross estate’s great hall gleamed beneath the chandelier’s golden glow.Every chair was filled — uncles, cousins, aunts, spouses, each member of the sprawling Cross family gathered as Ethan had commanded. Their faces reflected a mix of unease and eagerness. Unease because the patriarch, John Cross, lay upstairs unconscious. Eagerness because power was shifting, and they all knew it.Ethan sat at the head of the table where his father once presided. He leaned back slightly in the chair, fingers tapping on the polished surface, his expression calm but calculating. The silence was deliberate. He let them stew in it until the tension grew thick enough to taste.Finally, he spoke. His voice was smooth, carrying a gravity that silenced even the faintest whispers.“As you all know,” he began, “our father’s condition has not improved. In fact… I fear it has worsened. The physicians we’ve summoned have done what they can, but the truth is clear.” He paused, letting hi
Chapter 46: The True Master Chef!
Adrian stepped into the kitchen without a word, the way he always did — calm, steady, unshaken by Fabio’s sneers. The knife that had slipped through Fabio’s fingers only moments ago now rested easily in Adrian’s hand, as though it belonged there. His movements were fluid, almost too natural for someone who supposedly had no business being in a kitchen.The first sound that followed was the crisp, rhythmic tok-tok-tok of blade against board. Onions, tomatoes, herbs — each one fell into neat, uniform slices, not too thin, not too thick. Every cut was purposeful. Within seconds, what had looked like chaos on the counter turned into tidy rows of vegetables, their colors vibrant, their scent already lifting the stale air of the apartment.And Adrian was doing all this without breaking a sweat.Helen, leaning against the doorway, bit back a smile. She had seen glimpses of Adrian’s hidden depth before — the calm way he had carried himself at the fight club, the strength in his fists, the qui
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