ETHAN’S ULTIMATE RISE TO POWER

An old radio played softly in Ethan Carter’s small car repair shop, mixing with the sounds of tools clinking and the smell of motor oil. Ethan, wearing a dirty shirt and worn-out jeans, was kneeling next to an old car, carefully tightening a bolt. The hot summer air came in through the open garage door, but he didn’t care—this was his place, a calm spot in the middle of noisy engines and machines.

Then, suddenly, the usual sounds of his day were broken by the quiet hum of a super fancy car stopping in front of the shop. The car’s shiny black surface gleamed in the sunlight like a mirror, and the symbol on its front was worth more than the whole neighborhood. Ethan’s hand froze, his wrench halfway to its mark. His heart gave an involuntary thump as he instinctively stood, wiping his greasy hands on a rag, his gaze locked on the luxurious vehicle.

He knew cars well—this one wasn’t just expensive. It screamed wealth. Influence. Power. Someone important. Someone dangerous.

Before he could fully collect his thoughts, the driver—a sharply dressed man in a tailored suit—jumped out and rushed to the backseat. His movements were urgent but calculated, and when he opened the door, a man stepped out with the air of one accustomed to being obeyed: Martin Rutherford.

Ethan’s jaw tightened. His face, previously relaxed, shifted subtly into a guarded expression. His eyes narrowed, his lips pressed together in a line of quiet understanding. Martin Rutherford was no ordinary visitor. Son of the CEO of Rutherford Enterprises, one of the country’s largest and most influential conglomerates, Martin was known for his wealth, arrogance, and cold ambition.

Ethan couldn’t help but let his wrench clatter softly to the ground as he straightened and approached the expensive car, his steps quick and respectful. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rutherford,” he greeted with a polite nod, forcing a smile despite the knot in his stomach. “Are you here to fix your car?”

Martin scoffed, the sound dripping with disdain. His lip curled as he looked Ethan up and down, his voice cutting like a blade. “Fix my car? Here? In this dump?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t let a quack mechanic like you even touch a car worth more than you’ll ever be worth in this life—or the next.”

Ethan’s smile remained in place, calm and easy, though his chest tightened. “If you’re not here for car repairs,” he said, his voice gentle and teasing, “then I suppose you’re here for a conversation. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

The offer, simple and sincere, only seemed to infuriate Martin further. His face flushed a deeper red, his jaw clenched as he stepped closer. “Cut the bullshit, Ethan,” he hissed, his voice sharp with anger. His breath reeked of expensive whiskey, though it was still early in the day. “I’m here to discuss the consequences of you not divorcing Helena.”

Ethan sighed softly, his smile fading into something sad but resolute. He’d known this was coming. “Martin,” he said wearily, “we’ve had this conversation before. Helena’s my wife. I love her. If you want her so desperately, and if she wants you back, you should talk to her. Let her ask me for a divorce.”

Martin’s expression twisted into one of cold fury. His voice dropped to a growl. “That’s why I’m here, you idiot. Helena won’t agree to divorce you. So I’m telling you—you need to divorce her.”

Ethan’s heart ached—not from Martin’s words, but from the truth he’d known all along. Helena Rodriguez was his wife. She was the only daughter of the Rodriguez family, known for their wealth and pride. Ethan was nothing compared to them, just a poor mechanic who married into their world against their wishes. Helena hadn’t loved him, nor did she hate him; she was neutral, distant, cold. But her family despised Ethan with a passion and wanted her to leave him for Martin, who was practically royalty in their eyes. The fact that Helena refused to file for divorce —despite her indifference to Ethan—was what had brought Martin here today. He was desperate, frustrated. He needed Ethan out of the way.

Ethan’s thoughts were interrupted as he felt his collar roughly grabbed, pulling him forward. Martin’s cold, angry voice was inches from his face. “This is the last time I’m going to tell you, Ethan,” he snarled, his breath hot against Ethan’s cheek. “Divorce Helena. Now.”

For a moment, Ethan stared into Martin’s seething eyes. And then, ever so slowly, he let a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. He leaned in slightly, his voice low and steady. “And what,” he asked daringly, “are you going to do if I don’t divorce her?”

Martin’s eyes filled with anger, his face tense and his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it could break. His grip on Ethan’s collar tightened, knuckles whitening, and for a second it looked like he might throw a punch; but instead, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a deadly, venom-laced whisper.

“You think this is a game, Ethan?” he spat. “You really think someone like you belongs in the same room as Helena, let alone in her bed?” He let out a dry, bitter laugh. “You’re a grease-covered insect crawling through dirt, and she’s the daughter of royalty. You were a mistake. A passing fantasy. And I’m here to fix that mistake.”

Ethan didn’t flinch. He looked Martin square in the eye, the smirk still playing on his lips, but his voice was calm, level. “Then maybe you should be telling her that, not me,” he said coolly. “If she thought I was a mistake, she’d have walked out on her own. But she hasn’t.”

Martin let go of Ethan’s collar with a violent shove, his chest heaving as he stepped back. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, pacing a short line in the narrow space between the luxury car and Ethan’s dusty tool bench.

“I don’t give a damn what she wants!” he barked suddenly, spinning back toward Ethan. “This isn’t about what she wants. It’s about what’s right. What makes sense. What she owes her family. And you? You’re just in the way.”

Ethan took a breath and crossed his arms, his expression unreadable now. “You’re right,” he said softly. “I’m just a mechanic. I don’t come from money. I don’t wear suits that cost more than my rent. But I married Helena because she chose me. Whether it was out of rebellion, loneliness, or something she can’t even explain... she chose me.”

Martin’s face twisted in disgust. “Oh, spare me the fairytale.”

He stepped forward again, and this time, his voice changed. He looked Ethan up and down with barely concealed contempt before saying, “Alright then. If it’s about pride—let’s cut through that.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek black wallet, flipping it open. Thick bills were stacked inside, the kind of cash that most people never saw in a month—maybe even a year. He held it up, letting Ethan see the weight of what he was offering.

“How much?” Martin asked. His tone was sharp, cruel, like he was buying a junkyard car, not talking about a marriage. “How much do you want to walk away from her? Fifty thousand? A hundred? Half a million? You name your price, Ethan. Everyone has one.”

For a beat, there was silence. The only sounds were the faint ticking of the cooling engine, the buzzing of a fly near the open door, and the distant hum of the city beyond.

Ethan stared at the money... then looked up at Martin.

And he chuckled.

Not mockingly. Not bitterly. Just... tiredly.

He shook his head slowly. “You think this is about money?” he asked quietly. “You think I’m holding on to her because I want something from her?” He paused, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “I’m not for sale, Martin. And neither is she.”

Martin’s jaw twitched. “Everything and everyone has a price,” he hissed.

“Maybe in your world,” Ethan replied, voice still calm. “But in mine... people matter more than numbers.”

Martin’s nose flared, and his hand shook as he held the wallet—not because he was scared, but because he was furious. The veins in his neck popped out as he fought to stay calm. His pride, his background, his polished image—none of that had prepared him for someone like Ethan. Ethan didn’t flinch, didn’t beg, and didn’t even blink when offered more money than most people like him would ever get.

He snapped the wallet shut with a loud clap, stuffing it back into his blazer like it had betrayed him.

“You arrogant bastard,” Martin hissed, stepping closer again, invading Ethan’s space. “Do you even realize what you’re doing? Do you have any idea what kind of people you’re messing with?”

Ethan didn’t budge. His eyes stayed fixed on Martin’s, steady, unwavering. “I’m married to Helena Rodriguez. I already know what kind of people I’m dealing with.”

That struck a nerve.

Martin’s hand flew out, grabbing the front of Ethan’s shirt again and yanking him forward. His face was inches away, his voice a cold, seething growl. “You’re playing with fire, Carter. You think this is about love, loyalty, some romantic fantasy? No. This is about power. Legacy. Blood. And you don’t belong in it.”

Ethan didn’t pull away. He simply stared, almost calmly, and then—he smiled. “Funny thing about fire, Martin,” he murmured. “It burns everyone... not just the ones who don’t belong near it.”

Martin’s lips curled into a sneer. “You think you're clever? You think you're brave?”

“I think I’m tired,” Ethan said, voice low. “Tired of people like you walking into my life, thinking you can buy your way through anything. Thinking you can decide what Helena wants without even asking her.”

Martin’s grip loosened. He stood there, glaring, breathing hard. His face was flushed with fury, and his eyes darted like he was deciding between punching Ethan or storming off.

But then he steadied himself—just enough to speak.

“You think this is over?” he said, coldly now. “You think I came here just to offer you money? No. That was me being generous. But since generosity doesn’t work with people like you, I’ll use something you do understand.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s that?”

Martin took a step back and straightened his jacket. His voice dropped into something smooth and dangerous. “Loss.”

Ethan’s expression shifted—just subtly—but enough for Martin to see the flicker of concern.

Martin smirked darkly. “People like you don’t fear power or threats. You fear losing what little you have. Your shop. Your name. The tiny corner of the world where you think you matter. I’ll take it all from you if I have to, Ethan. I’ll rip it apart piece by piece until the only thing you’re left holding… is regret.”

Ethan’s voice was quieter now, but still steady. “If you really think that’s how you’ll win Helena… then you don’t know her at all.”

Martin took a final, measured breath. “We’ll see,” he said simply, and turned on his heel.

He walked quickly back to the car, where the driver was already waiting. The engine started with a smooth hum as he got in, and the car sped off with a loud screech, disappearing down the street like it had never been there.

Ethan stood in the doorway of his shop, arms crossed, watching the car until it was gone. Then he looked down at his shirt where Martin had grabbed him—it was wrinkled and dirty. He let out a long breath, like he’d been holding it the whole time. Deep down, he felt afraid. Afraid because he knew Martin wasn’t joking this time around with his threats; he was dead serious.