THE CARDS OF FORTUNE: THE REVENGE OF THE SCORNED SON-IN-LAW

Chapter 2: A Very Dangerous Game

Ethan stepped outside first, carrying both grocery bags in one hand. The weight pulled against his fingers, and the thin plastic handles bit into his palm, but he barely noticed.

The old man followed him through the automatic doors, pulling his coat tighter around his body as a cool breeze swept across the parking lot.

Ethan glanced down the road and then looked at the old man. “Which way?” he asked, his voice calm despite the exhaustion weighing on him.

The old man lifted one hand and pointed toward the left. “That way,” he replied, his voice quiet as he looked down the nearly empty street.

Ethan nodded toward the direction. “All right. Let's go,” he said simply, shifting the grocery bags in his hand before starting forward.

The old man followed.

Their footsteps echoed softly against the damp pavement as they walked beneath the streetlights. The old man's pace was slow and careful, each step measured as though he was paying close attention to where he placed his feet. Ethan noticed immediately.

He could have walked much faster.

After spending hours working, his body was already exhausted, and all he wanted was to get home, take off his shoes, and collapse somewhere comfortable. His shoulders ached, his feet felt heavy, and his stomach had been empty for hours.

Still, he slowed down.

He adjusted his pace until he was walking beside the old man instead of several steps ahead of him.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The only sounds were their footsteps, the occasional rustle of plastic bags, and the distant hum of a car passing somewhere beyond the neighborhood.

After a few minutes, the old man glanced sideways at him. “You don't have to walk this slowly,” he said with a faint smile, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Ethan shrugged without looking at him. “I'm not in a hurry,” he replied casually.

The old man studied him for a moment before his eyes dropped to Ethan's worn work uniform. The clothes were faded and stained from a long day of labor, and the edges of his shoes were scuffed from constant use.

“You've just finished work?” the old man asked, his tone gentle with curiosity.

“Yeah,” Ethan answered, keeping his eyes on the road.

“You look exhausted,” the old man observed, his voice softer now.

Ethan let out a quiet breath through his nose. “I am,” he admitted honestly.

The old man smiled faintly, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. “Then why are you helping me?” he asked, his voice carrying genuine confusion.

Ethan's steps slowed for a moment.

He looked ahead at the empty road, his expression becoming distant.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he finally spoke, his voice quieter than before. “Because I know what it's like to need help and have nobody offer it.”

The old man's expression changed.

The faint smile disappeared, replaced by a deeper look of understanding. He turned his head and studied Ethan more carefully, as though he was seeing something beneath the young man's tired appearance that Ethan himself had never spoken about.

Ethan didn't notice.

His attention remained on the road ahead.

The old man lowered his gaze.

“You have a good heart,” he said quietly, the words carrying more sincerity than praise.

Ethan gave a small scoff and shook his head. “I wouldn't say that,” he replied, almost dismissing the compliment.

The old man looked at him curiously. “Why not?”

Ethan tightened his fingers around the grocery bags as they swung lightly against his leg. “Because having a good heart doesn't pay bills,” he said, a tired bitterness slipping into his voice.

The old man's eyes softened.

“No,” he agreed quietly. “It doesn't.”

They walked a few more steps.

Ethan stared ahead, his expression thoughtful. “But sometimes it's all a person has,” he added, his voice low and almost reluctant, as though he hadn't meant to say it aloud.

The old man said nothing.

For the next several minutes, they continued through the quiet streets together.

The neighborhood gradually changed as they walked deeper into the area. The small houses and modest apartment buildings gave way to larger properties hidden behind tall walls. The streets became cleaner and quieter, with carefully trimmed hedges lining the sidewalks and expensive security lights illuminating the entrances.

Tall metal gates stood in front of enormous houses, many fitted with cameras that quietly tracked everything happening outside. Expensive cars sat behind some of the fences, their polished bodies barely visible through the iron bars.

Ethan noticed all of it.

His eyes moved briefly from one massive house to another before returning to the old man beside him.

He didn't ask questions.

The old man's appearance had not prepared him for this neighborhood.

The man had struggled to pay for a few basic groceries, yet he lived somewhere that looked more expensive than anything Ethan had ever called home.

It was strange.

Very strange.

But Ethan kept his thoughts to himself.

After all, the man's financial situation was none of his business. What mattered was that the old man's steps had become noticeably slower.

Ethan noticed the slight hesitation each time the man lifted his foot. His breathing had also become heavier, though he tried to hide it.

Without saying anything, Ethan slowed down again.

The old man noticed this time.

He glanced at Ethan with a faint smile but said nothing.

Another minute passed before he finally stopped.

Ethan took two more steps before realizing the man was no longer beside him. He turned around.

The old man was standing in front of a tall black metal gate.

Unlike the other properties they had passed, this one was almost completely hidden behind a high wall. Security cameras were mounted near the entrance, and a bright light above the gate illuminated the man's face.

The old man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small silver key.

“This is my home,” he said quietly, his voice suddenly carrying a strange calmness.

Ethan looked at the gate, then at the man.

He watched as the old man inserted the key into a small lock beside the entrance.

There was a soft click, and the heavy gate unlocked.

Ethan raised his eyebrows slightly but said nothing.

The old man pushed the gate open and stepped inside before turning back toward him.

Ethan held out the grocery bags. “Here you go, sir,” he said, offering them with a small nod.

The old man accepted them with both hands. The weight immediately pulled his shoulders down slightly, but this time he held them more securely.

He looked at the bags for a moment before lifting his eyes toward Ethan.

“You've already done more than enough tonight,” he said, his voice warm with genuine gratitude.

Ethan shrugged. “It wasn't a big deal,” he replied, trying to make light of it.

The old man studied his tired face.

There was something almost amused in his eyes now.

“Would you like some coffee?” he asked, his tone gentle and inviting.

Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

The screen lit up his tired face.

**12:19 a.m.**

His eyes remained on the time for several seconds.

He should have gone home.

His parents were probably still awake, wondering why he had not returned yet. His mother always worried whenever he worked late, and his father needed his medication before going to bed.

And then there was his wife.

She would probably be angry that he was coming home this late.

Then again, maybe she wouldn't.

Not if she was still with her lover.

Ethan lowered his eyes, staring at the dark reflection of his own face on the screen. He hated that he had become used to thinking about his marriage that way. He hated that suspicion had stopped feeling like suspicion and started feeling like reality.

He locked the phone and slipped it back into his pocket.

He should leave.

He really should.

His parents were waiting.

His body was exhausted.

Yet he remained where he was.

His eyes drifted toward the old man standing quietly behind the open gate.

For some reason, Ethan couldn't bring himself to walk away.

Maybe it was because of the way the old man had treated him.

He hadn't looked at Ethan's worn uniform with disgust.

He hadn't pitied him.

He hadn't asked why a young man was working a garbage collection job when he should have been doing something better with his life.

Most importantly, he hadn't looked at Ethan like he was a failure.

That alone felt strangely valuable.

Ethan had spent so much time around people who made him feel worthless that he had almost forgotten what it was like to sit beside someone without feeling judged.

The realization caught him off guard.

He lowered his phone slowly and looked at the old man.

The man simply waited.

There was no pressure in his expression. No impatience. He didn't ask Ethan to come inside again. He didn't try to persuade him.

He just waited.

Ethan finally gave him a small, tired smile.

“Sure,” he said softly, the exhaustion still clear in his voice. “A cup of coffee would be nice.”

The old man's face brightened immediately.

“Then come in,” he replied warmly, stepping farther through the gate.

Ethan hesitated for only a moment before following him.

The moment he stepped through the entrance, he realized the house was nothing like he had expected.

From outside, the property had looked impressive, but not extravagant. Ethan had assumed the inside would be much the same.

He was wrong.

He stopped just beyond the entrance and slowly looked around.

The living room was spacious, but it wasn't filled with the kind of expensive furniture he had expected from a house in this neighborhood. The sofas were old-fashioned, with dark wooden frames and thick cushions that showed their age. A simple coffee table stood in the center of the room, its surface polished so carefully that it reflected the warm light from the lamps.

Everything was clean.

Almost unnaturally clean.

There was no television playing in the background. No loud music. No expensive artwork hanging on the walls. No family photographs arranged across shelves.

There was only silence.

And books.

Hundreds of them.

Tall wooden bookshelves covered almost every wall, packed tightly from floor to ceiling. Books of different sizes and colors stood side by side, some neatly arranged while others leaned against one another.

Ethan slowly turned his head, taking everything in.

“This place is like a library,” he murmured, unable to hide his surprise.

The old man glanced toward the shelves and smiled faintly. “I suppose it is.”

Ethan's eyes moved from one shelf to another.

There had to be thousands of books.

He looked at the old man again.

“You live here alone?” he asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

The old man walked toward a nearby table and carefully placed his groceries on it. “Yes,” he replied simply.

There was something about the way he said it that made Ethan feel there was more to the answer.

But he didn't press.

He had already learned enough tonight to know that some questions were better left unanswered.

The old man disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Ethan standing alone in the living room.

After a moment, Ethan lowered himself onto the couch.

The cushions sank beneath his weight.

He hadn't expected them to be so comfortable.

A quiet breath escaped him as he leaned back and finally allowed his exhausted body to relax.

A few minutes later, the old man returned from the kitchen carrying two cups of coffee.

He walked carefully, making sure not to spill a drop, before placing one cup on the table in front of Ethan.

“Careful,” he warned gently, settling into the chair across from him. “It's hot.”

Ethan picked up the cup with both hands.

“Thank you,” he replied quietly.

The heat immediately seeped into his cold fingers.

He took a small sip.

The coffee was strong.

Bitter.

But somehow perfect.

Ethan took another drink, allowing the warmth to spread through his chest.

“This is good,” he admitted, looking at the old man over the rim of the cup.

The old man smiled faintly. “I'm glad you like it.”

They drank in silence for a while.

The grandfather clock in the corner ticked steadily, filling the quiet room with a slow, rhythmic sound.

Ethan found himself looking around again.

There was something unusual about this place.

It was too quiet.

Too orderly.

And despite the old man's simple appearance, there was something about him that Ethan couldn't explain.

The old man placed his cup on the table.

The soft click of porcelain against wood drew Ethan's attention.

“Ethan.”

Ethan lowered his cup slightly. “Yes?”

The old man leaned back in his chair and studied him.

His expression had changed.

The warmth that had been there a moment earlier was fading, replaced by something more serious.

“Would you like to play a game?” he asked quietly.

Ethan raised an eyebrow.

“A game?”

“Yes.”

Ethan gave a tired smile. “What kind of game?”

The old man didn't answer immediately.

He simply watched Ethan.

For the first time since they had met, there was something unreadable in his eyes.

Then the old man's expression hardened.

“A dangerous one,” he replied, his voice filled with seriousness. “A very dangerous one.”

Ethan stared at him.

For a second, he thought the old man was joking.

Then he noticed the complete lack of humor in his face.

A quiet laugh escaped Ethan anyway.

“My life is already dangerous enough,” he said, shaking his head with tired amusement.

The old man chuckled softly.

“Perhaps,” he replied, his voice suddenly carrying a strange certainty. “That's exactly why I think you'll agree.”

Ethan's smile slowly disappeared.

Something about those words made the atmosphere change.