THE PRIESTESS'S WORTHLESS HUSBAND IS A DRAGON

CHAPTER 3: CHEATED

Patricia was already on her feet, rushing to Derek, pulling him into her arms and pressing his head against her shoulder. "Don't you dare blame yourself, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. You hear me? None of it."

"It's really okay if Brother doesn't want to give me his Bloodline Core." Derek's chin quivered as he looked down at Ethan on the floor. "I understand. Brother has always wanted to leave this family anyway. If he gives up his Core, he won't get into Imperial University, and I know that's been his dream. I don't want to be the reason he loses everything."

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

Richard's gaze moved from Derek's tearful face to Ethan's bleeding body on the floor. His expression hardened into something colder than stone.

"So that's what this is really about. You've been planning to abandon us all along."

Ethan almost laughed. A bitter, broken sound that never made it past his throat. Of course. Derek had just twisted the knife one more time, and their parents didn't even see the blade. They never did. Eighteen years of giving everything, and one sentence from Derek erased it all. That was the trick, wasn't it? It didn't matter what Ethan did. Derek only needed to open his mouth and look sad, and Ethan became the enemy again.

"No, Father, that's not..."

"Lock him in the basement." Patricia's voice cut through the air like a blade. She didn't even look at Ethan. Her hand kept stroking Derek's hair, her cheek resting on the top of his head. "Let him rot down there until he remembers what family means. Clearly, we raised a stray dog that's been waiting for the gate to open so it can run."

The guards grabbed Ethan under the arms. His back screamed with every movement, wounds tearing open wider as they dragged him across the marble. A smear of blood trailed behind him like a dark red ribbon stretching across the white floor. He didn't fight. He didn't have the strength left to fight.

The basement was cold and black. A single narrow window near the ceiling let in a thin strip of moonlight that cut across the stone floor like a scar. Ethan lay on his side because his back couldn't touch anything without sending white hot bolts of pain through his entire body. The blood on his shirt had started to dry, pulling the shredded fabric tight against his wounds like a second skin made of rust and fire.

He stared at the far wall and let the silence swallow him whole.

Eighteen years. He had spent eighteen years being the good son. The quiet son. The one who gave up his seat, his turn, his chance, his happiness, over and over again, just so Derek could have more. He had smiled through birthdays no one celebrated. He had sat alone in empty classrooms studying while his parents took Derek on family trips he was never invited to. He had watched them pour everything, their love, their attention, their money, their hope, into Derek like he was a golden cup and Ethan was just the table it sat on.

And every single time, no matter how much he gave, no matter how small he made himself, he was still the bad one. The selfish one. The ungrateful one. The parasite. The spare.

Today was supposed to be different. He walked through those doors with his heart open for the first and last time in his life. He thought, this is it. This is the moment they finally love me back.

And they broke him for it.

The lock clicked.

The heavy basement door groaned open, and a slender figure stepped inside. Jessica Clarke came down the stone steps carefully, holding a glass of warm milk in both hands. Her face was smooth, calm, perfectly composed. Not a single crease of worry on her forehead.

"You look awful." Her voice was even, flat, the kind of tone someone uses when commenting on the weather. She set the glass beside him on the ground and sat down on a wooden crate a few feet away, crossing her legs, keeping her distance.

"Jessica..." Ethan's voice came out rough, scraped raw. "You came."

"Derek told me what happened." Something shifted in her face when she said Derek's name. A softness around her eyes, a slight lift at the corners of her mouth that disappeared the instant she turned back to Ethan. "I'll talk to your parents in the morning. I'll try to get them to calm down."

Ethan felt a burning pressure behind his eyes. He blinked hard and swallowed it down. He reached for the glass, and his hand shook so badly the milk rippled inside.

"Thank you. You're the only person in this house who..."

"Just drink it, Ethan. You need sleep."

He lifted the glass and drank. The milk was warm, faintly sweet, and it spread through his chest like something gentle in a world that had forgotten what gentle meant. He leaned his head against the stone wall and let his eyes close.

"I'll figure something out," Jessica murmured. She was already standing. Already walking toward the door.

But Ethan barely heard her. A strange heaviness crept through his arms and legs like something thick was filling his veins. His fingers went numb. The glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the stone floor, and the sound came from somewhere far away, muffled, like he was sinking underwater.

He tried to say her name. 

“JJJJ….

His tongue was dead weight in his mouth.

The thin strip of moonlight smeared across his vision, stretching and bending, and then it folded in on itself like a candle being snuffed out.

Then everything went black.