2025-11-21 01:02:41The morning sky over Brookhaven was dull and gray, hanging so low it almost pressed against the rooftops.
Ethan Ward stood inside his bedroom, folding his shirts with slow, deliberate movements. He wasn’t stalling. He simply wanted to feel these last moments in this house—the house where he once believed he belonged. He exhaled quietly. “This place was supposed to be home,” he murmured to himself. “How foolish I was to give out the last of my patents all in the name of love.” The suitcase clicked shut. Ethan sat on the bed, staring at the glowing TV screen. He hadn’t turned it off. He didn’t have the energy. A reporter’s bright, cheerful voice filled the room. “Breaking News: Senator Adrian Cole announced as the primary investor in Blake Fashion Empire—Yvonne Blake’s brand jumps to number 2 nationwide!” Ethan blinked. “…Of course,” he whispered. The anchor continued: “Senator Cole’s fifteen-million-dollar investment and influence in the luxury retail sector have pushed Blake Fashion to new heights. The brand is predicted to challenge the number 1 spot soon.” Then a smiling image of Yvonne appeared. “Known for winning Miss Westaria three times…” Ethan grabbed the remote and lowered the volume. “Enough,” he muttered. “I’ve heard enough.” He stood and rolled his suitcase toward the door, whispering, “You chose your world, Yvonne… and you didn't choose me.” The announcer continued: “Part of her fame stems from winning the Miss Westaria crown not once, not twice, but three times. Her beauty and elegance continue to attract powerful investors…” Ethan closed his eyes slowly. He didn’t need the rest of that sentence. He already knew what they would say. Beauty attracts power. Power attracts money. Money attracts ambition. Yvonne had all three—and she wanted more. He had sacrificed patents worth millions for her, trusted her, believed in her, fought for her dreams… but in return, she had become a stranger fueled by greed and attention. He exhaled slowly. The pain was real. Heavy. Sharp. But beneath that pain… something else had grown. Clarity. He grabbed his bag and headed out of the room. He had to get to the airport soon—the private jet, the steward, the grandfather he didn’t trust—all of it waited for him. Whatever destiny was calling him to Verdanis, it was bigger than this house and bigger than Yvonne’s betrayal. When he stepped into the living room, he halted. Yvonne stood there waiting—perfectly dressed, arms crossed. Margaret Blake stood beside her with a satisfied smirk. Her brother held documents. Yvonne's uncle leaned against the wall like he was enjoying a show. Ethan’s brows drew together. “What is this?” Margaret lifted her chin. “Finally. He’s here.” Yvonne’s brother stepped forward and slammed the papers into Yvonne’s hand. “Let’s get this over with,” he said. Yvonne took a breath and held the documents out to Ethan. “Ethan,” she said flatly, “these are divorce papers.” He froze. “…Divorce?” “Yes.” She didn’t blink. “I want it done today.” Ethan’s chest tightened. “Why the hurry? Why like this?” Before Yvonne could speak, Margaret cut in with a sharp laugh. “Why? Because we’re tired! Because you’ve become a burden! Because you bring nothing but misfortune and disrepute to my daughter!” Her brother muttered, “The earlier you sign, the better.” Ethan looked at Yvonne again. “Yvonne… is this really what you want?” She folded her arms, eyes icy. “I can’t keep carrying a husband who has nothing left to offer. My brand is rising. I need someone who matches my level.” “Someone like Adrian?” Ethan asked quietly. A flicker of guilt crossed her eyes—just for a moment. “This has nothing to do with him.” Ethan knew that was a lie. Her uncle scoffed. “Young man, sign the papers. Don’t embarrass yourself.” Ethan slowly took the folder. His voice remained calm. “Let me read it.” Margaret snapped, “Just sign! You should be grateful we even put compensation in there!” He skimmed the pages. A bitter smile touched his lips. “Five million dollars alimony? For my patents now worth over forty million dollars?” Her uncle shrugged. “Five million is more than enough for someone like you.” “And if I refuse?” Ethan asked. Margaret stepped closer. “You won’t.” “You don’t have the power. You don’t have the money. You don’t have the influence.” “You’re nothing without this family.” Ethan slowly lifted his gaze. “You keep calling me nothing. Yet everything you boast about came from my sacrifice.” Yvonne snapped, “Don’t start that again!” “No,” Ethan said calmly. “Let’s talk. For once.” He pointed at the document. “This marriage died long before this paper arrived. You stopped caring long before my company fell. Funny enough, I thought you would change if I just proved to you that you meant a lot to me, but I guess I am wrong now.” He shook his head. “You chose a new life, Yvonne. You didn’t even look back.” She didn’t reply. He held the pen. “Fine. I’ll sign it.” Everyone leaned forward. “However,” Ethan said, “the compensation meant for me, I want it to go into charity.” Margaret blinked. “What?” “Send it all to Bright Horizons Education Fund,” Ethan said. “And Saint Mercy Hospital.” Yvonne frowned. “Why would you—?” “Because I don’t want a cent from you,” Ethan replied. “I won’t rebuild my life using money soaked in betrayal.” A stunned silence filled the room. Margaret finally snapped. “Are you insane?!” Yvonne whispered, “Ethan… what happened to you?” He looked at her calmly. “I finally woke up.” He signed. The pen glided smoothly. It felt like chains falling from his soul. He handed the folder to Yvonne. “Congratulations,” he said softly. “You’re free.” As he picked up his suitcase to leave, Yvonne suddenly spoke: “Ethan.” He stopped and turned. “With these documents signed,” she said coldly, “you are no longer welcome anywhere near the Blake estate. Or anything related to the Blake family.” He nodded slowly. “I understand.” Her uncle added, smirking, “Good. Now she can marry someone worthy of her personality and status.” Her brother laughed. “What a relief.” But Ethan didn’t respond. “Goodbye,” he said simply, and walked toward the exit. Behind him, Margaret muttered loudly: “Finally! That curse is out of our lives.” As Ethan approached the mansion gates, they swung open. A convoy of luxury cars entered—decorated with ribbons, flowers, and gold ornaments. A staff member spoke excitedly to another. “Young Master Adrian Cole is preparing for his marriage ritual today.” Ethan froze mid-step upon hearing that. “Marriage… ritual?” Of course. Of course that was the urgency. He swallowed hard, eyes burning, and looked down at his vibrating phone. Steward James Leonard: “Master Ethan, are you already at the airport?” Ethan looked again at the cars, the flowers, the celebration that wasn’t his. Then he whispered, “…No. But I’m on my way.” With his suitcase in hand, he stepped forward.
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THE ANGER OF THE LOYAL
The silence after the broadcast was worse than the voice that had filled it.The screen went dark, but Lucien Varros still felt present in the room, as if his words had stained the walls and refused to leave. Ethan remained seated on the edge of the hospital bed, one hand resting near the cold tea, the other close to the burned teddy bear. He did not speak. He did not move. Captain Lorne did both.“This is too much!”His voice hit the room like a strike. He turned away from the screen so sharply that the portable unit rattled on its stand. Then he paced once, twice, stopped near the window, and hit the wall frame with the side of his fist hard enough to make the metal ring.“They recorded it,” he said. “They attacked you, they filmed it, and then they stood in front of cameras and bragged about it.”Ethan said nothing.Lorne turned back toward him. “No shame. No restraint. No fear. They speak like they own the law, like they own the sky, like they own death itself.”He took another
THE BROADCAST OF MOCKERY
The drone did not blink.It held Ethan’s helicopter in the center of the screen with a steadiness that felt more hateful than chaos ever could. In the quiet of the medical room, the image looked even worse than the memory. It was not a battlefield view. It was an execution angle.Lorne stared at the screen as if the machine itself had insulted him. “They recorded it,” he said.The camera remained fixed. The helicopter rose slightly from the ground. Men moved below like targets already measured and dismissed. The image sharpened one degree more, as if whoever controlled the drone had wanted every second preserved.Lorne’s voice went lower and harder. “They recorded everything.”Ethan said nothing.The screen flashed white.Then the explosion came again.Even knowing it was coming did not soften it. Fire burst through the side of the helicopter. Metal blew outward in a vicious bloom. The camera shook once from the pressure wave, then stabilized again, still watching. The anchor’s vo
THE SILENCE AFTER SURVIVAL
Four days after the explosion, the quiet around Ethan felt unnatural.He sat upright in the main headquarters of the Tribunal army medical wing wearing a plain hospital gown, a light blanket over his legs, and slim white plasters across his ribs and shoulder. A cup of tea rested untouched on the small table beside him. Next to it sat Nira’s teddy bear, cleaned as much as possible but still marked by smoke at one ear.The room was soft with machine beeps and filtered light. It should have felt safe. It did not.A doctor stood at the foot of Ethan’s bed with a chart in hand while two others finished reviewing his scans on a wall screen. The oldest of them adjusted his glasses, studied the numbers one last time, and then stepped forward.“You should still be in bed,” the doctor said.Ethan looked at him calmly. “I am where I need to be.”The doctor let out a careful breath. “That attitude is the reason you are difficult to treat master Ethan.”Lorne, who had been standing near the wind
THE ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT
The helicopter had barely left the ground when the attack spread.The blast under Ethan’s aircraft ripped through the cabin with a savage force that turned light, heat, and metal into one violent wall. The side of the helicopter vanished inside flame. Screams burst from the yard below. For one stunned second, the other two helicopters still held position, their pilots trying to understand whether the explosion had come from inside, below, or from the dark beyond the landing zone.Then someone on the ground saw them first.“Drones!”The shout cut across Rathenfall like a blade. Heads snapped upward. Small black shapes dropped out of the smoke above the hospital perimeter and came fast, low, and direct toward the remaining helicopters. Their engines whined like insects. Their intent was cleaner than artillery and colder than gunfire.One pilot yelled over the comms, “Incoming! Incoming!”A second later, the first drone struck the tail side of the nearest helicopter. Metal screamed. G
THE TRAP SPRINGS
“I came here, because I need to, and I am leaving here, because I need to, however I am sure that the Herold army will try to attack our western command once more,” Ethan said. “And when they do, they will find us ready.”He did not raise his voice when he said it, but the certainty in it carried farther than shouting. It was not a promise built on comfort. It was one built on inevitability.Something changed in the crowd then. It was not joy. Rathenfall was too damaged for joy. But a shape of hope moved through them, thin and unsteady and still alive.Some of them straightened slightly. Others simply stopped trembling as much. It was not belief yet—but it was enough to hold onto for one more hour.Lorne came to Ethan’s side. “First helicopter is ready.”Ethan adjusted Nira slightly in his arms. She had not let go of the teddy bear for once. “She comes with me.”There was no hesitation in the decision. No calculation. Just a quiet acceptance that leaving her behind was not an option.
WHEN HOPE IS QUESTIONED
The crying did not belong to the noise around him.That was what made Ethan stop. Around him, Rathenfall still moved like a wounded body trying not to collapse. Soldiers ran with crates. Medics shouted for stretchers. Coughing came from three different corners at once. But through all of it, he heard the thin, broken sound of a child trying to cry quietly because she had already learned that loud pain changed nothing.He turned toward the far edge of the hospital yard.A little girl stood near a cracked wall with a dirty teddy bear clutched to her chest. Her dress was gray with dust. One sleeve had been torn halfway at the shoulder. Her cheeks were streaked with dried tears, and her eyes were so red that for one second Ethan thought she had also taken gas into her lungs.He slowed as he approached her. “What’s wrong?”The girl looked up sharply, as if she had not expected anyone to stop for her. She could not have been more than seven. Her face hit him with a strange, uncomfortable
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