The Conglomerate Heir Awakens

1

Ethan couldn’t remember the last time he left the office before sunset.

The sky outside was still bright, a soft orange glow washing over the city. For once, he wasn’t stuck behind a stack of paperwork or dealing with another string of pointless meetings. The manager had dismissed everyone early—some electrical maintenance on the upper floors. Ethan didn’t question it; he just grabbed his jacket and practically jogged toward the elevator.

His mind drifted to Clara and their little girl, Mia.

Maybe they were still at the park. Maybe he’d walk in and find Mia building another pillow fort in the living room. Maybe Clara would smile—really smile—like she used to.

He stopped by a bakery on the way home, picking up Clara’s favorite pastries and a small toy giraffe for Mia. He didn’t plan it; the thought just made him feel warm. It had been a rough few months, and surprising them felt… right.

The taxi dropped him off in front of the house. Everything looked the same: the trimmed hedges, the neat porch, the wind chimes that Clara insisted brought “good vibes.”

Ethan stood there for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of the street—rain from last night, faint jasmine from the neighbor’s garden, and the lingering warmth of the day.

Home.

He smiled to himself, balancing the pastry bag and the toy.

Tonight, he thought, things might start feeling normal again.

He unlocked the door.

The hinge squeaked—a sound he’d always meant to fix.

He stepped inside.

And froze.

The house wasn’t empty. It wasn’t quiet.

Somewhere upstairs…

There was movement.

And then—

A muffled moan.

At first, Ethan thought it might be the TV. Or Mia playing with some cartoon too loud.

But the sound wasn’t childish.

And it wasn’t scripted.

Another moan floated down the stairs, sharper this time—too real, too raw.

Ethan’s hand tightened around the pastry box until the cardboard buckled.

He set the items down slowly on the console table, his heartbeat rising in his ears. He held his breath, straining to listen. There it was again—a gasping sound followed by a low masculine grunt.

His stomach twisted.

No.

Clara wouldn’t—

She couldn’t—

But the noises kept coming, careless and unrestrained, echoing through the house he paid for, the home he thought was safe.

He took a step forward, then another, climbing the stairs with heavy feet. Each step felt like wading deeper into something cold and poisonous.

Halfway up, he stopped.

There was laughter now. Clara’s soft, breathless laugh—the one she used to reserve only for him.

A door slammed lightly against the wall.

Ethan’s throat tightened. He felt the sting of tears he refused to let fall.

He reached the top of the stairs.

The bedroom door was half-open.

And through the crack, he saw shadows moving.

He pushed the door fully open—slowly, quietly, because some instinct inside him couldn’t bear a sudden sound.

What he saw inside hollowed him out completely.

Clara was on the bed, hair tangled, skin flushed, her hands gripping the sheets.

And on top of her—

Granger.

Ethan’s superior.

His boss.

His friend.

The man looked up first, eyes widening with a flash of irritation rather than shame.

Clara turned her head—and her expression twisted into something Ethan didn’t recognize at all. Not guilt. Not embarrassment.

Annoyance.

Like he’d interrupted something as trivial as a conversation.

For a moment, no one spoke.

The only sound was Ethan’s ragged breath.

His knees felt weak, like the floor had tilted beneath him.

“Clara…?”

It came out as a whisper, fragile and broken.

Clara pulled the blanket up—not to hide, but simply because she was cold.

“Ethan, what are you doing home?”

The question hit him harder than the sight of her betrayal.

His heart cracked. Something hot and bitter rose in his chest.

“I—I came home early to surprise you,” he said. “Both of you.”

Granger slid off the bed, unfazed. He didn’t bother covering himself, as if Ethan didn’t even deserve that courtesy.

The world around Ethan dimmed.

He felt something inside him tearing open.

This wasn’t a misunderstanding.

This wasn’t a phase.

This was deliberate.

Planned.

His entire world was collapsing, and they looked at him like he was the inconvenience.

Clara didn’t flinch. If anything, she looked bored.

“Ethan, stop acting shocked,” she said, tightening her robe. “You were never enough. Not financially, not emotionally… not in any way that mattered.”

The words hollowed him out.

Ethan shook his head, in disbelief rather than denial. “Clara… we have a daughter. We built a home together. How can you say that?”

She crossed her arms.

“Because it’s the truth. I settled. And I’m done settling.”

Granger stepped forward, his expression turning sharp.

“You should leave quietly,” Granger said, voice low. “But something tells me you won’t.”

Ethan clenched his fists. “You think I’m just going to walk away after this?”

Granger smiled — a cold, knowing smile — then casually picked up his phone from the bedside table.

“Then I guess we’ll do this the simple way.”

He pressed a single button.

A moment later, heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs.

Two men appeared in the doorway — tall, broad, and dressed in black. Not strangers.

Granger’s private security team. Men Ethan had seen around the office building but never imagined inside his home.

Ethan’s heartbeat spiked.

“You’re joking,” he whispered.

Granger shook his head once. “Take him.”

The men moved fast. Ethan tried to dodge, to swing, to do something — anything — but his punches landed like taps compared to their sheer size. One grabbed his arm and twisted until white-hot pain shot up his shoulder. The other drove a fist into his stomach, knocking the breath out of him.

Ethan fell to one knee.

Clara watched it all without blinking.

“Don’t hurt him too much,” she said faintly. “Just… get it over with.”

Those words hurt more than the blows.