The Dragon God's Revenge

The Frame-Up and the Fall

Six months had passed, and Ethan’s life had become a repetitive cycle of insults and floor wax. He wasn’t a husband; he was a ghost that did chores. The Mitchell mansion was huge, but his world was small mostly limited to the kitchen, the basement, and the backyard, where he was expected to pull weeds that the professional gardeners supposedly missed.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and Ethan was currently on his hands and knees in the grand foyer, scrubbing a scuff mark off the marble.

“You missed a spot, loser.”

Ethan didn't even look up. He knew that voice. It was Sarah, Lisa’s best friend. She was at the house almost every day, mostly to help Lisa pick out dresses or to drink expensive wine and make fun of Ethan.

“I'll get to it, Sarah,” Ethan said quietly, his voice flat.

“That’s 'Miss Sarah' to you,” she snapped, deliberately stepping her high heel right onto the wet patch he had just cleaned. She ground her shoe into the floor, leaving a fresh black streak. “Oops. My bad. I guess you’ll have to do it again.”

Lisa walked into the foyer, holding a designer bag. She looked at Ethan with the same cold indifference she had shown for the last half-year. “Sarah, stop playing with the help. We’re going to be late for the charity gala planning.”

“I’m not playing, Lisa,” Sarah laughed. “I’m just making sure he stays busy. If he has too much free time, he might start thinking he’s actually part of the family.”

Lisa didn't defend him. She never did. “Ethan, make sure the silver is polished by the time I get back. My mother is hosting a tea tomorrow, and if there’s a single fingerprint on those spoons, she’ll have you sleeping in the garden.”

“I understand,” Ethan said.

As they walked toward the door, Ethan felt that familiar tug in his chest. Over the last few months, his Dragon Sight had become clearer. He looked at Lisa’s back. The black mist around her heart was no longer just a faint cloud; it was thick and oily. It was spreading.

“Lisa,” Ethan called out.

She stopped at the door, looking annoyed. “What now?”

“You've been coughing more lately. Especially in the mornings. You should really let me give you those herbs I bought.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Your 'magic' weeds? No thanks. I have real doctors, Ethan. Doctors who didn't grow up in an orphanage. Stay in your lane.”

The door slammed. Ethan sighed and went back to scrubbing. He knew she was getting worse. A few nights ago, he had heard her gasping for air in her room. He had sneaked in while she was asleep and used a bit of the warmth in his palms—what he called his Dragon Qi—to settle her heart. It had drained him so much he could barely walk the next day, but it had kept her alive. Not that she knew.

Fast forward to that evening. The house was full of people. It was a pre-gala cocktail party. Ethan was dressed in a cheap suit, carrying a tray of champagne flutes. He wasn't allowed to talk to the guests, just serve them.

“Look at him,” one of the wealthy guests whispered. “The Mitchells' pet. I heard he was a janitor before Lisa felt sorry for him.”

Ethan kept his head down. He went to the kitchen to get more drinks. Sarah was there, standing near the counter. She looked nervous, glancing at the door. When she saw Ethan, she jumped.

“Oh! You… go out there and check the ice bucket,” she ordered.

Ethan frowned. “The ice bucket is full, Sarah.”

“Just do it!” she hissed.

Ethan walked out, but he felt something was wrong. His skin was prickling. A few minutes later, he saw Sarah handing a glass of orange juice to Lisa.

“Here, babe,” Sarah said. “You look pale. Drink this.”

Lisa took a sip. “Thanks, Sarah. My chest feels so tight tonight.”

Suddenly, Lisa gasped. She dropped the glass, and it shattered on the floor. She clutched her throat, her face turning a terrifying shade of purple. She collapsed onto the rug, twitching.

“LISA!” Robert Mitchell yelled, rushing over from across the room.

“She’s been poisoned!” Sarah screamed, her voice hitting a high, theatrical pitch. “I saw him! I saw Ethan near her drink in the kitchen! He was putting something in it!”

The room went into a frenzy. Ethan dropped his tray. “What? No, I didn't—”

“Check his pockets!” Martha Mitchell shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Ethan. “He’s been resentful! He hates us for making him sign that contract!”

Miller, the scarred bodyguard, grabbed Ethan before he could move. He shoved his hand into Ethan’s suit jacket pocket and pulled out a small, clear vial filled with a colorless liquid.

“What is this?” Miller growled.

“I've never seen that in my life!” Ethan shouted. He looked at Sarah. She was smirking behind her hand while pretending to sob.

Ethan looked at Lisa on the floor. She was dying. The black mist was exploding, suffocating her. He broke free from Miller’s grip for a split second and lunged toward her.

“Let me help her! I can fix it!”

He reached out and pressed his hand against Lisa's chest, forcing every last drop of his Dragon Qi into her. The golden light flared deep inside her body, invisible to everyone else. The poison was neutralized, and the black mist retreated. Lisa took a sudden, gasping breath. Her eyes opened, focusing on Ethan.

“You…” she whispered.

“Get away from her!” Robert kicked Ethan in the shoulder, sending him sprawling.

Two police officers, who had been stationed at the gate for security, burst into the room.

“Arrest him!” Martha yelled. “He tried to murder my daughter in cold blood! We have the evidence right there!”

The officers grabbed Ethan, pulling his arms behind his back.

Clink.

The sound of the handcuffs was loud in the sudden silence of the room.

Ethan looked at Lisa. She was sitting up now, breathing normally. He expected her to say something. He expected her to tell them that he had just saved her. He had felt her heart stabilize under his palm.

“Lisa,” Ethan said, his voice pleading. “You know I didn't do this. I just saved your life. Look at the vial—it’s a setup.”

Lisa looked at the vial in the officer’s hand, then at the "best friend" Sarah, and then at Ethan. Her face hardened into a mask of pure loathing.

“Take him away,” she said, her voice cold and steady. “I never want to see his face again.”

Ethan felt his heart break. Not out of love, but out of the sheer injustice of it. He had given up his dignity for her family, and he had used his last bit of strength to keep her from dying, and she was throwing him to the wolves.

As the officers dragged him toward the door, Martha Mitchell stepped into his path. She leaned in, her eyes full of malice, and spat directly into his face.

“Rot in hell, you piece of trash,” she hissed.

Ethan didn't fight back. As he was led out into the rain and shoved into the back of a police cruiser, he felt a strange shift inside him. The warmth in his chest—the Dragon Qi—was gone. He had spent it all on a woman who didn't care if he lived or died.

But in the darkness of the car, something else began to grow. It wasn't warm. It was cold. It was ancient.

“Fine,” the voice in his head roared. “The dragon has served. Now, the dragon will rule.”

The police car pulled away, leaving the Mitchell estate behind. Ethan stared at his cuffed wrists and smiled. It was a terrifying look.

Five years. He had a feeling the next five years were going to change everything.

Betrayed, framed, and stripped of everything, Ethan must embrace the Dragon within or watch the world burn around him as his enemies tighten the noose.