2025-10-21 17:52:04The Harrington Estate’s west wing had begun undergoing industrious work.
Construction crews moved with purpose under Ethan's direction, excavating around the compromised foundation while portable pumps redirected decades of accumulated groundwater.
Ethan stood knee-deep in the excavation, examining the original stonework with a flashlight. The pattern was exactly as he'd predicted: erosion along specific vectors where groundwater had been channeled during the 1950s renovation. Fixable. The foundation could be reinforced with steel-reinforced concrete, the drainage permanently rerouted.
"You make it look easy," Isabelle said from above.
Ethan glanced up. She stood at the edge of the excavation, a coffee in hand, watching him with that same analytical expression she'd worn when they first met.
"It's not easy," Ethan replied, climbing out. "It's just systematic. Find the problem, design the solution, execute carefully."
"And you can do this in six months?"
"If the weather cooperates and materials arrive on schedule." He accepted the coffee she offered. "How's Marcus?"
"Stubborn. Demanding updates every two hours." Isabelle's expression softened slightly. "But better, knowing you're here."
A foreman approached with questions about load specifications, and Ethan walked him through the calculations. Isabelle observed silently, noting how the crew responded to Ethan's quiet authority: no shouting, no posturing, just clear instruction and earned respect.
"Launch break everyone" Ethan called out. "Be back by one.”
The crew dispersed toward the catering tent. Isabelle followed Ethan to a makeshift office in the groundskeeper's cottage, where blueprints covered every available surface. She was about to comment on his organizational system when her phone erupted with news alerts.
"Oh my God," she breathed, staring at her screen.
"What?"
Isabelle turned her phone toward him. The headline blazed across the top: STERLING TOWER EVACUATED - STRUCTURAL FAILURE ON 60TH FLOOR.
Ethan's coffee cup stopped halfway to his lips.
The news footage showed chaos, emergency vehicles surrounding the gleaming tower, people streaming out of exits, camera angles revealing ominous cracks spider-webbing across the building's upper facade. Victoria appeared on-screen, surrounded by reporters, her face composed but pale.
"Isn't that your ex-wife's building?" Isabelle asked. "The one she won the award for?"
Ethan didn't answer. He was staring at the footage, his expression unreadable.
"Ethan?"
"Turn up the volume."
Isabelle complied. A structural engineer was being interviewed, his voice grave: "—unprecedented stress fractures at the sixtieth floor. We're still determining the cause, but the building has been evacuated as a precaution—"
"You designed that building, didn't you?" Isabelle said quietly.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "I did the structural engineering. All of it."
"Then what's wrong with it?"
Ethan studied the footage, his eyes tracking the crack patterns with professional precision. Then he saw it—the angle of stress concentration, the way the fractures radiated from specific points. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through old files until he found what he needed: his original specifications for Sterling Tower.
"Here," he said, pointing at the screen. "Sixty-second floor. I specified load-bearing support columns at twelve-foot intervals. Standard for a building that height with that glass-to-steel ratio."
"And?"
"Look at the final building." Ethan zoomed in on the news footage. "Those columns aren't there. See how the spacing is different? They removed them."
"Why would they do that?"
"More floor space, more luxury units. More profit." Ethan's voice was flat. "I specified those supports for a reason. Without them, the upper floors can't distribute weight properly. Eventually, stress concentrates at weak points, and—"
A tremendous crack echoed from the television. The camera shook as another fracture split across Sterling Tower's facade. People screamed. Emergency personnel shouted orders.
"Jesus," Isabelle whispered.
Ethan's phone rang. Derek's name appeared on the screen.
He let it ring.
It rang again. Then again.
"Aren't you going to answer?" Isabelle asked.
On the fourth call, Ethan answered. "What."
"Ethan, thank God." Derek's usual composure was shattered, his voice urgent. "We need you. Sterling Tower is—"
"I saw."
"The engineers don't know what to do. Victoria's calling everyone, but no one can figure out what's wrong. You designed this building—"
"I designed a building," Ethan interrupted coldly. "Victoria built something else. Not my problem."
"Ethan, people are still inside—"
"She built it, remember? She accepted the award. She took all the credit." Ethan's voice was ice. "So she can fix it."
"For God's sake, this isn't about ego—"
"You're right. It's about competence. Tell Victoria to call one of those engineers who declared the Harrington Estate unsalvageable. Maybe they'll have better luck with her tower."
Ethan hung up.
The cottage fell silent except for the television, where news anchors discussed evacuation procedures and structural integrity. The camera panned across Sterling Tower, and for a moment, Ethan saw it as he'd originally envisioned: elegant, sustainable and revolutionary. Then another crack appeared, and the vision shattered.
"Ethan," Isabelle said quietly.
He didn't respond.
"There are people still in there. Look." She pointed at the screen, where emergency personnel were helping evacuate workers from lower floors. "Maintenance crews, security guards. People who had nothing to do with your divorce."
"They'll get out."
"What if they don't?"
Ethan's hands curled into fists. On the screen, the building shuddered visibly. A maintenance worker emerged, supporting an injured colleague. The reporter's voice rose with urgency: "—officials confirming that approximately thirty people remain in the building, primarily maintenance and security personnel who were helping with evacuation—"
"She made her choice," Ethan said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"And you're making yours." Isabelle moved to stand beside him, her tone gentle but unyielding. "You can be angry at Victoria. You have every right. But if that building falls, people die. People who never wronged you. People with families."
"She should have thought of that before modifying my design."
"She should have. But she didn't." Isabelle met his eyes. "So the question is: can you live with that? Can you watch people die in a building you designed because you wanted to prove a point to your ex-wife?"
Ethan turned away from her, back to the television. The camera zoomed in on Sterling Tower's upper floors, where the cracks had grown wider and more threatening. Emergency lights flashed red and blue against the glass and steel.
His phone rang again. Victoria this time.
He stared at her name on the screen.
On the television, another crack split across the building's facade. The reporter's voice pitched higher: "—structural engineers are saying they're running out of time—"
Ethan's thumb hovered over the answer button.
The building shuddered again.
His father's voice echoed in his memory: We don't build buildings, son. We build safety, we build trust. Everything else is just decoration.
Ethan closed his eyes.
"Can you live with it?" Isabelle asked again, softer now.
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
Derek’s Girlfriend
Sarah Martinez had entered Derek’s life during the darkest period of the custody battle, a colleague’s friend who’d been seated next to him at a foundation fundraiser he’d attended out of professional obligation rather than any genuine desire to socialize. She’d asked polite questions about his work, and somehow—exhausted and emotionally raw from another failed supervised visit earlier that day—he’d ended up telling her everything. The whole sordid story of Thomas and Ethan and the biological paternity that meant everything and nothing simultaneously.Most women would have run. Hell, most friends would have backed away slowly from that level of complicated. But Sarah had listened with genuine interest and then said something that had stuck with him for months afterward: “Sounds like you’re fighting for something worth fighting for. That takes courage.”They’d started dating a week later, cautiously at first because Derek was drowning in legal proceedings and supervised visits and the
Ethan and Isabelle’s Stalemate
Eight months. Two hundred forty-three days since Thomas had been born into a world already fractured by lies and betrayal. Isabelle tracked the time obsessively, marking each day that passed with Ethan still living in the guest wing, still maintaining the careful distance between them that felt more permanent with each passing week.The custody battle was settled. Derek had his court-ordered time—weekends now, unsupervised after months of progress. The legal machinery had ground to its conclusion, papers signed and filed, permanent arrangements established. But the personal battle, the one that raged silently through the halls of the Harrington estate, remained unresolved and festering.Isabelle watched Ethan move through their shared space with the practiced ease of someone who had mastered the art of coexistence without connection. He was an excellent father—that had never been in question. She’d watch him with Thomas and feel her heart break and swell simultaneously. The gentle way
Seven Months Old
At seven months, Thomas changed almost overnight.It felt like Ethan blinked and suddenly the baby he’d once cradled carefully in one arm no longer wanted to lie still. Thomas wanted movement. He wanted the world. He wanted everything at once.He could sit up on his own now, spine wobbly but determined, palms slapping the floor as if testing its existence. When he tipped over, he didn’t cry. He simply stared at the ceiling in mild offense, then rolled onto his stomach and tried again.Crawling had begun too — not the graceful kind they showed in parenting books. Thomas dragged himself forward with his arms while his legs lagged behind, an awkward little army crawl that somehow still carried him across entire rooms.Ethan watched him do it every morning.“Where are you even going?” he murmured one day, sitting cross-legged on the rug.Thomas answered with babbling. Long strings of sound poured out of him, confident and dramatic, as if he were delivering a speech only he understood.“Ba
Finding Rhythm
By the second Wednesday, Derek arrived at the estate ten minutes early.He sat in his car with the engine off, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring at the front doors like they might suddenly reject him. The first visit had gone better than he expected, but that did not mean this one would. Babies did not remember effort. They remembered comfort. And comfort, for Thomas, still lived in Ethan’s arms.When the door finally opened, Derek straightened automatically.Ethan stepped out first, Thomas balanced easily against his shoulder. The baby was dressed in a soft grey onesie, one foot sticking out slightly, sock halfway off. His diaper bag hung from Ethan’s shoulder like it had always belonged there.“Bottle’s in the front pocket,” Ethan said, not unkindly, but without warmth either. “He eats at five again.”“I know,” Derek replied quickly. “Five sharp.”Ethan nodded once. No argument. No warning this time. Just routine.That alone felt like progress.When Ethan handed Thomas ov
First Unsupervised Visit
The silence inside Derek’s car felt heavier than traffic.Thomas was strapped into the backseat, his small legs kicking lightly against the padded carrier. He made soft, confused sounds, the kind that were not quite cries but not calm either. Derek kept glancing at the rearview mirror every few seconds, his chest tight.Three hours.No Linda.No clipboard.No watchful eyes noting every movement.Just him.The estate gates came into view, tall and familiar in a way that still made Derek feel like a visitor rather than someone who belonged. He parked near the curb and cut the engine, exhaling slowly.He checked his watch.4:02 PM.He stepped out.The front door opened before he could knock.Ethan stood there with Thomas already in his arms.The moment hit Derek harder than he expected. Thomas looked bigger than the last supervised visit. His cheeks were fuller, his hair thicker, his eyes alert and searching.Those eyes slid past Derek almost immediately.Looking for someone else.Ethan
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Four
Two hours felt longer than the entire trial combined.The hallway outside the courtroom had gone quiet in a way that made every sound louder. The buzz of the overhead lights. The shuffle of shoes from people passing by. The ticking clock mounted crookedly near the exit door.Ethan sat with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his fingers ached. He had not moved in twenty minutes. Every possible outcome had replayed in his mind again and again until none of them felt real anymore.Across the room, Derek stood near the window, staring outside without really seeing anything. His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid. He looked calm, but it was the kind of calm built on bracing for impact.Neither man spoke.When the courtroom doors finally opened, a bailiff stepped out.“Court is back in session.”Everyone rose at once.The room filled quickly. Chairs scraped. Papers rustled. The air itself felt heavier as they filed back inside.Ethan took his seat, his heart pounding so hard
You may also like
Hidden Billionaire Son-in-law
Deliaha Shine124.8K viewsTHE GREAT GENERAL
Ardy-sensei134.9K viewsThe Pinnacle of Life
Evergreen Qin1.7M viewsThe Return of Doctor Levin
Dane Lawrence141.9K viewsTHE MAFIA'S FORGOTTEN SON
Freezy-Grip1.1K viewsHer Exiled Husband Is A Forgotten God
Dinah Bella186 viewsTHE SUBSTITUTE HUSBAND BECAME HIS WIFE'S BOSS
Al-Razzaq1.7K viewsREJECTED BY THE HEIR AFTER DIVORCE
Healing-Pen568 views