The Servant You Mocked Is Now a Quadrillionaire Heir

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Charlie continued, his voice thickening with practiced emotion. "I never wanted to come between you two. I know how much this registration means to you both. The last thing I want is for my condition to destroy your relationship. Helen loves you. Please don't let my problems ruin what you have."

The words were perfect. Humble, self-sacrificing, devastatingly reasonable. And every single one of them was a lie. Ethan could feel it in his bones—the calculated delivery, the strategic timing, the way Charlie had inserted himself into the call at exactly the right moment. The photo still sat in Ethan's deleted folder. The evidence of exactly what kind of "episode" Charlie had been having with Helen this afternoon.

Ethan felt something cold and final click into place inside his chest.

"Don't," Ethan said quietly. His voice was flat, utterly devoid of anger. "Don't perform for me, Charlie. I've seen enough."

"Ethan, I mean it—"

"Put Helen back on."

Another shuffle. Helen's voice returned, sharp now with defensive irritation. "Are you seriously going to be cruel to him right now? He's sick, Ethan. He feels terrible about this."

"I'm sure he does." Ethan's tone could have cut glass. "This was the ninth time, Helen. Nine appointments to register our marriage, and nine times you've chosen Charlie over me. I'm done making excuses for you."

"Excuses?" Helen's laugh was cold and sharp. "You want to talk about excuses? How about the excuse of a man I've been supporting for three years? You live in my apartment, drive my car, use my credit cards—"

"I never asked for any of that."

"No, you just took it! Like the parasite you are!" Helen's voice rose to a shrill pitch. "I pay for everything while you play house like some pathetic housewife. And the one time I need you to be understanding, to show even a fraction of the compassion and generosity that Charlie shows me every single day, you throw a tantrum like a child!"

Ethan closed his eyes. He'd heard variations of this speech before, always during their fights. Helen's go-to weapon was reminding him of how much he depended on her, how little he contributed financially. It had worked for years, had kept him apologizing and accepting her behavior.

Not anymore.

"We're done, Helen," he said quietly.

"What?"

"We're breaking up. The engagement is off."

For a moment, there was only stunned silence. Then Helen exploded. "You ungrateful piece of dirt! After everything I've done for you? I took you in when you had nothing! I gave you a life, a home, a future! And this is how you repay me?"

"Goodbye, Helen."

"Don't you dare hang up on me! Ethan! ETHAN!"

He ended the call and turned off his phone.

Across the plaza, Helen stood outside City Hall's locked entrance, her face flushed with rage, her hand trembling as she stared at her phone screen. Charlie stood beside her, hands in his pockets, watching her with calm, calculating eyes.

"That worthless loser," she hissed. "After I wasted three years on him—"

The phone cracked under her grip. Helen hurled it against the pavement, watching it shatter with savage satisfaction.

Charlie clicked his tongue, shaking his head slowly. "I tried, Helen. You heard me—I told him it wasn't his fault, that I never wanted to cause problems." He sighed, the picture of regret. "He just doesn't appreciate you. He never did."

Helen's jaw tightened. "You're right."

"Think about it," Charlie continued, his voice dropping to something quiet and reasonable. "He's been living off your money for three years. Cut off his cards tonight and he'll be back within a week, crawling on his knees." He paused, letting the image settle. "Men like Ethan—they have no backbone. No resources. Without you, he has absolutely nothing."

Helen stared at the shattered phone on the pavement, her rage slowly crystallizing into cold, satisfied certainty. Let Ethan have his little rebellion. When he was sleeping on the street with empty pockets and nowhere to go, he'd realize exactly what he'd thrown away.

She'd take him back, of course—eventually.

But not before he learned his place.

Not before he learned that nobody walked away from Helen Morrison.