The Servant You Mocked Is Now a Quadrillionaire Heir

Chapter 4

Charlie's performance had been masterful—the trembling voice, the downcast eyes, the perfect pitch of self-sacrificing nobility. And Helen had drunk it down like wine.

She turned on Ethan, her eyes blazing with righteous fury. "This is exactly what I'm talking about! Charlie has the decency to apologize, to take responsibility, to admit his mistakes—and you? You just stand there with that cold, dead look on your face like you're better than everyone else." Her voice rose, shrill and cutting. "You have no compassion, Ethan. No empathy. No human warmth at all."

Ethan looked at her—really looked at her—and for a moment he tried to find traces of the woman he'd fallen in love with three years ago. The bright-eyed entrepreneur with big dreams and bigger heart, the woman who'd laughed at his jokes and held his hand through midnight walks and promised him forever.

She was gone. Or maybe she'd never existed at all.

"I'm leaving," Ethan said simply, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder.

"Fine." Helen's jaw clenched, her face flushing with anger and something else—wounded pride, perhaps. The audacity of being left. "If you walk out that door right now, you don't come back. Ever. We're done. Officially, permanently done."

Ethan's expression didn't change. "That's what I told you on the phone earlier, Helen. I meant it then. I mean it now."

He turned toward the door.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made him pause. A woman in her late fifties descended into view, her silk robe rustling, her face twisted in irritation. Jenny Morrison had the kind of beauty that money maintained well—professionally styled hair, flawless skin, jewelry that caught the light with every movement. But her eyes were hard and calculating, and right now they were fixed on Ethan with open contempt.

"What's all this racket?" Jenny demanded, hands on her hips. "Helen, why are you shouting? And why—" Her gaze landed on Ethan and his backpack, and her expression shifted to something like vindication. "Oh. Is the freeloader finally leaving?"

Ethan said nothing.

Jenny descended the rest of the stairs with the air of a queen approaching a beggar. "You know, Ethan, I always knew this day would come. A useless parasite like you could only cling to my daughter's success for so long before even you got tired of being dead weight."

"Mother—" Helen began, but her protest was weak, performative.

"Don't 'mother' me," Jenny snapped, though her eyes never left Ethan. "Three years. Three years of him living in this house, eating our food, using Helen's money, contributing absolutely nothing. And now he has the nerve to throw a tantrum because Helen actually has responsibilities beyond catering to his fragile ego?"

She stepped closer, her lip curling with disgust. "You were never good enough for her, Ethan. Not even close. Helen is a multimillionaire CEO, a self-made woman, a success story. And you? You're a glorified housewife who couldn't even keep a real job." Jenny's voice dropped, venomous and sharp. "You should have been grateful for every scrap she threw you. You should have learned to obey her in everything, to make yourself useful somehow. But you couldn't even manage that, could you? You're not like Charlie—at least he knows how to make people like him."

The comparison hung in the air like poison. Charlie, standing slightly behind Helen, had the decency to look down as if embarrassed by the praise, which only made Jenny's point land harder.

Ethan felt something cold settle in his chest—not anger, just a vast and final indifference. He'd known Jenny's opinion of him had changed over the years, but hearing it laid out so plainly was almost clarifying. It confirmed what he'd already decided.

"I'll be out of your way in a moment," Ethan said, his voice flat and emotionless. "As soon as I finish packing."