Chapter 2 - The Fire Beneath the Ice
Ethan stood frozen at the edge of the manicured lawn. The scent of sweet cinnamon from the bakery box in his hand now smelled like ash.
Just ten feet away, his mother—the woman who had scrubbed floors until her knuckles bled so he could have a future—was shivering on the damp concrete. She was trying to pick a microscopic shred of meat off a sharp, discarded chicken wing bone.
Standing over her was Victoria, holding a glass of expensive crystal champagne, her high heels inches away from Margaret’s trembling fingers.
“Fido didn’t want the gristle today, Margaret,” Victoria said, her voice dripping with casual cruelty as she tapped the heel of her designer shoe against the concrete. “So consider yourself lucky. Clean it up quickly. My friends are coming out to the patio soon, and I don’t want them seeing an eyesore.”
Margaret didn’t look up. She kept her head bowed, her gray hair matted with sweat and dirt. “Yes, Victoria... I’m sorry. I’ll finish quickly.”
Ethan’s heart didn’t just break; it hardened into obsidian.
The cinnamon bread box slipped from his fingers, hitting the grass with a soft thud. The sound made Victoria turn.
When her eyes met Ethan’s, her smug smile instantly disintegrated. The glass of champagne slipped from her manicured hand, shattering on the stone patio.
“E-Ethan?” Victoria stammered, her face turning a ghostly shade of white. “What... what are you doing here? Your flight to New York—”
Ethan didn’t answer her. He didn’t scream. He didn’t rage. He walked right past her as if she were nothing but air.
He knelt on the dirty concrete, ignoring how the dampness soaked into his bespoke, three-thousand-dollar suit. Gently, with shaking hands, he took the plate of chicken bones from his mother’s grip.
“Mom,” Ethan whispered, his voice cracking with a pain so deep it physically choked him. “Mom, look at me.”
Margaret flinched violently, pulling her hands back, trying to hide her torn sleeves. When she realized it was Ethan, her eyes filled with terror. Not for herself, but for him.
“Ethan... no, go back inside,” she whispered frantically, her voice dry and raspy. “Don’t look at me like this. I’m fine. I just... I dropped my plate earlier. Victoria is good to me, really. Please don’t be mad at her.”
She had been threatened. Ethan knew the signs of systemic abuse. She was terrified of what would happen to her after he left if she spoke the truth.
Ethan gently pulled his mother into his arms. She was so light. She had lost at least thirty pounds since he last held her. The woman who used to carry heavy laundry baskets up three flights of stairs felt like a skeleton wrapped in faded cotton.
“I’m not leaving, Mom,” Ethan said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. “You’re never going to eat scraps again. I promise you.”
He stood up, lifting his mother effortlessly into his arms.
Victoria stepped forward, her hands waving in a desperate, frantic gesture. “Ethan, sweetie, let me explain! This is a complete misunderstanding. Your mother... she has been acting so strange lately. She insists on eating outside! She has this weird obsession with hoarding food from the trash. I was just trying to help her clean up!”
Ethan stopped. He turned his head slowly, looking at Victoria with eyes that had no warmth left in them.
“Is that so?” Ethan asked, his voice deathly quiet.
“Yes! Absolutely!” Victoria cried, gaining confidence as she saw her husband’s calm exterior. “You know how old people get. They regress. She’s been making a mess of the kitchen, so I thought some fresh air would do her good. I love her, Ethan. You know I do!”
Ethan looked at the dog kennel behind her. Inside, the purebred Tibetan Mastiff he had bought for security was eating a prime-cut ribeye steak from a silver bowl.
His dog was eating steak. His mother was eating bones.
“We will discuss this,” Ethan said softly. “Wait for me in the living room.”
“Of course, darling,” Victoria said, letting out a sigh of relief. She even reached out to touch his arm, but Ethan stepped back, avoiding her touch as if she were covered in venom.
He carried his mother into the mansion, bypassing the main living room where Victoria’s wealthy friends were laughing and drinking. He carried her up the back stairs to his private study—the one room Victoria was never allowed to enter.
May you like
He laid her on the leather sofa, wrapped her in a cashmere blanket, and dialed a number.
“Marcus,” Ethan said to his personal security chief and former military operative. “Bring Dr. Cho to the mansion immediately. And bring a team of five men. We are locking down the house.”
