The call with Victor ended, and silence fell heavy inside the car. Ethan sat there for a moment, the phone still in his hand, listening to the faint buzz of the disconnected line. He leaned back into the seat, eyes fixed on the faint skyline shimmering with neon in the distance.
Victor's voice still echoed in his ears—boisterous, confident, certain. Victor was excited to gamble, excited to drink, excited to play. He thought Ethan was the same. He thought Ethan was one of them.
Ethan's lips pressed into a thin line. That illusion was the only shield he had. If he walked into the casino dressed as himself—as the boy everyone mocked in cheap clothes and worn sneakers—he would be swallowed whole. He'd be treated as nothing, ignored, and devoured. But if he wanted to sit beside Victor, if he wanted to play at the tables where millions were pushed around like pocket change, then he had to look like he belonged.
His grip tightened on the wheel. "The suit," he muttered to himself.
The one he had bought on that surreal day when Mary had dragged him into her world. He had spent an obscene amount on it, more than he had ever imagined dropping on a single piece of clothing. But when he wore it, it had done something strange—it hadn't just changed how others saw him. It had changed how he carried himself. The weight of the fabric, the perfect cut, the gleam of the watch on his wrist… it had made him feel like someone who could stand in that world.
Tonight, that suit wasn't just clothing. It was armor.
Ethan drove through the quieter streets, the city lights thinning until he reached the edge of downtown. The restaurant rose from the shadows like a tired sentinel, its faded sign creaking faintly in the night air. "Seth's Kitchen." The name still hung above the door, weathered and dull, waiting for rebirth.
He parked out front and slipped inside. The door groaned softly on its hinges, and the familiar smell hit him at once—a mix of dust, old wood, and faint echoes of spices long gone. Their belongings were stacked neatly along the walls, boxes and bags crammed with the fragments of their lives. Anna's schoolbooks. His mother's pots. Clothes folded hurriedly into bags.
It looked less like a restaurant and more like a storage room for a family on the run.
Ethan walked slowly through the dim space, his footsteps echoing on the floorboards. His hand brushed a counter thick with dust, then trailed over the worn wood of the tables stacked in the corner. It was strange. This place was his now. The system had seen to that. But it didn't feel like it. Not yet. It was just another burden, another reminder that his life was no longer his own.
Finally, he stopped in front of the garment bag hanging carefully from a hook by the counter. He reached out, his fingers brushing the smooth material inside. The weight of it felt solid, reassuring.
He closed his eyes for a moment. He remembered the first time he wore it, standing awkwardly before the mirror in that expensive store, feeling out of place as people sneered at him. He remembered the way the fabric hugged his shoulders, the way the watch gleamed on his wrist, the shock in their eyes when he had swiped his card and paid without hesitation.
That day, for the first time, he had seen it clearly: the world bowed differently to those who looked the part.
"Just for tonight," he whispered into the stillness, tightening his grip on the bag. "Just until I win."
He slung the bag over his shoulder and walked back toward the door, his footsteps steady now. The dust and shadows of the restaurant trailed behind him, but he didn't look back.
Out there, beyond the neon skyline, the tables of the casino waited.
And this time, Ethan wouldn't walk in as prey.
Across town, Adam Vale stepped into the backseat of his luxury sedan, his phone buzzing insistently in his hand. He answered without even glancing at the caller ID, his tone sharp but lazy, as if the world owed him attention.
"What news?" he asked.
The oily voice of Mr. Harland, Ethan's landlord, came through the speaker. "It's done, young master. The Ivers family is out on the street. Just like you requested."
Adam leaned back into the buttery leather seat, his grin curling with satisfaction. His reflection in the tinted glass smirked back at him, his sharp jawline glowing faintly under the streetlights as the car pulled away from the school.
"Good," Adam said, his tone dripping with amusement. "Very good. I'll see to it that you're rewarded. You've done well."
He ended the call without waiting for a reply, savoring the silence that followed. He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing, and muttered under his breath, "Ethan Ivers… I told you before. You don't belong in my world. You dared to touch what was mine. You dared to stand next to Lena like an equal. But she belongs to me. Always."
A soft laugh stirred the air beside him, silken and mocking.
Adam shifted his gaze, finally noticing the woman seated across the wide backseat. She was draped carelessly against the plush leather, her long legs extended across his lap as though she owned the space. Her dress shimmered faintly in the dim cabin light, its fabric hugging every curve of her body. A low neckline revealed the tempting swell of her chest, the rise and fall of each breath drawing Adam's eyes like a magnet.
"You're doing all this," she murmured, voice low and sultry, "for a girl who doesn't even love you. Why waste so much energy, Adam? Why not choose me instead?"
Her words were teasing, but her eyes glimmered with challenge. She leaned closer, the faint perfume of roses and something more dangerous curling in the air between them.
Adam's gaze roamed over her without restraint. Her skin glowed faintly in the passing lights, her lips painted a dangerous red. Desire twisted hot in his chest, overtaking the remnants of his earlier anger. His hand moved to rest on her thigh, fingers pressing against smooth skin revealed by the slit of her dress. She didn't flinch. Instead, she arched slightly toward him, a coy smile playing at her lips.
"You talk too much," Adam muttered.
He pulled her closer suddenly, his mouth crashing against hers in a bruising kiss. She responded instantly, her arms snaking around his neck, her nails grazing the back of his head as if to pull him deeper. Their lips clashed again and again, heated and greedy, his breath ragged as he tasted the sweetness of her mouth.
His free hand slid along her leg, tracing the curve of her thigh through the fabric before slipping higher. She gasped softly against his lips, but the sound only drove him further, his touch growing bolder, rougher.
"Driver," Adam growled, breaking the kiss just long enough to let the command slip past his swollen lips. His eyes burned with hunger as he pressed his forehead against hers. "Take us to the hotel. Now."
"Yes, sir," the driver replied smoothly, the car gliding faster through the night streets.
The woman laughed breathlessly, her voice low with delight. "See? Isn't this better than chasing after a girl who won't look at you the way I do?"
Adam didn't answer. He was too busy kissing her again, his hands roaming with no restraint, his arrogance and lust spilling out in equal measure. The neon lights of the city streaked across the tinted windows, painting flashes of red and gold over their entwined figures as the car disappeared into the night.