Chapter 4

Ethan' s life continued its downward spiral.

The loss of his shares and access to his trust fund was a significant blow, but it was the loss of Alex that truly crippled him.

He was still a Prescott, still wealthy by most standards, but his power within the family corporation was diminished, his future uncertain.

He saw Cassandra occasionally. She was living well on his dime, still clinging to the fantasy that they had a future.

He found her presence increasingly intolerable. Her manufactured sweetness, her endless chatter about their "love" – it all grated on his raw nerves.

He knew she was responsible for the video reaching Alex. He hadn' t confronted her about it directly. What was the point? The damage was done.

But a cold, simmering rage was building inside him. Towards Cassandra. Towards himself.

He missed Alex with an intensity that was physically painful.

He missed her intelligence, her grace, her unwavering loyalty – all the things he had taken for granted and then carelessly destroyed.

He replayed their last conversation in his mind, her flat "Goodbye, Ethan."

He' d been so blind. So arrogant.

He tried to find ways to contact her, to bypass the restraining order. He sent emails to old, shared accounts. He tried calling her parents, but they wouldn' t take his calls.

He was completely cut off.

His friends, Ben and Will, grew increasingly concerned.

"Ethan, you need help," Ben told him during another grim visit to Ethan' s desolate apartment. "You can' t go on like this."

"What do you want me to do, Ben?" Ethan snapped, pacing like a caged animal. "She' s gone. She hates me. I' ve lost everything."

"You haven' t lost everything," Will said. "You still have your family, your health. You can rebuild."

"Rebuild what?" Ethan laughed bitterly. "My life is a ruin. And I' m the one who set it on fire."

He knew he deserved this. He knew he was responsible.

But the knowledge didn' t lessen the pain. It only amplified his self-loathing.

He thought about the "dark secret from his past" that his family always worried about, the one that had led to the Paris Clause in the first place.

It was an old scandal, a reckless entanglement that had nearly cost the Prescotts dearly. He' d been younger then, even more impulsive.

He' d thought he' d learned his lesson.

Clearly, he hadn' t.

The pattern was there. A restlessness, a seeking of thrills, a disregard for consequences.

And Alex had always been the one to pay the price for his mistakes.

Until now. Now, she had finally said, "Enough."

And he was left to sift through the ashes of the life he had torched.

One evening, Cassandra came to his apartment unannounced.

She was dressed to the nines, a slinky black dress, her hair perfectly styled. She carried a bottle of expensive champagne.

"Surprise!" she chirped, waltzing in as if she owned the place. "I thought we could celebrate."

"Celebrate what?" Ethan asked, his voice flat. He was sitting in the dark, a half-empty bottle of scotch on the table beside him.

"Us, silly," Cassandra said, pouting prettily. "We' re finally free. Alex is gone. We can be together, properly."

She tried to kiss him. He turned his head away.

"I' m not in the mood, Cassandra."

Her eyes narrowed. "What' s wrong with you, Ethan? You' ve been like this for weeks. Moody. Distant."

"Maybe I' m just tired of your act," he said, his voice dangerously soft.

"My act?" She feigned offense. "I love you, Ethan. I' ve always loved you."

He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Love? You don' t know the meaning of the word. You' re an opportunist, Cassandra. You saw a rich, powerful man, and you latched on."

"That' s not true!" she cried, tears welling in her eyes. He knew they were fake. He' d seen her turn them on and off too many times.

"Isn' t it?" he said, standing up, towering over her. "You saw me at my weakest, after the accident, and you spun your web of lies. You poisoned me against Alex."

"I told you the truth about her!" Cassandra insisted. "She was controlling you!"

"No," Ethan said, his voice like ice. "She loved me. And I betrayed her. With you."

He remembered the video. The sordid images. His own disgusting behavior.

"And then," he continued, his eyes boring into hers, "when I started to remember Alex, when I tried to go back to her, you couldn' t stand it, could you? You had to make sure she was gone for good."

Cassandra' s face was pale. "I... I don' t know what you' re talking about."

"The video, Cassandra," he snarled. "The one you sent to Alex. The one that destroyed any chance I had left with her."

She stared at him, her bravado crumbling. "I... I did it for us, Ethan! So we could be together!"

"There is no 'us' ," he said, his voice filled with contempt. "There never was. You were a mistake. A symptom of my own sickness."

He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"Get out," he hissed. "Get out of my apartment. Get out of my life."

He dragged her to the door and threw it open.

"But Ethan..." she whimpered, genuine fear in her eyes now. "Where will I go? You promised to take care of me."

"I promised you nothing," he said coldly. "You got what you wanted. You got rid of Alex. Now live with it."

He shoved her out into the hallway and slammed the door in her face.

He leaned against the door, his heart pounding, his body trembling with rage and disgust.

He was alone. Utterly alone.

And he deserved to be.

The next day, Ethan received a call.

A voice he didn' t recognize. Low, gravelly.

"Mr. Prescott? Ethan Prescott?"

"Who is this?"

"A friend. Or maybe, an enemy. Depends on your perspective."

Ethan frowned. "What do you want?"

"I have some information you might find... illuminating. About your past. About a certain incident in Louisiana. Not the car accident. Something... earlier."

A cold dread washed over Ethan.

The "dark secret" his family had always feared. He thought it was buried.

"I don' t know what you' re talking about," Ethan said, trying to keep his voice steady.

The man chuckled. "Oh, I think you do. A young woman. A tragic accident. A Prescott cover-up."

Ethan' s blood ran cold. He knew. This man knew about the incident that had nearly ruined him years ago, the one that had prompted the creation of the Paris Clause.

It wasn' t an affair. It was something far worse. Something he had tried to forget, to bury deep.

"Meet me," the man said. "Tonight. Pier 45. Midnight. Come alone."

The line went dead.

Ethan stared at his phone, his hand shaking.

His past, the one he thought was long dead, was coming back to haunt him.

And he had a sickening feeling that this was only the beginning of his reckoning.

The price of ash and ivy. He was about to discover just how high it could go.