Chapter 2

An hour later, Jocelyn issued another command, her voice laced with annoyance at my earlier defiance.

"Ryan needs to go shopping. Rodeo Drive. You'll drive him."

It wasn't a request. It was an order, a reassertion of her power. I didn't argue. I just grabbed the keys to the black Bentley. Arguing was pointless now. My mind was already somewhere else, formulating a plan, a quiet, steady resolve hardening in my chest.

The drive to Beverly Hills was a silent torture. Ryan sat in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, occasionally taking a selfie and chuckling to himself. He was a child playing in a world he didn't understand.

I pulled up in front of a ridiculously expensive designer store.

"Wait here," Ryan said, not even looking at me as he got out. "I won't be long."

I watched him disappear inside, the embodiment of everything I despised. I sat there, the engine humming, and thought about my father. The deal was done. He was in remission, his life saved. My end of the bargain was fulfilled. The seven years were up.

I was staring at a nearby construction site when it happened. A loud, sickening crack echoed through the street, followed by a shower of dust and debris. Before I could even process the sound, the world went dark. A crushing weight slammed down on the car, on me.

Pain exploded through my body, sharp and absolute. Then, nothing.

I came to, pinned in the driver's seat. The car was a mangled wreck, buried under a mountain of twisted metal scaffolding. My legs were trapped, and a hot, sticky wetness was spreading across my chest.

Through the shattered windshield, I saw Ryan. He was standing a few feet away, brushing dust off his designer jacket. He had a tiny scratch on his cheek. He looked at the wreckage, at me, his eyes wide. Then his expression shifted. He clutched his arm and sank to the ground, wailing in mock agony.

Sirens screamed in the distance. When Jocelyn's car screeched to a halt, she leaped out, her face a mask of panic. She ran right past the crushed Bentley, right past me bleeding out in the driver's seat.

She knelt beside Ryan, cradling his head. "Ryan! Oh my god, are you okay? Speak to me!"

I tried to call her name, but all that came out was a bloody cough. She glanced over, her eyes finally landing on me. There was no concern, no fear. Only irritation.

"Ethan! Look what you've done! You were supposed to be watching him! You almost got Ryan hurt!"

She turned back to Ryan, her voice dripping with concern, already on her phone. "I'm getting you the best specialists in the country, baby. We'll take care of that scratch."

Lying there, crushed and broken, I watched the woman I had sacrificed my life for coddle her boy toy over a scratch. The coldness of it was more profound than any physical pain. It was the moment of absolute clarity.

I was done.