Chapter 2

The family dinner felt like a wake. It was held at my parents' house, the one I had bought for them. The air was thick with false solemnity. They were all there, dressed in dark, expensive clothes. They looked like they were mourning a death, but their eyes held the glint of victory.

Liam sat at the head of the table, a position that had always been mine. He was wearing one of my custom-tailored suits. It was a size too big for him, hanging off his shoulders, but he wore it with an air of unearned authority. Sarah sat beside him, occasionally touching his arm in a gesture of support that made my stomach churn.

My daughter, Mia, sat next to her mother, her eyes glued to her phone. She was texting, a small smile playing on her lips. She looked up only when Liam spoke, her expression one of pure adoration.

He had even bought her the car. A cherry-red convertible. I' d seen it parked in the driveway, a vulgar bow stuck to the windshield. The sight of it, a symbol of my replacement, felt like grit in my eye.

Liam raised his glass. "To Ethan," he said, his voice dripping with fake sincerity. "For his sacrifice. For putting the family first. We' ll never forget what you' re doing for us."

Mr. and Mrs. Miller echoed his toast, their faces a mixture of guilt and relief. Sarah raised her glass, her eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second before skittering away.

"You' re a good man, Ethan," my father mumbled into his plate.

I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my palm. I looked down and realized I had clenched my fist so hard my fingernails had broken the skin. The small, physical pain was a welcome distraction from the crushing weight in my chest. I focused on it, on the sting, letting it ground me.

Mia, surprisingly, slid a plate of food toward me. It was my favorite, roast beef, cooked just the way I liked it. "You should eat something, Dad."

For a moment, I felt a flicker of warmth. Maybe there was a part of her that still cared. But then I looked at her face, and saw the same detached, practiced concern I saw on everyone else's. It was just an act. I remembered all the times Liam had used this tactic, a small kindness to make his manipulations more effective. He would do something cruel, then follow it up with a hollow gesture of affection to keep you off balance. He taught them all so well.

"Not hungry," I said, pushing the plate away.

The main event came after the meal. Liam cleared his throat, a theatrical sound that drew everyone' s attention. He placed a leather-bound folder on the table.

"Ethan," he began, his tone all business now. "To make the transition seamless, and to show the authorities that this was a command-level failure, we need you to sign over your controlling shares. And your position as CEO."

It was the final castration. They didn't just want me to take the blame; they wanted me to erase myself from the company I had bled for.

Sarah placed her hand on my arm. "It's just a formality, Ethan. It' s what the lawyers advised."

My mother chimed in. "It' s for the best, son. It will make everything easier for you in the long run."

They all looked at me, their faces a united front of quiet, relentless pressure. Their collective gaze felt like a physical weight, pinning me to my chair. I was an animal in a trap, and the hunters were calmly waiting for me to bleed out.

I looked at Liam. At the smug, triumphant smile he was trying to hide. He thought he had won. He thought he had broken me.

So I did something he didn't expect. I smiled.

"Of course," I said, my voice light, almost cheerful. I reached for the pen. "Where do I sign?"

The surprise on their faces was almost worth the price of admission. Liam fumbled with the papers for a moment, caught off guard by my easy compliance. He had expected a fight, a last, desperate struggle.

I signed my name on every line, the ink flowing smoothly, a final, definitive act of surrender. I pushed the folder back across the table to him.

"It's all yours, Liam," I said. "Good luck."

The mood in the room lifted instantly. Smiles broke out. My father clapped Liam on the back. My mother hugged him. Sarah squeezed his arm, her eyes shining with relief. They were celebrating. They were finally free of me.

I watched them, the scene playing out like a silent movie. A profound sense of emptiness washed over me. The food on the table looked like wax. The taste of the wine in my mouth was gone. I felt nothing, not even the hunger I knew should be there.

I stood up. No one noticed at first.

"I have an early morning," I said to the room in general.

Liam waved a dismissive hand, already engrossed in the documents, my life' s work. "Yeah, yeah. Get some rest, bro. Big day tomorrow."

I walked out of the house without another word. I didn't look back.

As I drove away, my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram notification. Liam had already posted a picture. It was a selfie of him in the CEO' s office-my office-sitting in my chair, his feet up on my desk. The caption read: "New beginnings. Time to take this company to the next level. #CEO #MillerTech #FutureIsBright".

The comments were already flooding in.

Sarah Miller: "So proud of you! You deserve this. ❤️"

Mia Miller: "Go Uncle Liam! 🔥🔥🔥"

Mr. Miller: "Our son, leading the way."

Mrs. Miller: "Couldn't be prouder. A true leader."

The support they never gave me, they showered on him in an instant. A bitter, painful lump formed in my throat. It wasn't just about the company or the money. It was about the warmth, the praise, the simple 'I' m proud of you' that I had craved my entire life and never received. They had it in them all along. It just wasn't for me.

My phone buzzed again. A text from an unknown number.

"The press conference is at 10 AM. The boat is waiting. Are you ready for your final performance, Mr. Miller?"

It was from Eleanor's assistant.

I typed back a single word. "Yes."

As I drove into the night, I saw another notification. It was Sarah. She had posted a photo of her and Liam, clinking champagne glasses. Her wedding ring was prominently displayed. The caption read: "Celebrating the new CEO! The future is in good hands."

The ring on her finger was the one I had given her. The sight of it, used as a prop in her new life with my brother, filled me with a cold, clear rage.