The Weight of Chains

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in Ethan's hospital room, a steady pulse that tethered him to reality. The sterile white walls pressed in around him, suffocating in their emptiness. He was exhausted, drained from the panic attack that had consumed him like a raging fire, leaving only ashes of himself behind.

A deep breath. Then another.

Beside him, Oliver sat in a chair, his sharp gaze softening with concern. He had been there the entire time—watching, waiting. Protecting.

Ethan turned his head slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Can you take me home?"

Oliver met his gaze, nodding without hesitation. "Yes, boss."

They left the hospital behind, stepping into the cool night air. The car ride home was cloaked in silence, the only sound the soft hum of the engine and the occasional flicker of passing streetlights.

Oliver stole glances at Ethan, who sat rigid in the passenger seat, staring at nothing. His hands were clenched in his lap, his knuckles white. The weight of unspoken thoughts hung between them.

Oliver hesitated, then finally asked, "Are you okay, boss? You seem… distant."

Ethan didn't respond. His mind was a labyrinth, winding through memories he wished he could forget. The pressure in his chest tightened, suffocating.

Oliver tried again, his voice firmer this time. "Boss?"

The urgency in Oliver's tone yanked Ethan from the depths of his mind. His eyes flickered to Oliver, unfocused. "No… Where are we?"

Oliver exhaled, relieved to get a response. "Almost home."

As the car pulled into the driveway, the house loomed before them, a monument of his past. The place where his chains had been forged.

Oliver parked and turned to Ethan, his eyes searching his face. "Boss, we're here. Do you need help getting inside? If you're not feeling up to it—"

Ethan shook his head. His voice wavered, fragile. "I... I am... am okay."

A lie.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, forcing a feeble smile. "Go home, Oliver. Let's… let's meet tomorrow."

Oliver hesitated. He didn't believe him. But he knew better than to push. With a slow nod, he watched as Ethan stepped out of the car.

Each step toward the house felt like walking into a cage.

The moment Ethan stepped inside, he felt it.

The weight in the air. The storm before the lightning.

Johnathan stood in the center of the dimly lit room, his presence suffocating. He was a statue of authority, his sharp eyes pinning Ethan in place. His father's fury was silent, patient, like a beast waiting to pounce.

The doors shut behind Ethan with a soft click, sealing him inside.

"Where did you go in the middle of our meeting?"

His father's voice was controlled, measured. But there was no mistaking the crackle of danger beneath it.

Outside, Oliver hesitated near the car. A feeling gnawed at his gut—an instinct, an unshakable certainty that something was wrong.

He turned back toward the house. He needed to see.

Silently, he crept toward the window, peering inside.

Ethan stood frozen, the air thick with tension. The question hung between them like a guillotine, waiting to fall.

Johnathan's patience wore thin. His nostrils flared. "I asked you a question, boy. Answer me."

Ethan swallowed, his throat dry. "I needed to leave."

A mistake.

Johnathan's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "You insolent little bastard." His voice slithered with venom. "How dare you interrupt a meeting of such importance? Do you not understand your place?"

He took a step forward, towering over Ethan.

"You are nothing. A servant, an unwanted stray. You exist because I allow it. Now, kneel."

Ethan clenched his fists. He would not kneel.

Johnathan's eyes flickered with something dangerous. Then came the pain.

A hand, buried in his hair. A sharp yank. A hiss of breath.

Ethan's scalp burned as he was dragged to his knees, his father's iron grip twisting his hair cruelly.

"Kneel."

"Let go," Ethan rasped, his breath shaking.

Johnathan smirked. "You think you deserve to stand among us? You're a stain on this family. A disgrace. You will never be one of us."

The words cut deeper than the pain. They had always cut deeper.

But this time, something inside Ethan cracked.

A fire ignited behind his eyes. His entire life, he had been told he was nothing. That he was a mistake. A tool to be used, a dog to be beaten.

His voice, trembling but fierce, rose against the storm.

"I may be a dog to you, but even a beaten dog learns to bite."

A flicker of something in Johnathan's eyes—anger, maybe even surprise. Then, a cruel, humorless laugh.

"Oh? Then bite."

The words barely left his mouth before he slammed Ethan's head down.

A sharp gasp of pain. A metallic taste in Ethan's mouth. His vision swam, stars bursting behind his eyes.

Johnathan leaned in, his breath cold against Ethan's ear.

"You will never be more than a servant. Remember that, boy."

And just like that, he let go.

Ethan crumpled to the floor, his breath ragged. The pain in his scalp throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the suffocating weight in his chest.

Johnathan turned, already dismissing him. He had won.

Or so he thought.

Outside, Oliver clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

He had seen enough.

His boss—the man he respected, the man who never showed weakness—had been thrown to the ground like garbage.

And Oliver realized something.

Johnathan had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Aftermath

Ethan lay there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the ceiling.

He had spent his entire life under his father's boot. But this time was different.

This time, he wasn't broken.

Not yet.

Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up. His lip was split, his knees bruised. But he stood.

One day, he would leave this house for good.

And when that day came, he would make sure his father regretted every single moment he had ever made him kneel.

Because Ethan wasn't a pawn.

He was a king.

And one day, he would prove it.