A Legacy of Chains

"Why," he thundered, "are you treating my son like a fragile relic?"

The accusation wasn't meant for Ethan—it was for Oliver.

Oliver, who stood beside him like a silent guardian, a shield against the storm. But even shields could break.

Unflinching, Oliver met the chairman's glare. "Chairman, Ethan isn't well. He needs—"

"Needs?" Johnathan's scoff echoed like a gunshot. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair, knuckles whitening. "He is a Park! A legacy, a force! Not some broken bird to coddle!"

Ethan clenched his jaw, his pulse hammering beneath his skin. His father's words—so familiar, so damn predictable—wrapped around his throat like a noose. Weak. Useless. A disgrace. The old scars throbbed beneath his ribs, invisible but still bleeding.

Oliver took a step closer, but Ethan raised a trembling hand, stopping him.

"Go," he whispered, his voice barely audible, a quiet plea. "I can face this alone."

For a moment, Oliver hesitated, his loyalty battling reason. Then, with a stiff nod, he turned and walked out, leaving Ethan alone—alone with the monster who had raised him.

Ethan forced himself to sit across from Johnathan, the weight of generations pressing down on his shoulders. The air itself seemed to coil tighter, bracing for impact.

Then the storm came.

Johnathan's words lashed out like whips. "Weak." Crack. "Little." Crack. "Coward." Crack.

Ethan sat through it all, silent. He had heard these words before—too many times to count, too many times to fight. They had been carved into his bones since childhood, each insult another mark on his soul.

But just as the walls threatened to close in, the heavy doors creaked open.

Anthony strolled in, exuding a casual confidence that disrupted the tension in the room. His daughter, Ava, followed closely behind, her expression unreadable.

Anthony took a seat, his lips quirking into a knowing smirk. "Ethan," he greeted, his voice dripping with amusement. "Did your meeting go well?"

Ethan's answer was hollow. "Great," he murmured, a mere ghost of himself.

Anthony's laughter filled the space, light and mocking. He turned to Johnathan with an air of satisfaction. "Let's discuss our merger project next week. Perhaps a party at your estate? Our children can… engage."

The words dripped with unspoken implications. Ethan's stomach twisted.

Anthony's gaze settled on Ava and Ethan, assessing them like chess pieces. "If both of you want to talk," he said smoothly, "then go somewhere private. Johnathan and I have discussed enough."

It was a suggestion, but one that left no room for argument.

Johnathan leaned forward, his stare turning razor-sharp as it locked onto Ethan. His next words were slow, deliberate—each syllable dipped in cold warning.

"Don't try to do anything stupid."

He leaned in, the faint scent of expensive cologne masking the venom in his voice. "Take her out. Show her you love her."

Then, softer, deadlier— "Otherwise, you know me."

The threat slithered between them like a viper, its fangs dripping with old wounds and fresh fear.

Ethan felt his stomach churn, his skin cold with something too familiar—something that made him want to run but rooted him in place.

He swallowed hard. His fingers curled into fists beneath the table.

For a brief second, he met Ava's gaze. There was something unreadable in her eyes—curiosity, wariness, perhaps even pity.

Then, with the weight of a lifetime of expectations pressing down on him, Ethan forced himself to stand. His legs shook, not just from physical pain but from the crushing burden of his father's command.

His voice came out quiet, forced. "Okay, Dad."

The words tasted like surrender.

Johnathan leaned back, satisfied.

Ethan turned, his heart hammering against his ribs. As he walked out of the meeting room with Ava beside him, he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.

As Ethan and Ava stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the heavy oak doors shut behind them with a finality that sent a shiver down his spine. The air was thick—not just with silence, but with the weight of everything left unsaid. The muffled voices of their fathers, still discussing business behind closed doors, felt like chains binding them to a fate neither had chosen.

Ethan's footsteps echoed against the polished marble floor, his mind still reeling from his father's words. "Take her out. Show her you love her. Otherwise, you know me." The veiled threat coiled around his throat like an iron collar.

Beside him, Ava walked with measured steps, her hands gripping the hem of her dress as if grounding herself. Then, she stopped.

Ethan felt her gaze on him before he turned to meet it. Her dark eyes, wide and searching, held a vulnerability that mirrored his own. She wasn't just Atonoy's daughter. In this moment, she was simply Ava—someone who, despite the wealth and privilege, was just as trapped as he was.

Her voice, when it finally came, was barely above a whisper. "Are you okay?"

Ethan swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yeah." It was a lie, but one he had learned to tell so well that even he almost believed it.

But Ava wasn't fooled.

A tense silence stretched between them, thick with all the words neither dared to say. Then, finally, she inhaled deeply, gathering the courage to speak.

"I don't know how you feel," she murmured, her voice raw, uncertain, "but I really like you."

The words lingered in the air like a fragile thread between them—delicate, vulnerable, yet impossibly brave.

Ethan's breath hitched. He hadn't expected that.

Ava looked down, biting her lip, as if regretting her confession. "I know our fathers have their plans, and I know I should just go along with it. But I don't want to be just a deal they made in a boardroom. I want… something real." She met his gaze again, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I don't know if you can give me that, but I had to say it."

Ethan's chest tightened. How could he answer her when he didn't even know what he wanted?

He had spent his whole life trapped in expectations—the perfect son, the heir, the obedient pawn. And now, standing before him, was a girl who wasn't asking him to be any of those things.

But she was also asking for something he might not be able to give.

Because in the depths of his heart, behind all the facades, there was another name, another face—Emily.

The woman he couldn't forget, no matter how hard he tried.

The memories of her haunted him—the way she smiled when she thought no one was watching, the way she laughed like she wasn't carrying the weight of the world, the way she looked at him, truly looked at him, as if he were more than just Johnathan Park's son.

Could he tell Ava the truth? That even if he tried, he might never love her the way she deserved?

Instead, he did the only thing he knew how to do—he gave her a piece of himself without giving her the whole truth.

"Let's try to understand each other," he whispered.

The words were soft, but they carried a promise—not of love, not yet, but of something.

Ava's lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something else, but then she simply nodded. "Okay."

They stood there for a moment longer, suspended in an uncertain future, before Ethan finally turned and started walking.

Ava followed.

But in the back of his mind, Emily's name still echoed, a ghost that refused to be forgotten.