Chapter One

The rhythmic patter of rain against the windowpane was a soothing lullaby, a welcome distraction from the looming deadline. It was past 3 am, the house was quiet except for the steady drumming of the rain. Ethan leaned back in his office chair, the plush leather yielding under his weight. He'd been staring at the computer screen for hours, but the words refused to come. The rain, though, was a balm to his weary mind. He closed his eyes, the soft drumming a comforting counterpoint to the quiet hum of the computer.

A sudden jolt, a searing heat, and the smell of burning rubber. Ethan jolted upright, his heart pounding against his ribs. The image, a fleeting glimpse of a mangled car engulfed in flames, flickered across his mind. He blinked, trying to shake off the disorienting vision. It was just a dream, a fragment of a nightmare that had haunted him for years. He reached for his water glass, the cool liquid calming his racing pulse.

He forced himself to focus on the work in front of him, but the image lingered. He tried to recall the details, the faces, the voices, but they were all blurred, indistinct, like a faded photograph. The rain continued its relentless patter, and Ethan felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He let his head fall back against the chair, the rhythmic drumming of the rain lulling him into a restless sleep.

Ethan woke with a start, the sun streaming through the window, painting the room in a warm, golden light. He blinked, disoriented, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. The office, usually a haven of quiet contemplation, felt strangely oppressive. He shifted in his chair, the leather creaking in protest. He knew he should go back to his room, but something held him back.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the thought of sleeping in his own bed filled him with a strange sense of unease. It was as if the room itself was a foreign territory, a space he no longer recognized. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, that something was missing. He couldn't place it, couldn't name it, but the feeling was undeniable. It was as if a ghost lingered in the air, a phantom presence that left him feeling disoriented and unsettled.

He tried to rationalize it, to tell himself it was just a silly superstition, but the feeling persisted. The office, with its cold, sterile walls and the muted glow of the computer screen, offered a sense of refuge, a temporary escape from the lingering sense of unease that haunted his own room. He leaned back in his chair, the leather sighing beneath him, and tried to focus on the task at hand. But the unsettling feeling wouldn't leave him, a constant reminder of the void that he couldn't quite understand.

Ethan rose from his chair, his muscles protesting the sudden movement. He stretched, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He wanted to get out of the room, to shake off the unsettling feeling that clung to him like a shadow. He wanted to start his day, to find some normalcy in the chaos that had become his life. 

But as he reached for the doorknob, the phone on the table beside him rang, the shrill sound shattering the quiet of the room. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the knob. He knew who it was. It could only be his father. He turned back, the weight of the call pressing down on him like a physical burden. He picked up the phone, his voice a strained whisper. 

"Hello?"

"Ethan, son, how are you? You sound a bit…off. Are you alright?" His father's voice was laced with concern, a familiar tremor running through it. 

Ethan sighed, the sound echoing in the silence of the room. "I'm fine, Dad. Just a bit tired, that's all." He glanced at the phone, a knot of guilt tightening in his stomach. He hadn't been honest with his father about his struggles. He knew the constant worry was taking a toll on him, but he couldn't bring himself to admit that he wasn't okay.

"Tired, huh? Well, you know I'm always here for you, son. Don't ever forget that. And have you been taking your meds? You know it's important, Ethan. Don't want anything to set you back." His father's voice softened, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone.

Ethan swallowed, the words catching in his throat. "Yeah, Dad. I'm taking them. I promise." He knew it was a lie, but he couldn't bring himself to tell the truth. Not yet.

"Good, good. That's my boy. Just take care of yourself, alright? Don't push yourself too hard. You need to rest." His father's voice was a soothing balm, but Ethan knew it was just a temporary fix. The underlying tension remained, a constant reminder of the unspoken truth that hung between them.

"I will, Dad. I love you."

"Love you too, son. Take care."

The line went dead, leaving Ethan alone with the weight of his silence.

The hot water cascading over him, a comforting weight against his skin. Ethan closed his eyes, letting the steam wash away the lingering tension. He had been living in this routine for two years now. His father had taken over his life, meticulously scheduling every minute, from the precise time he woke up to the shoes he wore. It had been a jarring adjustment at first, a constant reminder of his vulnerability, of the accident that had shattered his world. His father had stayed with him for the first six months after the accident, a constant presence, a source of comfort and support. But eventually, his father had gone back to his own house, leaving Ethan to navigate his new reality. 

He stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans filled the air, a familiar aroma that had become synonymous with his mornings. His father had always made sure everything was in place, the grinder prepped, the filters ready, the coffee beans measured out. He knew that if his father were here, he would have already brewed the coffee, just as he liked it. But his father was not here. Mrs. Ragnar, his father's housekeeper, had prepared his breakfast, a meticulously planned meal of oatmeal and fruit, just as he liked it. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. He had always been a bit of a free spirit, resistant to structure, but now, he found himself appreciating the care, the unwavering support that his father provided. He knew his father was just trying to help, to make his life easier, to shield him from the pain that still lingered. 

He walked into the kitchen, the warm light illuminating the table where his breakfast sat, waiting for him. He smiled, a genuine smile, a flicker of gratitude for the man who had become his anchor, his protector, his constant.

Ethan took a sip of his coffee, the rich aroma filling his senses. He liked the ritual of making it himself, the slow, deliberate process a grounding presence in his morning routine. His father, with his meticulous planning, would have preferred to have the coffee pre-brewed, but Ethan enjoyed the small act of independence. He finished his breakfast, the oatmeal surprisingly comforting, and then went to the garage. He glanced at the row of vehicles, a stark contrast to the collection of sleek sports cars and powerful engines that had once occupied the space. His father, ever practical, had gotten rid of them all, replaced by a fleet of sensible, safe SUVs. It was a move that had been met with a mix of frustration and understanding from Ethan. He had always loved the thrill of speed, the freedom of the open road, but he knew his father was right. He was still recovering, still finding his footing, and the risks associated with high-performance vehicles were simply too great. 

He selected a black SUV, its sleek lines and sturdy build a reflection of his new reality. It wasn't the sleek, powerful machine he had dreamed of, but it was reliable, safe, and a symbol of his gradual return to independence. He had been allowed to drive himself only for the past month, a privilege that had been cautiously granted by his father. It was a small victory, a step towards normalcy, a reminder that he was healing, that he was slowly but surely regaining control of his life. He slipped behind the wheel, the familiar scent of leather and metal filling his senses. He took a deep breath, a surge of excitement coursing through him. It was a new day, a new beginning. He was ready to face whatever came his way.

Ethan's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles white against the leather. The familiar tremor ran through his hands, a constant reminder of the accident, of the pain he had endured. His muscles, still recovering, held a memory of the impact, a phantom sensation that he couldn't quite shake. He fought against the urge to pull over, to hide from the world. His father, with his unwavering concern, would never understand. He would see it as weakness, a sign that Ethan wasn't truly back to his old self. He would impose more restrictions, more limitations, and Ethan couldn't bear the thought of that. He had to appear strong, to convince his father that he was in control. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the road ahead. He would get through this, just like he had gotten through everything else.

He arrived at A&T Techs, the sleek, modern building a testament to his hard work and dedication. He was the executive manager, a major shareholder, a man who had built his own empire from the ground up. It wasn't easy. He had to fight for every inch of ground, every promotion, every opportunity. He could have chosen the easy path, taken a position in his father's company, a position that would have guaranteed him a comfortable life, a life of privilege and ease. But he had chosen a different path, a path of challenge and struggle. He had worked diligently, climbed the ladder rung by rung, proving himself at every turn. He had earned his place, his success, his right to be here. 

He stepped out of the SUV, the morning sun warm on his face. He straightened his suit, his gaze unwavering, his confidence unyielding. He was Ethan, the executive manager, the shareholder, the man who had built his own empire. He was ready to face the day, ready to lead, ready to succeed.

Ethan walked into his office, the sleek, minimalist design reflecting his own sense of order and control. The morning light streamed through the large windows, illuminating the polished surfaces and the carefully curated artwork. He acknowledged his staff with a nod and a smile, his usual warmth tempered by a hint of weariness. The whispers had died down, replaced by a more muted, respectful tone. He could still sense the lingering concern in their eyes, the unspoken question of how he was coping. He had overheard them before, their hushed voices filled with sympathy and doubt. "Poor Ethan," they had murmured, "Will he ever be the same?" Their words were meant to be kind, but they stung nonetheless. He knew they were worried about him, but he also knew that their pity was a burden, a weight that he didn't need. He was Ethan, the executive manager, the shareholder, the man who had built his own empire. He was not a victim, not a broken man. He was strong, he was resilient, and he was determined to prove them all wrong.

Ethan navigated the day with an almost unnerving normalcy. He was a whirlwind of energy and wit in meetings, his sharp mind and quick tongue undeterred by the internal turmoil. He moved through the day like a master conductor, orchestrating every detail with precision and grace. It was as if the accident had never happened, a secret he carried within, a burden he chose to bear alone. But as the day drew to a close, the facade began to crack. The exhaustion he had been battling for weeks, the constant pressure to appear unaffected, finally began to take its toll. He excused himself early, his smile strained, his eyes betraying the fatigue that masked his pain. The therapist's appointment awaited, a sanctuary where he could finally shed the mask and confront the demons that haunted him.