Chapter 5: A Life Ended in Rage

The funeral was small. No friends, no extended family—just me and the cold, unfeeling dirt that swallowed my parents whole. The air was thick with the scent of rain, the sky overcast as if mourning with me. I stood there, my hands clenched into fists, the last words they had left behind still burned into my memory.

"Please, my son, don't blame yourself. Live. Find happiness."

But how could I? How could I find happiness in a world that had taken everything from me? My parents had built their lives from nothing, poured their blood, sweat, and tears into our restaurant. And yet, in the end, they were left with nothing.

I stared at their graves, the cheap tombstones barely reflecting the love and warmth they had given me. The words on their suicide note haunted me, but I couldn't follow their wish. I couldn't simply "live" and "move on."

Happiness? That was no longer an option.

I would destroy them all.

The house was a hollow shell of what it once was. Every room felt suffocatingly empty, the silence pressing down on me like an unbearable weight. The kitchen, once filled with my mother's humming as she prepared meals, was now nothing but a cold, abandoned space. The living room, where my father used to laugh at old sitcoms, was dark and lifeless.

I walked into my parents' bedroom, where their presence still lingered in the air. Their closet remained untouched, their belongings frozen in time. My father's watch sat on the nightstand, ticking away indifferently, as if the world hadn't just ended for me. My mother's favorite scarf lay draped over a chair, a faint scent of her perfume still clinging to the fabric.

I pulled out their suicide letter once more, my hands trembling as I read it again.

We love you, Ethan. We're sorry for leaving you alone. But we couldn't bear to see our dream destroyed. Please, my son, don't blame yourself. Live. Find happiness.

I clenched my jaw, my vision blurring with unshed tears.

"How can I live?" I whispered to the empty room. "How can I be happy when you're gone?"

Anger surged through me, white-hot and uncontrollable. My hands crumpled the letter before I hurled it against the wall. My breath came in ragged gasps, my chest tightening with a suffocating rage.

I grabbed a framed photo of us from the nightstand—one where we were all smiling in front of the restaurant, our arms wrapped around each other—and threw it at the mirror. The glass shattered, fragments scattering across the floor, reflecting my twisted expression.

This world had taken everything from me.

I would take something in return.

Lucas Sterling was going to die.

I needed a gun. Not just any gun, but one that couldn't be traced back to me. The kind that was sold in the shadows, away from the eyes of law enforcement.

I knew exactly where to go.

The old district on the east side of the city was filled with people who thrived on desperation. If you had money and the right connections, you could find anything—even a weapon.

I met with a man named Roy, a dealer who operated out of a rundown pawn shop. His beady eyes studied me as I placed a wad of cash on the counter.

"You sure about this, kid?" he asked, eyeing me warily. "You don't look like the type to get your hands dirty."

"Just give me what I paid for," I said coldly.

He chuckled and reached under the counter, pulling out a small black pistol. "Nine-millimeter. Reliable, easy to conceal. No serial number."

I took it, feeling the weight in my palm. This was it. My path was set. There was no turning back now.

I knew exactly where Lucas would be. The Sterling family was hosting a private party at an exclusive club that night—one of their elite gatherings where they flaunted their wealth and power. Lucas never missed an opportunity to bask in the admiration of those beneath him.

Getting in wasn't easy. Security was tight, with guards stationed at every entrance. But money could open many doors, and I had just enough left to buy a fake invitation. The man who sold it to me assured me it would pass inspection.

At the entrance, I held my breath as the bouncer scanned the invitation. A tense moment passed before he gave me a nod and stepped aside.

I was in.

The club was extravagant—gold chandeliers, overpriced champagne, and people who thrived on crushing those below them. The scent of expensive cologne mixed with the stench of corruption.

And then, I saw them.

Lucas sat at the center of attention, laughing over a drink. Emily was right beside him, draped over his arm like she had been with me not long ago. She leaned in, whispering something in his ear, and he smirked, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on me.

His smirk widened.

"Well, well," he drawled, setting his drink down. "Look who decided to crawl out of the gutter."

The people around him turned to stare, their gazes filled with amusement, pity, and contempt.

Emily tilted her head, feigning surprise. "Ethan… you look terrible."

The buzzing in my ears grew louder. My fingers twitched toward the gun hidden beneath my coat.

"Stand up," I said, my voice dangerously low.

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Stand up," I repeated, my body rigid with fury. "Face me like a man."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You're really something, Carter. Even after everything, you still think you matter?"

Emily sighed dramatically, shaking her head. "You should've moved on, Ethan. But you never did know when to let go."

I ignored her. My hand slipped beneath my coat, wrapping around the cold metal of the gun.

Lucas exhaled, clearly entertained. "Oh, you're serious?"

I pulled the gun out and aimed it directly at him. Gasps erupted around the room. Chairs scraped against the floor as people scrambled back, knocking over glasses in their haste to get away.

Lucas's expression didn't change. If anything, his amusement only grew.

"Everything you've taken from me," I said, my voice shaking with fury, "ends tonight."

Before I could react, a bodyguard slammed into me from behind. The gun was knocked from my grasp, clattering to the floor. Pain shot through my ribs as another guard drove his knee into my stomach. I collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.

Boots surrounded me. A hard kick to my ribs sent agony searing through my body. Hands grabbed my collar, yanking me up. My vision blurred as I met Lucas's gaze.

He sighed. "Pathetic."

Emily crouched down beside me, her perfectly manicured nails brushing against my bloody cheek. "You never stood a chance, Ethan."

I spat blood at her feet. "Rot in hell."

She only smiled. "We'll save you a seat."

Lucas retrieved my gun, inspecting it lazily before pointing it at my forehead. "Any last words?"

I glared at him, unafraid. "One day, you'll choke on your own arrogance."

Lucas grinned. "Doubt it."

The gunshot echoed through the room.

Then—

Nothing.