Chapter 8 Another Nightmare

Ethan stood in a barren wasteland, his heart pounding as he watched his father's silhouette

grow smaller and smaller in the distance. He ran forward, but no matter how fast he moved,

his father was always just beyond his reach.

"Dad!" His voice cracked, desperate.

But his father didn't turn back.

Then, without warning, the ground beneath Ethan's feet crumbled. He plummeted into an

endless void, swallowed by a deep blue abyss.

Water.

He was six years old again, flailing helplessly as the ocean swallowed him whole. His tiny

hands reached toward the sky, toward the fading light, but his lungs burned, and the sea was

an unforgiving, crushing weight.

And then—

A figure cut through the water, diving in headfirst.

His mother.

Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him toward the surface with everything she had. But

the waves were ruthless, the currents hungry. Ethan clung to her desperately as she fought

against the tide.

But something was wrong.

Her grip loosened.

She was slipping away.

No. No. No.

He reached for her, but the ocean swallowed her whole.

She was gone.

Ethan gasped awake, his body drenched in sweat. His breathing was ragged, his heart

slamming against his ribs. His hand flew to his chest, gripping his shirt, as if trying to steady

the erratic rhythm.

Just a nightmare. Another one. The same one.

For years, it had haunted him, playing over and over in his sleep like a twisted lullaby he

could never escape.

His jaw clenched. He wasn't about to start his day dwelling on the past.

Swinging his legs off the bed, he ran a hand through his dark, sweat-dampened hair before

pushing himself up. He needed to move. To do something—anything—to shake off the

ghostly remnants of his dream.

He began his morning workout, his muscles burning with each push-up, each sit-up, each

calculated movement. By the time he was done, the sweat dripping down his back was from

exertion rather than fear.

After a cold shower, he dressed in his school uniform. His tie was loose—deliberately so. He

never cared much for the pristine look his father expected.

Descending the grand staircase of his mansion, Ethan wasn't surprised to see his

stepmother already seated at the dining table, sipping her morning tea.

"Funny," she mused, not even glancing up from her cup. "I was beginning to think you'd stay

in bed all day."

Ethan, for the first time in years, greeted her willingly. "Morning."

The woman faltered, nearly choking on her tea.

Ethan almost smirked at the sight. Instead, he grabbed his breakfast—simple toast and

eggs—and ate quickly. His stepmother, still flustered, pretended to read the newspaper, but

he could feel her gaze flickering toward him every few seconds.

For the longest time, he had dismissed her presence as nothing more than an obligation, a

piece of his father's life he had no interest in. But looking back, he realized something odd.

She was always here.

Whenever his father was away for business—which was often—it was always her. Never him.

Not that it meant much.

He shook the thought from his mind, finished his breakfast, and left without another word.

Today, he decided to leave his collection of fast cars behind.

Instead, he took the bus.

Like a normal student.

Ethan sat by the window, one leg stretched out casually in the aisle, his arms crossed as the

city blurred past. The chatter of students filled the space around him, but he tuned it out, his

thoughts elsewhere.

Evelyn.

The irritation was still fresh. He had left her at the restaurant without a word, let his temper

dictate his actions again.

He knew he had done her dirty.

But Ethan Lockwood wasn't the type to apologize. His pride wouldn't allow it.

Still, the memory of her blonde hair bouncing as she laughed at his joke lingered.

For the first time in years, he had genuinely smiled.

The smirk faded as his mind wandered back to the moment she had brought up his mother.

His fingers curled into a fist.

Fucking hell. The day was going to suck.

The bus hissed as it came to a stop. Ethan stepped off, adjusting his bag over his shoulder.

And then—

He saw her.

Evelyn stood near the school gate, her arms crossed, her bag hanging loosely from one hand.

When her gaze landed on him, her expression shifted from neutral to—confusion?