Chapter 3

Days later, they released him.

He was a hollow shell. The fight had gone out of him, replaced by a cold, numb despair.

He moved through the Vanderbilt mansion like an automaton.

He ate what was put before him, wore what was laid out for him.

He even managed a small, shaky apology to Julian, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Vicky watched him, a smug look of satisfaction on her face.

She thought she had won. She thought she had broken him.

She was wrong.

Inside, the rage still simmered. The plan for revenge was taking shape.

He needed Marc.

Vicky, in a display of her "generosity," bought him a new car.

A sleek, black sports car he had no desire to drive.

"A little something to cheer you up, darling," she'd said, patting his cheek.

He nodded, his face carefully blank.

He used the car that afternoon.

Not for a drive in the country, as Vicky had suggested.

But to meet Marc.

He found a burner phone, made the call.

Marc's voice, gruff and familiar, was a lifeline.

"Ethan? Man, where have you been? I've been worried sick."

"M-Marc... I n-need... help."

His stutter was back, but with Marc, it didn't matter.

They met at a noisy, crowded bar on the outskirts of the city.

A place no Vanderbilt would ever set foot in.

Marc took one look at Ethan's gaunt face and haunted eyes and his expression hardened.

"What did she do to you, Ethan?"

Ethan told him everything. The threats, the grandparents, the barn, the faked death, Julian, the basement.

The words came out in halting, broken phrases, but Marc listened patiently.

When Ethan finished, Marc was silent for a long moment.

His fists were clenched, his jaw tight.

"That bitch," he finally said, his voice low and dangerous. "She's not going to get away with this."

"I... I w-want... out, Marc. I n-need to d-disappear."

"Disappear? Ethan, she'll hunt you to the ends of the earth."

"I k-know. I h-have a... p-plan. But I n-need... s-something. S-something to m-make it look... real."

Marc understood. A faked death.

"It's risky, man. Very risky."

"I h-have to. It's the o-only way."

Marc nodded slowly. "Okay. I know a guy. Works in a research lab. They've been developing... stuff. Experimental. Might be something that could work. Induce a coma, death-like state. Hard to detect without specific tests."

Hope, a tiny, fragile thing, flickered in Ethan's chest.

"G-get it," he whispered.

A week later, Vicky hosted a lavish charity gala in the Hamptons.

It was the social event of the season. Hundreds of guests, all dripping with wealth and influence.

Ethan stood by Vicky's side, a mannequin in a tuxedo.

He was waiting.

Part of his plan with Marc involved creating public scenes, moments of humiliation that would make his eventual "desperate act" more believable.

Julian Astor, of course, was there, preening and basking in Vicky's attention.

Suddenly, the giant screens around the ballroom, meant to display images of the charity's good work, flickered.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Instead of smiling children, the screens showed grainy, humiliating photos.

Photos of Ethan.

From his high school days.

Him, younger, thinner, his face contorted in a pained grimace.

In one, he was covered in what looked like diner refuse, his clothes torn. A cruel hazing incident.

The photos were deeply personal, shameful. Things he had buried deep.

He felt the blood drain from his face.

How?

Vicky stared at the screens, her face a mask of fury.

She turned on Ethan, her voice a low hiss that carried over the sudden silence in the ballroom.

"What is this? How dare you embarrass me like this? In front of everyone?"

Julian stepped forward, feigning shock and concern.

"Vicky, this is terrible! Poor Ethan... who would do such a thing?"

But his eyes, when they met Ethan's, were full of triumph.

This was Julian's doing. Another way to torment him, to turn Vicky further against him.

Vicky didn't care about the source. She only cared about the public shame.

"You are a disgrace, Ethan!" she seethed. "You bring nothing but filth and embarrassment to this family!"

She grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his skin.

"We're leaving. Now."

She dragged him through the stunned crowd, a public spectacle of her wrath.

Ethan didn't try to explain. He knew she wouldn't listen.

He had expected something like this, orchestrated by Julian. It fit the pattern.

This public humiliation served his purpose too.

It built the narrative of a man pushed to the brink.

Back at the Hamptons mansion, Vicky's rage was undiminished.

She paced the room like a caged animal.

"How could those photos get out? Who leaked them?"

Ethan remained silent. He knew the answer. Julian.

But accusing Julian would be pointless. Vicky was blind to his manipulations.

She rounded on Ethan.

"This is your fault! Your past! It's always dragging us down!"

He met her gaze, his own carefully blank.

The more unhinged she appeared, the more desperate he seemed, the better his plan would work.