Chapter 2

Ashley and Victoria were constants at the rehab facility.

They brought flowers, expensive gifts, sat by his bed for hours.

Their faces were masks of loving concern.

"Ethan, you're looking a little better today," Ashley would say, her voice smooth.

Victoria would fluff his pillows, offer him water, her touch gentle.

"We're here for you, every step of the way," she'd murmur.

Ethan watched them.

He saw the calculation in Ashley's eyes, the flicker of unease in Victoria's.

Their care felt like spiders crawling on his skin.

He'd nod, say little. The effort to speak, to pretend, was immense.

Inside, he was a volcano of silent rage.

They made sure their devotion was public.

When he was allowed short trips in a wheelchair in the facility's garden, they were there.

Ashley, powerful CEO, pushing his chair, speaking softly to him.

Victoria, ever chic, holding a sunshade over him, adjusting his blanket.

Nurses and other patients saw them, whispered about their loyalty.

"Such a devoted sister."

"His fiancée is an angel."

Ethan wanted to scream.

He felt a wave of nausea every time they touched him.

Their hypocrisy was a suffocating stench.

One afternoon, they left him in the sunroom, saying they needed to speak to his doctor.

He waited, then slowly, painfully, wheeled himself towards the corridor.

He needed to be away from their cloying presence.

As he neared the doctor's office, he heard their voices.

Ashley's, sharp and clear.

"The new medication, is it keeping him docile enough? We can't have any outbursts."

Victoria's reply was softer.

"He's mostly quiet. But his eyes, Ash... sometimes they look so empty. Or worse, like he knows."

"Nonsense. He's broken. That's what we needed."

Ethan stopped, his heart pounding. Deeper plots. Docile enough.

He backed away, his hands shaking on the wheels of his chair.

A few days later, they arranged a small "outing."

A trip to a quiet park, they said. For fresh air.

Jason came along.

His face was a picture of sympathy.

"Ethan, I'm so sorry this happened to you, brother."

The lie was effortless.

As they walked a secluded path, Jason leaned close.

"Heard you won't be drafting anymore. Shame."

Then, a group of reporters appeared, cameras flashing.

Ashley looked surprised, then protective.

"Please, he needs his rest!"

But Jason stepped forward.

"It's a tragedy," he said to the cameras. "My brother, a true talent, struck down."

Then, a woman from the crowd, likely planted, shouted.

"Isn't it true, Mr. Price, that Ethan Miller was always reckless? That he had gambling debts?"

More shouts. False accusations.

"Did his dangerous lifestyle lead to this?"

Ethan felt a surge of terror, of shame. This was a public execution of his character.

Ashley and Victoria rushed to his side.

"How dare you!" Ashley yelled at the reporters. "He's a victim!"

They quickly wheeled him away, their faces masks of righteous anger.

"Don't listen to them, Ethan," Victoria cooed, stroking his arm.

He looked at their faces, their performance.

It was a bitter, cynical show.

They weren't just content with destroying his career.

They wanted to destroy his name, his spirit, everything he was.

He understood now. Utter destruction.

A cold fury settled deep within him.