Chapter 1

Victoria Chase ran a manicured finger down the glossy cover of the pre-launch portfolio for her wellness brand, "Aura."

"It's perfect, David. Absolutely perfect."

She looked up at him, her smile wide but not reaching her eyes.

"There's just one tiny, little thing. A dissonance in the energy."

David Stone, my husband, leaned forward in his leather office chair, the city lights of San Francisco glittering behind him like a conquered kingdom. He lived for this, the power, the deal, the ascent.

"What is it? Tell me. I'll have it fixed."

Victoria' s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's Ethan. His... art."

She gestured vaguely, as if shooing away a bad smell.

"It's so dark, so chaotic. It carries this... heavy energy. I was looking at his latest pieces online, the ones Sarah is so proud of. They completely clash with the clean, minimalist, and positive-aspirations vibe of Aura. An investor, a big one, even mentioned it. He asked if that 'troubled' art was a reflection of the Stone family's internal state. He said it felt like a liability."

The word hung in the air. Liability.

David's face, which had been glowing with ambition, hardened. Ethan, our ten-year-old son, our beautiful, gifted boy, was now a business problem. A risk to be managed.

"I see," David said, his voice flat and cold. "Victoria, you're right. This brand launch is tied to the next round of funding. Nothing can jeopardize it. Nothing."

That night, he came home and found me in Ethan' s studio, a converted sunroom filled with canvases and the smell of turpentine and clay. Ethan was asleep, but I was looking at his latest work. It was a swirling vortex of deep blues and blacks, but in the center, there was a single, brilliant point of gold light. It wasn't dark to me. It was hopeful.

"We need to talk," David said, not even glancing at the painting.

He stood in the doorway, blocking the light from the hall.

"Ethan isn't going to his art camp this summer."

I turned, my heart starting to beat a little faster. "What? David, he lives for that camp. It's where he feels understood."

"He's going to a new program," David continued, his tone clinical, as if discussing a software update. "It's called the 'Pathways Institute.' Victoria recommended it. It's designed for creatively-inclined children from high-profile families."

"I've never heard of it."

"It's exclusive. They specialize in... creative re-education. They help children channel their talents into more constructive, marketable, and socially acceptable forms."

The words sent a chill through my whole body.

"Creative re-education? What does that even mean? You want to reprogram our son?"

"Don't be dramatic, Sarah," he snapped. "It's a minor adjustment. His current style is a problem. It's seen as a distraction, a liability to my public image, to Victoria's brand. This is for his own future benefit."

I stepped toward him, my hands clenched into fists. I could feel the desperation rising in my throat.

"His art is who he is, David! It's his soul on a canvas. You can't just send him somewhere to have it stripped away. It will crush him. It will cause damage, real psychological damage. Please, don't do this."

He looked at me with open contempt, his eyes sweeping over me as if I were a piece of outdated furniture.

"You don't get it. You, with your failed architecture career and your outdated, sentimental ideas about 'art.' You sacrificed nothing. I'm the one building an empire. I'm the one who understands what it takes to succeed in the modern world. You don't get a vote."

He turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the silence of my son's studio.

He was right about one thing. I had sacrificed my career. I was once a promising architect, top of my class. But David' s star rose so fast, and Ethan needed me, and I chose them. I chose my family. A choice he now threw back in my face as a failure.

The Pathways Institute was a cold, white building in a remote valley, with no windows facing the road. When I dropped Ethan off, he clung to me.

"I don't like it here, Mommy. It feels empty."

"It's just for a little while, sweetie," I lied, my heart breaking with every word. The staff were all dressed in white. Their smiles were fixed and unnatural.

David didn't come. He was busy with a "pre-launch press tour" with Victoria.

Two weeks later, I got the call. It wasn't from David. It was from a doctor at a hospital near the institute. His voice was devoid of emotion.

"Ma'am, there's been an incident with your son, Ethan Stone."

A pause.

"He's gone. A massive cerebral hemorrhage. The institute's director said he was in the middle of a 'breakthrough session' when it happened. We're very sorry for your loss."

The phone slipped from my hand.

Gone.

My son. My light.

The world went silent. The colors in the room faded to gray. My boy, my brilliant, hopeful boy, was gone. They had broken him. They had killed him.