Chapter 2 2

Chapter Two: Burn It All Down

The tequila hit first. Then the whiskey. Both burning down my throat, one after the other like I was trying to drown something that refused to die.

The bartender didn't ask questions. Maybe he'd seen enough wrecked men tonight to know when to keep quiet. Good for him. I didn't want to talk. Talking meant remembering, and remembering hurt.

I kept my eyes on the counter, tracing the thin line of condensation from my glass. The sound of laughter floated from a corner booth, couples, maybe, celebrating something stupid like anniversaries or promotions. For a second, I almost turned to look, but I stopped myself. I didn't want to see happy faces tonight. I didn't want to see anything that reminded me of what I'd lost.

My phone buzzed for the tenth time. I flipped it over and saw her name again Sally. I let it ring until it stopped. Then I turned the phone off completely. She didn't get to do that. Not anymore.

It's funny how quiet heartbreak sounds. It's not screaming or throwing things. It's just silence, the kind that eats you from the inside.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. I looked older. Not in a "time has passed" kind of way, but like something had been scraped out of me. My eyes were red, not from the alcohol, but from everything I'd tried not to feel.

"Another round?"

the bartender asked.

I nodded. He poured without a word. The man was a saint.

As the glass slid toward me, I thought about that house, Sally's mother's house the smell of expensive candles, the ticking of the damn clock on the wall that made everything feel slower. I could still hear her mother's voice in my head. You're a disgrace, Ethan.

Maybe I was. I couldn't even defend myself. I just stood there and let them destroy me. Because somewhere in my stupid heart, I thought Sally would speak up. I thought love meant she would.

Turns out, love doesn't mean anything when money's in the room.

I lifted the glass and drank again, the burn sharper this time. "Cheers," I muttered to no one, "to being a fool."

The man sitting two stools away looked at me like I'd grown another head. I didn't care.

I was angry not just at Sally, not even at her mother but at myself. For believing in something so fragile. For thinking love could fix the way people looked at me. I worked my ass off for that woman, gave her everything I could. And in the end, a few pictures were all it took to erase me.

I wanted to laugh, but my throat tightened instead.

Maybe I wasn't good enough. Maybe she was right to let me go. Maybe the whole thing was doomed from the start.

My hand trembled slightly as I reached for the glass again. I caught myself halfway and set it down. The room was starting to spin a little, or maybe it was just me. I rested my elbows on the counter, pressing my palms against my face.

"Get it together, Ethan," I muttered under my breath. But even that sounded hollow.

The truth was, I didn't know who I was without her. Everything I did, every late-night code I wrote, every job I took, it was for her. And now... what?

Now I was just a man with a broken ring finger and too much pride to cry.

A song played low through the speakers, something slow, full of strings and heartbreak. I hated how fitting it was. I wanted noise, something loud enough to drown out my thoughts. But this bar was made for pain. Soft lights, slow music, cheap comfort.

I grabbed the whiskey again.

"This one's for you, Sally," I whispered before finishing it. "And for the bastard I used to be."

The door opened, cold air cutting through the warmth inside. Someone walked in, tall, confident. I didn't care enough to look. Not until I heard a voice I hadn't heard in years.

"Ethan Hank? No freaking way."

I turned slowly. My eyes blinked against the dim light. Derrick Statham. Of course. The last person I expected to see tonight.

He grinned, that same easy grin he always had in high school, the one that made girls blush and guys want to punch him. He clapped me on the shoulder like we were old pals.

"Man, it's been what.. ten years? You look like hell," he said, half-laughing.

I tried to smile, but it didn't stick.

"Thanks. That's what betrayal does to you."

His grin faded a little.

"Rough night?"

I huffed. "You could say that."

He slid onto the stool beside me.

"Talk to me. You look like you're carrying a whole damn building on your back."

I didn't want to talk, but something about the way he said it, casually, not pitying, made me give in. I told him everything. Not neatly. Not clean. Just raw, broken sentences spilling out between swallows of whiskey. The lies, the pictures, the silence, the moment I signed the papers. By the end, my throat was dry again, and not from the alcohol.

Derrick just sat there, quiet. No judgment. When I finished, he let out a slow whistle.

"Damn, man. That's cold."

I nodded.

"Yeah. I think I finally get it now. People don't care how much you love them. They care how much you're worth."

He leaned back, looking thoughtful. "Then make them care. Make them see what they threw away."

I scoffed.

"With what? My empty pockets and bad reputation?"

"Maybe not for long," he said. "I'm building something, AI systems, machine learning tech. It's big, but I need someone who gets it. You were always the brain, Ethan. You helped me pass physics for Christ's sake."

I stared at him for a long second, unsure if I was drunk enough to believe him.

"You're serious?"

"As a heart attack." He smirked. "Do you want to stay here drinking or build an empire that'll make those people regret ever crossing you?"

I didn't answer right away. My head felt heavy, but somewhere deep down, something flickered. Maybe it was anger, or maybe it was the last bit of hope I hadn't killed yet.

Finally, I nodded. "Alright. Let's build it."

He grinned and raised his glass.

"To get revenge, then."

I lifted mine too, the amber liquid trembling under the light. "To revenge."

We drank. The whiskey burned again, but this time it didn't taste like defeat. It tasted like the start of something dangerous.

As I walked out of the bar later, the night air felt colder. My shirt clung to me, the smell of smoke and alcohol thick on my skin. But I didn't care. Somewhere inside, I felt alive again, not whole, not healed, but ready.

They took everything from me. Now it's my turn.