Chapter 3:First Taste of Power
1532 Words
Ethan Blake barely slept.
Every time his eyes closed, the same images returned like ghosts refusing to leave him alone.
Vanessa standing beside Logan.
The laughter.
The rain pouring over campus lights.
Arthur Vale’s unreadable expression.
The black envelope.
And the sentence written in his father’s unmistakable handwriting:
If you are reading this, then you survived.
But above all else, one thing kept replaying in his mind.
The number.
Four hundred billion dollars.
Even now, it sounded absurd. Impossible. The kind of figure people only whispered about in documentaries and fantasy novels.
Yet the black phone still rested on the folding table across the room,Silent, Cold,Watching.
And his bank account still displayed the same impossible balance.
$5,000,000.00
No correction notice.
No frozen account.
No fraud alert.
Just five million dollars sitting quietly beneath his name as if it had always belonged there.
Morning sunlight slipped through the cracked blinds of his apartment, painting pale lines across the worn wooden floor.
Ethan sat at the edge of his mattress, staring at his phone for nearly ten minutes before finally standing.
Enough.
He needed proof.
Not words.
Not mysterious messages.
Not dead men and hidden fortunes.
but facts.
He threw on a black shirt, faded jeans, and his old sneakers before grabbing his backpack and heading out into the city.
****
The world looked different in daylight.
Sharper.
Cleaner.
As if secrets were hidden beneath every polished surface.
Traffic crawled through crowded intersections while businessmen hurried past carrying expensive coffee and leather briefcases. Luxury cars glided beside cracked sidewalks where exhausted workers waited for buses.
Two completely different worlds existing side by side.
Ethan had always belonged to the poorer one.
Today, he wasn’t sure where he stood anymore.
Three blocks later, he stopped in front of a downtown bank branch.
Tall glass windows reflected the city skyline. Marble columns framed the entrance. Security cameras watched every angle.
Everything about the place radiated money.
Normally, Ethan would have avoided a building like this without a second glance.
Today, he pushed the doors open and walked inside.
Cool air brushed against his skin.
The interior smelled faintly of polished wood, expensive perfume, and fresh coffee.
At the reception desk, a woman in a tailored navy suit looked up with a practiced smile.
“Good morning, sir. How may I help you?”
Sir.
The word almost made him turn around to check who she was talking to.
“I just need the ATM,” he replied quietly.
“Of course.”
Her smile remained polite, though her eyes briefly scanned his worn clothes and scuffed sneakers.
Judgment.
Subtle, but familiar.
Ethan ignored it and walked toward the machines at the back.
He inserted his card.
Entered his PIN.
Waited.
The loading symbol spun for two agonizing seconds before the screen changed.
Available Balance: $5,000,000.00
His breath caught in his throat.
Still there.
He checked again.
Same number.
Again.
Same result.
This wasn’t a mistake.
This wasn’t a dream.
It was real.
The ATM gave a soft electronic beep, almost mocking the disbelief frozen on his face.
Ethan slowly selected Withdraw Cash.
Five hundred dollars.
The machine processed the request before crisp bills slid neatly into the tray.
For a long moment, he simply stared at the money in his hands.
Real money.
His money.
Something shifted inside him then not greed, not excitement.
but Relief.
Pure, overwhelming relief.
For years, he had lived like a man drowning inch by inch.
Counting coins before buying food.
Skipping meals to pay rent.
Pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.
Now, for the first time in years, he could finally breathe.
A small smile touched his lips.
A genuine one.
Maybe the first real smile he’d had in months.
****
The first thing Ethan bought wasn’t luxury.
It was groceries.
He walked into a nearby market and filled a basket slowly, almost cautiously.
Fresh bread.
Chicken.
Rice.
Eggs.
Milk.
Vegetables.
Coffee.
Fruit.
Simple things most people bought without thought.
To Ethan, they felt almost extravagant.
At the checkout counter, the cashier ,a middle-aged man with tired eyes and graying hair—rang up the total.
“Eighty-four dollars.”
Ethan handed him a hundred-dollar bill.
The man blinked before looking up with a faint grin.
“Big day?”
Ethan considered the question for a moment.
Then he smiled slightly.
“Maybe.”
The cashier nodded as he handed back the change.
“Well… I hope it gets bigger.”
Ethan walked out carrying two bags of groceries, and strangely enough, that nearly broke him.
Not the millions.
Not the inheritance.
Not the mystery surrounding his father.
Food.
Simple food.
That was the thing that made the reality hit hardest.
****
His next stop was Apartment 309.
And his landlord.
Mr. Harris.
Fifty-eight years old. Permanently irritated. Always smelling of cigarette smoke and stale coffee.
The door opened halfway before the older man frowned.
“You got my money, or another excuse?”
Ethan met his gaze calmly.
“How much do I owe?”
Mr. Harris crossed his arms with obvious satisfaction.
“Three months’ rent. Utilities. Late fees.”
He named the amount.
Without hesitation, Ethan pulled out the cash.
Then added extra.
Mr. Harris stared at the bills in stunned silence.
“What’s this?”
“Everything,” Ethan answered evenly.
The landlord counted the money twice before narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“Where’d you get this?”
Ethan slipped his hands into his pockets.
“For the first time in my life?”
A faint smile appeared on his face.
“That’s none of your business.”
Before the older man could respond, Ethan turned and walked away.
And for once, he enjoyed leaving someone else speechless.
****
Later that afternoon, Ethan found himself standing outside a clothing store downtown.
Not luxury.
But refined.
Clean lines. Dark glass. Sharp displays.
The kind of place he used to walk past without daring to enter.
Today, he stepped inside.
A saleswoman approached him almost immediately, offering a warm, professional smile.
“Looking for anything specific?”
Ethan glanced toward the mannequins dressed in fitted jackets and polished boots.
“Something simple,” he said.
Then after a pause:
“But sharp.”
Her smile widened slightly.
“I can help with that.”
An hour later, Ethan stood in front of a mirror and barely recognized the man staring back at him.
Dark fitted jeans.
Black Chelsea boots.
A charcoal button-up shirt tailored perfectly across his shoulders.
A black jacket that transformed his entire posture.
Ethan had never been weak.
Years of construction work and warehouse jobs had carved lean muscle into his frame. Broad shoulders. Defined arms. Quiet strength.
He had simply never worn clothes that revealed it.
The saleswoman folded her arms with an approving smile.
“You clean up very well.”
Ethan looked at his reflection again.
Really looked.
Sharp jawline.
Silver-gray eyes.
Calm intensity.
Pain.
Anger.
Hunger.
He looked dangerous.
Not because of money.
Because suffering had sharpened him into something harder than before.
For the first time in years, he saw a man worth noticing.
And somehow, spending money without checking the price tags felt stranger than the millions themselves.
****
That evening, Ethan returned to his apartment carrying shopping bags in both hands.
He cooked a proper meal.
Chicken.
Rice.
Vegetables.
Nothing expensive.
Nothing flashy.
But as the smell filled the tiny apartment, the room suddenly felt less empty.
More alive.
He sat alone at the folding table and ate slowly in silence.
Then his eyes drifted toward the shattered remains of Vanessa’s mug still lying in the corner.
Without expression, Ethan stood.
Walked over.
And picked up every broken piece one by one.
No anger.
No bitterness.
Just closure.
When he returned to the table, the black phone lit up.
No ringtone.
No vibration.
Only a message from an unknown sender.
How does power feel?
Ethan stared at the screen before typing back.
Who is this?
Three dots appeared.
Then another message arrived.
That depends.
A second later:
Who are you becoming?
Ethan frowned.
Before he could respond, another message appeared.
Look in the mirror.
Slowly, he turned toward the cracked mirror hanging beside the bathroom door.
He stepped closer.
Same face.
Same scars.
Same eyes.
Yet something had changed.
Yesterday, he looked like a man the world had defeated.
Today, he looked like someone capable of fighting back.
Rain began tapping softly against the windows again.
Cold.
Steady.
Familiar.
Ethan stared at his reflection for a long moment before speaking quietly.
Almost like a vow.
“Nobody…”
His jaw tightened.
“Will ever look down on me again.”
Silence followed.
Then the black phone vibrated once more.
A new message appeared.
Good. Training begins tomorrow.
Ethan narrowed his eyes.
Training?
Before he could reply, another message arrived.
A photograph.
An elegant private building downtown.
Below it:
6:00 AM
And beneath that, a final instruction.
Don’t be late.
Ethan stared at the screen for several seconds before a slow smile spread across his face.
Cold.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
Because for the first time in his life—
he wasn’t afraid of tomorrow.
He was ready for it.
- Writer
