The Broken Rise of Edward

Chapter 21

Ethan’s Point of View

“B-But he…”

Eden’s voice faltered. Her eyes darted in the direction I had gone, her expression frozen between disbelief and confusion.

I could almost imagine the storm raging in her mind.

After all, in her eyes, I was just an orphan—

A nobody who spent every spare minute after class working part-time jobs, scraping by day to day.

A broke student who wore second-hand clothes and avoided social gatherings because he couldn’t afford the bills.

And yet, what she’d just witnessed completely shattered that image.

The way that man trembled at the mere sight of me… the way he bowed, slapped himself b****y, and begged for mercy—

It went against everything she thought she knew about me.

The truth must’ve hit her like a tidal wave.

Eden hesitated for a long while before asking in a careful voice, “So… should I still find you tomorrow?”

The man’s face twitched. He immediately waved his hands, voice trembling.

“I—I was drinking too much, my mouth ran away from me! How could you take that seriously? I was wrong, Miss, completely wrong!”

SLAP!

Another deafening sound echoed through the hall as his palm struck his face again.

“My joke crossed the line!” he stammered. “I’ll buy you a Louis Vuitton bag and have it shipped to you tomorrow. Please accept it as my apology!”

Eden just stood there, dumbfounded. Her perfectly painted lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

Her mind spun with questions. Finally, she blurted, “Adam… why are you so afraid of Ethan Cole? Does he… does he have some sort of special status?”

The man froze mid-motion. He stared at her, disbelief flickering in his eyes, as if she’d just said something suicidal.

“You don’t know?” he asked slowly.

Eden shook her head, still in shock.

Adam hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice to a nervous whisper. “I can’t reveal the details, but… all I can tell you is that Mr. Cole is not someone you can even begin to imagine. He’s an unimaginably powerful man. Even Donovan Clark has to suck up to him!”

The words hit Eden like a thunderclap.

Her lips trembled. Even Donovan Clark?

The same Donovan Clark who ruled Miami City’s underworld like a king—feared by businessmen, politicians, and police alike?

She found it hard to breathe.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her eyes wide with confusion and disbelief. “Unimaginably powerful…?” she murmured under her breath.

Adam looked miserable, his face swollen and streaked with sweat. He clasped his hands together and began to beg, his tone pitiful.

“Miss, we’ve known each other a long time. Please… don’t make things worse for me. I’m begging you—please explain the situation to Mr. Cole! Tell him I didn’t mean to insult His Majesty!”

His Majesty.

Eden’s pupils dilated slightly at the phrase.

How terrified was this man that he actually called me His Majesty?

Her throat went dry. For a moment, she couldn’t form words.

Finally, she nodded stiffly, her voice faint. “O… okay. I’ll explain it to him.”

Adam exhaled in relief, his hands still trembling as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

Eden, however, just stood there—frozen, her mind completely blank.

The image of me—the “broke, useless orphan”—was gone.

And in its place stood a mystery far more terrifying than she could comprehend.

“Thank you, Miss!” the man exhaled sharply, his voice trembling with relief. His whole body quivered, like a man who had just escaped death itself. “Rest assured, the Louis Vuitton bag will be delivered by tomorrow! I won’t trouble you anymore.”

He gave a deep bow before hurrying off, practically tripping over his own feet as he fled.

Eden stood there, frozen. Her eyes lingered on the hallway where the man disappeared, then shifted toward the premier room’s grand door.

Shock flickered in her gaze — confusion, disbelief — but then something inside her seemed to harden.

Her spine straightened, her lips pressed together. Determination replaced hesitation.

As for me… I was oblivious to all of that.

I strolled into the premier room casually, hands tucked into my pockets. The moment I stepped in, the murmur of voices and gasps filled the air. My classmates were already there, their faces a mix of wonder and disbelief.

The room stretched wide before us — nearly four thousand square feet of polished luxury. Crystal chandeliers bathed everything in soft light, and the scent of imported wine lingered faintly in the air. The walls were adorned with gold-framed art pieces; even the carpet looked expensive enough to make someone hesitate before stepping on it.

To call it a “room” was an understatement.

It felt more like a private banquet hall reserved for billionaires.

Four long dining tables, each large enough to seat ten people, gleamed beneath the chandeliers. A corner held a lounge with a karaoke box and velvet couches. Another section had tables for cards and pool, and the far end of the room featured massive flat-screen TVs and a mini bar stocked with imported liquor.

It had everything—comfort, luxury, and the kind of opulence most of my classmates had only seen on TV.

“Oh my! So this is the premier room!” someone gasped behind me. “It’s so fancy!”

“It even has a karaoke box!” another squealed, already flipping through the songbook. “Wait—I’m singing first!”

“Woah, look at this silverware,” a girl whispered, lifting a spoon carefully as if afraid it would break. “I swear this is Swarovski crystal. A thousand dollars a set!”

The chatter filled the air like static.

But then, Gideon’s voice cut through it.

He was standing near the center of the room, arms folded, lips curled into a smirk. His eyes glinted with that familiar look of disdain — the kind of arrogance that couldn’t stand to see anyone else shine.

“Stop acting like country bumpkins,” he snapped, clapping his hands once to draw everyone’s attention. “It’s just a room. Hurry up and sit down. We’re going to order.”

The room went quiet for a moment.

Then Gideon turned toward me. His smile was polite, but his tone dripped with mockery.

“This could only happen because of your generosity, Mr. Cole,” he said, the title rolling off his tongue like poison wrapped in honey. “Please, come—have a seat at the head table.”

I met his gaze and smiled lightly. “All right.”

Without missing a beat, I reached for Mario, who was still gawking at the chandelier like he’d stepped into heaven. “Come on,” I said, tugging him gently by the arm.

Together, we walked toward the main table — the one Gideon had oh-so-graciously offered.

He had no idea what game he was trying to play.

And I was more than ready to see how far he’d dare to take it.