Chapter 7
1130 Words
The Blackwell mansion was silent, as it often was. The kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful, but oppressive. Ethan sat alone in the cavernous study, flipping a pen between his fingers as he stared at the stack of documents on the mahogany desk in front of him.
They were contracts. Agreements. Promises he had no intention of making.
“Sign these, and you’ll secure your future.” His father’s voice echoed in his head, cold and calculating. Richard Blackwell didn’t make requests; he issued commands, and Ethan had spent the better part of his life resisting them.
The study door creaked open, and Ethan’s cousin, Tyler, strolled in. Tyler was tall and lean, with the kind of effortless charm that made him a favorite at parties and a nightmare in boardrooms. He leaned against the doorframe, smirking as usual.
“You’re still sulking in here?” Tyler drawled, his tone dripping with amusement.
Ethan didn’t look up. “I’m not sulking.”
“Right. You’re brooding. Much more sophisticated.”
Ethan shot him a glare but didn’t respond.
Tyler walked further into the room, his smirk fading slightly. “What’s it this time? Another ultimatum from the old man?”
“He wants me to sign over the next five years of my life,” Ethan said, finally pushing the contracts aside.
“Five years is nothing when you’re a Blackwell,” Tyler said, grabbing a crystal decanter from the bar and pouring himself a drink. “You sign, you smile, you inherit the empire. Easy.”
Ethan leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening. “It’s not about the money.”
“Then what is it about?” Tyler asked, genuinely curious.
Ethan hesitated. “It’s about control. My father doesn’t want a son—he wants a puppet.”
Tyler took a sip of his drink, his expression unreadable. “Well, you could always just...leave. Cut ties. Walk away.”
Ethan barked out a bitter laugh. “And go where? Do what? No matter where I go, I’ll always be Richard Blackwell’s son. There’s no escaping that.”
“True,” Tyler admitted. “But there’s a certain freedom in embracing it, don’t you think?”
Ethan didn’t reply.
***
Later that night, Ethan sat in his room scrolling through his phone. The comments on the latest news article about him were as vicious as ever.
“Another spoiled rich kid trying to clean up his image. Pathetic.”
“Ethan Blackwell at a public school? What a joke.”
“His father’s probably paying the school to keep him out of trouble.”
He tossed the phone onto his bed, his chest tightening. No matter what he did, the world had already decided who he was: the arrogant billionaire’s son, the reckless playboy, the walking PR nightmare.
The truth didn’t matter.
He glanced at his laptop, where an email from his father’s assistant waited, marked urgent. The subject line read: Upcoming Gala - Attendance Mandatory.
Ethan closed the laptop without opening the email.
***
The scandal that had landed Ethan in public school wasn’t as simple as the media made it seem. It wasn’t just about the fight at the charity auction or the smashed champagne glasses.
It was about the why.
Ethan had been defending someone—a waiter who had accidentally spilled wine on one of his father’s business partners. The man had berated the waiter loudly, humiliating him in front of the entire room. Ethan had stepped in, told the man to shut up. When that didn’t work, fists flew.
The aftermath had been messy. His father had smoothed things over with a hefty donation, but the damage was done. Ethan had embarrassed the family, tarnished the Blackwell name.
And so, the PR team had come up with the perfect punishment: public school. A calculated move to make him seem humble, relatable, even.
If only they knew how badly it was backfiring.
***
At school, Ethan wasn’t sure what to make of Ava. She was different—fiery, sharp-tongued, and completely unimpressed by his name or his money.
He hadn’t been lying when he told her she was talented. The sketch she’d shown him was incredible, full of raw emotion and creativity. It was the kind of work that made him wish he had a fraction of her passion.
But he’d also seen the way she looked at him: like he was everything she hated about the world.
Maybe she was right.
Or maybe she didn’t know him at all.
***
Back at the mansion, Ethan’s father wasn’t happy.
“This was supposed to fix things,” Richard snapped, pacing the study. “But all it’s done is give the media more ammunition.”
Ethan leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. “Maybe that’s because you can’t force people to like someone, no matter how many strings you pull.”
“This isn’t about being liked,” Richard said coldly. “It’s about maintaining control. You’re out there representing this family, whether you like it or not.”
“Newsflash, Dad: I never asked to represent this family.”
Richard stopped pacing, his gaze sharp. “Maybe not. But you don’t have a choice.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists. “I’m not signing the contracts.”
“Then you’re wasting everyone’s time,” Richard said.
For a moment, the room was silent. Then Ethan turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
***
That night, Ethan found himself sitting on the roof of the mansion, staring up at the stars.
He remembered his mom bringing him up here when he was little, back when the house didn’t feel so suffocating. She’d tell him stories about constellations, her voice soft and full of warmth.
She’d been the only person who ever made him feel like he was enough, just as he was.
But she was gone now, and all that was left was the weight of his father’s expectations.
Ethan exhaled, the cool night air biting at his skin. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep living like this, caught between who he was and who the world wanted him to be.
***
The next morning, the tension between Ethan and Ava was palpable as they sat in the art room.
“Rough night?” Ava asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
“You could say that,” Ethan said, his tone clipped.
Ava hesitated, then said, “For what it’s worth, I get it. Feeling like you don’t belong.”
Ethan looked at her, surprised. For a moment, he saw a flicker of something in her eyes—something that made him wonder if they weren’t so different after all.
- Writer
