The King in Disguise

Chapter 3 – The Awakening

Long after Ethan put the phone down on the nightstand, its glow persisted. His thoughts were racing with Marcus Hale's words as he lay in the guestroom bed, gazing up at the ceiling:

The time has come. The king must return.

It had been years since he had heard from Marcus. Not since the Blackwell shadow hid his real name. Not since he put on the guise of humility in the hopes that love would be sufficient to keep him going.

But betrayal had taken the place of love, which had decayed.

Ethan's jaw tightened as he rolled onto his side. A faint sound of laughter came from Vivienne's bedroom through the wall. She hadn't even made an effort to conceal Damian's presence this evening.

He could walk in there, confront them, and demand answers. But that wasn’t who he was—not anymore.

No, confrontation was too small. What he needed was revelation.

He had to show the world who he truly was.

The choice was made by morning.

Wearing only a dark shirt and slacks, Ethan got up early and slipped out of the mansion before the Blackwells woke up. His staff didn't question him because they were too used to his invisibility.

The air in the city was crisp, cool, and purifying. It had been years since he had been able to walk these streets freely without feeling the Blackwells' condemnation weighing him down. But every step was significant today. Every step was a comeback.

He called a cab and gave the driver an address he hadn't spoken to in three years. To the untrained eye, Midtown is just another high-rise office block. However, one of the silent strongholds of the Crosswell dynasty was located inside its walls.

Ethan stepped onto the kerb as the cab came to a stop and experienced a recognisable rush in his chest. It was like stepping back into his skin.

Using a black card he still had in his wallet, he walked in through a side door. The lock opened with a click. Inside, polished marble and subdued luxury shone in the lobby. Two suit-clad men looked up from where they were standing at the front desk.

Using a black card he still had in his wallet, he walked in through a side door. The lock opened with a click. Inside, polished marble and subdued luxury shone in the lobby. Two suit-clad men looked up from where they were standing at the front desk.

Instant recognition flickered. They stood up straight and made a respectful gesture with their fists briefly crossing over their chests.

One whispered, "Your Highness."

Ethan nodded curtly and continued walking towards the lift without slowing.

It had begun.

On the 47th floor, the doors opened to reveal a suite built for power, not show. The far wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over Manhattan. Near the centre was a heavy oak desk, now empty.

But someone waited by the window.

Marcus Hale.

Ethan had once trusted Marcus with his life; he was tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired with his hair cropped close to the shoulder, and he had piercing blue eyes. Wearing a well-tailored suit, he radiated the assurance that only authority could bestow.

His lips curled into the smallest of smiles as he turned.

Marcus remarked, "You took your time."

The sound of his voice made Ethan's chest constrict. Too much time had passed.

Ethan answered, "I had my reasons."

Marcus looked at him for a long time, evaluating. "Ethan, three years. Serving the Blackwells for three years. I told you it was a mistake.”

"I had to believe," Ethan muttered. He walked over to the window and gazed out at the city's glittering expanse. "I had to think she loved me for me."

"And now?"

Ethan tightened his jaw. "I now understand the reality."

Marcus moved in closer, his voice urgent and low. Then stop it. Remove the mask with a tear. The dynasty is anticipating your arrival. The city whispers of weakness, your mother questions your silence, and your father becomes agitated. Ethan, you were never supposed to kneel. You were destined to rule.

Something inside of Ethan that had been dormant for too long was stirred by the words.

Born to rule.

His eyes were cold and piercing as he turned to face Marcus. "I don't simply come back as Ethan Cross if I do. I come back as the heir. Either the world will burn, or it will bow.

Marcus's face lit up slowly. “That’s the man I remember.”

Their voices were low but full of purpose, and they talked for hours. Everything Ethan had missed was explained by Marcus, including changes in the dynasty's alliances, rivalry among them, and rumours of corruption that threatened their hold on the city.

Ethan listened silently through it all, taking in every detail. His mind was working quickly, already incorporating ideas into plans.

He had been made fun of by the Blackwells, but they were unaware of the storm that was approaching them.

Marcus leaned back against the desk at last, his eyes unwavering. "How about her?"

Ethan didn't require explanation. "Vivienne?"

Marcus gave a nod.

Ethan turned back to the window and let out a slow exhale. Sharp and commanding, his reflection looked back at him, unlike the man the Blackwells had written off as a nobody.

"She made her decision," Ethan stated icily. "And she'll put up with it."

"Well done." Marcus pushed the desk away. "All right, let's get started."

To avoid being noticed, they went out of the building through a private exit. Marcus took Ethan to the underground garage, where a sleek black car was waiting.

With every block that went by, Ethan felt the weight of chains slipping away as the city merged beyond the tinted windows. He wasn't invisible for the first time in years. He wasn't laughed at or written off. He was himself.

At a secret estate on the outskirts of the city, manned by men in suits brandishing covert weapons, the vehicle came to a stop. Ethan discovered document-filled rooms, financial market screens, and political influence maps inside.

The dynasty was thriving and alive, just waiting for his hand to lead the way.

After pouring two glasses of whisky, Marcus gave Ethan one.

"To your return," Marcus said.

Ethan raised the glass but refrained from taking a sip. Determination blazed in his eyes. "This goes beyond a simple return. This is a reckoning.

Hours later, Ethan stood by himself on the estate's balcony after spending the night going over documents and plans. Below, the forest was silent and dark, a far cry from the Blackwell mansion's constant cacophony.

He could breathe here. He could think here.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed. Vivienne knew he carried the regular one, not the sleek black one.

Frowning at the unidentified number flashing on the screen, he took it out.

After he paused, he responded.

"Ethan Cross?" A man's low, derisive voice drawled.

"Yes."

"I know you, but you don't know me. I am aware of your true nature. And someone else does, too.

Ethan gripped the phone more tightly. "Who is this?"

The man gave a gloomy laugh. "Let's just say that the Blackwells are going to discover that they never had control over their puppet."

The queue died.

With the forest in front of him and the city lights dimly visible in the distance, Ethan stood motionless. His heart pounded with something sharper than fear.

The mask was falling off more quickly than he had planned.

Someone else knew.

And if the Blackwells were about to find out… then the game would ignite sooner than he’d planned.