Chapter Two
1154 Words
Lorenzo Vitale.
That was the name the underworld whispered with caution. But in the polished city of Blackwood, he was Ethan Todd—the cold, unreadable billionaire who had built a kingdom from ash and blood.
He stood on his office balcony, motionless, staring out into the empty horizon. Smoke curled faintly from the unlit cigarette between his fingers. Below, the city moved like ants in a glass cage—restless, unaware, forgetful. But Ethan remembered everything.
Unpleasant memories flickered through his mind like an old film reel. Then—footsteps. Soft but deliberate.
He didn’t turn.
Instead, his fingers drifted to his coat pocket, curling around the cool handle of a gun.
The man behind him paused just short of reaching him.
“I have two envelopes for you, sir,” came the voice—steady, familiar.
Kyle
Ethan slowly released the grip on the gun. His hand dropped. He flicked the unlit cigarette into the wind and turned around.
Kyle stepped forward and opened the first envelope. A single sheet of paper—stained in deep red.
Ethan raised a brow. The words scrawled across it read: “We are coming for you.”
He scoffed and handed it back wordlessly. His eyes flicked toward the steel trash bin in the corner of the room. Kyle nodded and went to discard it without question.
Just then, a name cut through the soft hum of background noise. Rai.
Ethan froze.
The television in his study had been murmuring all day, mostly ignored—until now. He strode inside, silent as shadow, his attention locking onto the screen.
A news channel.
A reporter smiled into the camera. “Today, we’re joined by the prestigious Rai family…”
They were seated together—Mr. Tony Rai, his wife, and their perfect, camera-ready daughter, Olivia.
Ethan’s gaze sharpened.
The pleasantries continued, until the reporter’s next question shifted the tone.
“Mr. Rai, once again the viewers are disappointed your second daughter couldn’t join us. Is there a reason for her absence?”
Tony Rai’s smile faltered. “My second daughter values privacy. I’ve tried convincing her to join one of these interviews, but she always declines.”
The reporter pressed on. “Some say you're ashamed of her because she’s disabled. Is that true, Mr. Rai?”
Rai chuckled nervously. “People can say what they want. I love both my daughters. Very much.”
“Lastly, there are rumors you plan to marry her off in secret. Any truth to that?”
Rai stood abruptly. “I think we’ve answered enough questions for today.” His wife and daughter followed.
The reporter's voice continued but Ethan was no longer listening.
Ethan’s jaw clenched. He poured himself a glass of Scotch—neat. As the cold amber liquid slid down his throat, a quiet, humorless laugh escaped his lips.
Kyle, who had returned by then, waited silently. Once the laughter ceased, he stepped forward again.
“The second envelope, sir.”
He opened it carefully and read aloud.
“The Rai family is pleased to inform you that all arrangements for the alliance have been completed on their end…”
Ethan’s lips curved into a faint smile. Not of joy—but of precision. Of control.
He leaned back, the glass cradled between his fingers, as the city lights flickered like dying stars beyond the window.
___
The car ride home was tense. Olivia crossed her arms, fuming in the backseat, her makeup slightly smudged and her designer heels kicked off in frustration.
“I wore Versace, Mum,” she snapped, the moment they walked through the grand doors of the Rai estate. “Versace! And no one even noticed. All they talked about was her. That stupid question about Ava again. Every single time!”
Helena Rai sighed as she followed her daughter inside. “Darling, the media is just fishing for stories. You looked stunning, and anyone with eyes could see that.”
But Olivia was far from pacified. She twirled dramatically in the middle of the living room, the silk of her champagne-colored gown catching the light. “I looked like a damn goddess. And what did that reporter say? ‘Where is your other daughter?’ Ugh! I should’ve said she died.”
The sound of glass shattering cut through the air like a bullet.
A crystal tumbler hit the marble floor and exploded into jagged fragments. The remaining Scotch pooled darkly across the polished tiles.
“Enough!” Mr. Rai thundered, his voice deeper and more violent than thunder. His fists were clenched, his jaw locked with barely controlled fury.
Both women froze. Olivia gasped audibly. He had never raised his voice at her before. Ever.
Helena’s mouth opened in protest, but nothing came out. Olivia, stunned into silence, just stared at her father.
And then—
A quiet click of heels.
A shadow at the doorway.
Mr. Rai slowly turned, his expression shifting from fury to something smug and unreadable.
There she was.
Ava.
She stood just inside the room, her presence silent yet arresting, eyes locked not on her stepmother or sister—but on him. That glare was enough to ignite flames.
“Ava,” Olivia spat, her stunned silence exploding into anger. She started forward like a viper ready to strike, but Helena caught her by the wrist.
“Well, well,” Helena said, her tone dipped in honeyed venom. She walked forward, every movement practiced and poised. “Look who finally remembered where she belongs. The prodigal daughter of the Rai family.”
Ava said nothing. She didn’t need to. Her silence was louder than any words. Her eyes remained fixed on Mr. Rai, unreadable, accusing.
Helena didn’t like being ignored.
“I said look at me when I’m talking to you,” she hissed.
Smack!
The slap rang out, sharp and cruel. Ava’s face jerked sideways, her hair flying across her cheek. Still, she didn’t respond.
“The last time I checked, you were only dumb, not deaf,” Helena sneered. “You ungrateful little leech.”
Ava met her eyes now. Unflinching. Dangerous.
Helena’s hand came down again, sharper this time.
Ava stumbled backward—just a step, just enough—and her hand slipped.
A sharp gasp.
Blood.
Ava’s palm was pierced by a shard of glass from the broken tumbler on the floor.
She fell to her knees, the blood seeping slowly across her pale skin.
Olivia covered her mouth, stunned. Even Helena blinked, as if realizing the blow had gone too far. Mr. Rai didn’t move—he watched, unreadable, arms behind his back, as though he had been expecting this.
Ava, breathing shakily, lifted her hand and stared at the blood dripping from her palm.
But she didn’t cry.
She didn’t make a sound.
Instead, her gaze rose again—calm, defiant, fierce.
Straight at her father.
Straight through them all.
- Writer
