Chapter 3 – Flash and Fractures
1177 Words
The first morning Ethan woke up as a Walker, he forgot where he was.
He rolled over expecting the thin mattress of his Brooklyn apartment.
Instead, his hand brushed against silk sheets.
He shot upright.
Massive bedroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Manhattan skyline glowing in the distance. A closet larger than his father’s living room.
Right.
He was married.
To a woman who hadn’t opened her eyes.
A soft knock came at the door.
“Mr. Walker?” a butler’s voice called gently.
Mr. Walker.
That still felt illegal.
“Yes?”
“Your car has been prepared.”
“My car?”
“The Lamborghini, sir.”
Of course.
Thirty minutes later, Ethan stood in the east garage again.
Rows. And rows. And rows.
Ferrari. McLaren. Rolls-Royce. Bentley. Aston Martin. Porsche. Every color imaginable. Every engine is a beast waiting to roar.
He ran his hand over a matte-black Lamborghini Aventador.
“You and me,” he muttered.
When the engine started, the sound echoed through the estate like a declaration of war.
War against poverty.
War against being invisible.
War against his old life.
Pulling up to his old college campus was cinematic.
Heads turned immediately.
Students stopped mid-conversation.
Phones came out.
Marcus was waiting by the entrance, pretending to scroll casually on his phone — failing miserably.
Ethan stepped out slowly, sunglasses on, suit sharp.
Marcus stared.
“You look like you sold your soul.”
“Maybe I leased it,” Ethan replied.
They both laughed.
That laugh felt real. Familiar. Safe.
For a moment, Ethan felt like himself again.
Until whispers started.
“Is that Ethan Miller?”
“Didn’t he drop out?”
“Who is he working for?”
“Did he win the lottery?”
A group of girls walked by, giggling openly.
“Hi, Ethan,” one of them purred.
Three weeks ago, they barely noticed him.
Now?
He was magnetic.
Money doesn’t change people.
It changes how people look at you.
In the administration building, something even stranger happened.
Ethan and Marcus sat down for what was supposed to be a formal interview for re-enrollment and internship placement.
The dean entered with a bright smile.
“Mr. Walker.”
That surname again.
“Yes?”
“We’ve reviewed your file.”
Ethan braced himself.
“You’re accepted. Full reinstatement. Internship placement confirmed.”
“What? But I didn’t—”
“And your friend?” The dean turned to Marcus.
“Yes?” Marcus squeaked.
“Also accepted.”
Silence.
“No interview?” Marcus asked.
The dean smiled politely.
“The Walker Foundation has recently expanded its educational support initiatives.”
There it was.
The invisible hand.
Lopez.
The family.
They had already moved the chess pieces.
Ethan felt a strange mix of gratitude and discomfort.
He hadn’t earned this.
Not fully.
As they left the building, Marcus punched his arm.
“Bro. You’re different now.”
“How?”
“You walk like the ground owes you rent.”
Ethan laughed.
But something inside him tightened.
Was he becoming what he used to resent?
That afternoon, they took the Lamborghini for a joyride around campus.
Marcus shouted out the window like a maniac.
“WE MADE IT!”
Students stared.
Security guards glared.
Ethan couldn’t stop smiling.
For a brief moment, the absurdity of it all was hilarious.
The dropout was back.
And richer than half the faculty.
But comedy has an expiration date.
By evening, when Ethan returned to the estate, reality was waiting.
He went straight to Tasha’s room.
The lights were dim again.
The machines hummed steadily.
He loosened his tie and sat beside her.
“Today was… weird,” he said softly.
Nothing.
“I went back to school.”
He glanced at her face.
Still peaceful.
“Apparently I’m impressive now.”
He leaned back in the chair.
“You know what’s crazy? Three weeks ago I couldn’t afford lunch. Now people treat me like I invented money.”
He paused.
“I didn’t earn it.”
Silence.
He leaned closer.
“You didn’t earn what happened to you either.”
His voice softened.
“That’s not fair.”
He reached for her hand again.
Warmer today? Or was he imagining it?
“Your sister thinks I’m some kind of catalyst,” he murmured. “I’m just a guy who got desperate.”
His thumb brushed gently against her fingers.
Then—
Was that—
A twitch.
Ethan froze.
He stared at her hand.
“Did you—?”
Nothing.
He leaned closer.
“Tasha?”
The machines remained steady.
Maybe he imagined it.
Maybe he wanted it too badly.
The door opened quietly.
The doctor entered with his team.
“Everything stable?” Ethan asked quickly.
The doctor checked the monitors.
“Yes. No significant change.”
Ethan hesitated.
“I thought I saw her move.”
The doctor glanced at him carefully.
“Describe it.”
“Her hand. A small twitch.”
The doctor examined her reflexes gently.
Sometimes, he explained, minor nerve reactions happen naturally.
Sometimes.
But he didn’t dismiss Ethan’s observation entirely.
“Continue engaging her,” the doctor said. “Stimulus is good.”
After they left, Ethan stayed longer than usual.
He leaned closer.
“If that was you,” he whispered, “do it again.”
Silence.
He laughed softly.
“Okay, that sounded dramatic.”
He sat back down.
“Listen… I don’t know who you were before the accident. I don’t know what you like. I don’t know your favorite music. But I’m here.”
He swallowed.
“And I’m not just here for the money.”
That part surprised him.
Because it was true.
Later that night, Lopez intercepted him in the hallway.
“You were with her longer today.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ethan shrugged.
“She deserves someone to talk to.”
Lopez studied him carefully.
“You’re adapting quickly.”
“I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
She nodded.
“Power changes people.”
“And what did it change in you?” Ethan asked.
Lopez held his gaze.
“It made me ruthless.”
The honesty startled him.
“And you?” she asked.
He thought about the Lamborghini.
The instant job offer.
The whispers.
The twitch.
“I don’t know yet.”
Lopez stepped closer.
“Don’t forget why you’re here.”
“To wake her up.”
“Yes.”
Her tone hardened slightly.
“Not to enjoy the perks.”
Ethan felt that.
He straightened.
“I haven’t forgotten.”
But as he walked back to his room, he wondered—
Had he?
Because driving that car felt good.
Too good.
And for the first time, he realized something dangerous:
He didn’t just want to save Tasha.
He wanted to belong here.
And that desire…
Could either motivate him.
Or destroy him.
Back in Tasha’s room, long after midnight, something subtle happened.
Her fingers shifted.
Barely.
But this time—
No one was there to see it.
- Writer
