Ethan stopped pacing and leaned on the desk, his hands flat against the polished wood. The city stretched far beneath him, but his thoughts were turned inward, back to a past that still ruled his present. The silver whistle, once warm in his palm, was gone, but the ache it left behind burned like an old scar.
Before Jenny, there had been Sandra. Beautiful, stylish, adored at every high-society gathering. Their relationship had been serious enough to draw attention, but in truth, it was all shining with no roots. They cared for each other, but not enough to build a life. Deep down, Ethan knew it wasn't going anywhere.
The end came fast. Jenny entered his life with a complication that changed everything: she was pregnant. Jenny was not just any woman, she was the daughter of a powerful senator, confident, determined, and unwilling to be hidden. Ethan, raised on responsibility, could not turn away. His father's voice echoed at the time, steady and firm: "Do the proper thing, Ethan. Build with honor."
Marriage had been the answer. At first, it was an arrangement, a duty he carried on his shoulders, not a love story he walked into with open arms. Jenny adored him more than he could return, and though he respected her, his heart had not been fully there. Even so, saying yes had changed everything. His father rewarded his choice, entrusting him with full control of the family empire. Duty had made Ethan not only a husband but the head of a vast fortune.
And then Kim was born.
The moment he saw his daughter's tiny fingers curl around his, something in him broke and remade itself. All the cold, careful walls he had built around himself crumbled. Love for the first time, unshakable and raw flooded him. He was consumed by it, transformed.
Jenny, once only his partner in obligation, became something more. He began to see her through the glow of Kim's laughter, through the strength she showed as a mother. Affection grew slowly, then all at once. Respect turned to tenderness, and duty into genuine love. Their marriage, once written in responsibility, became real. They had laughter, plans, and a home filled with warmth. For the first time, Ethan felt he had it all, love, family, purpose.
And then the accident shattered it.
It stole not just his wife and daughter, but the life he had fought to build. The guilt was sharp: for not loving Jenny fully at the start, for surviving when she and Kim had not. And beneath it all was rage. Rage at the traitor, at betrayal, at the possibility that the people closest to him had played a role in stealing away his second chance at happiness.
Now, every step Ethan took was marked by that loss. His hunger for answers, his refusal to let the truth stay buried, was born not from business rivalry or family disputes, it was from love. Love that had taken years to grow, love ripped away at the moment he finally understood its weight.
He pressed a hand over his chest, the pain still there. I failed them once by not protecting them. I won't fail again. Whoever is behind this will pay—every last one of them.
The city glittered in the distance, unaware of the vow he was making. For Ethan, the fight ahead wasn't just survival. It was about honoring a wife he had grown to cherish and a daughter who had become his whole world.
Ethan dragged in a breath, forcing himself back into the present. He needed to focus. He needed control.
A soft knock broke his spiral.
He turned, half-expecting Tom's smug face or Pev's silent stare, but instead, it was Isabela.
"Am I disturbing?" she asked gently, standing at the door with her arms folded, wearing a simple silk blouse and trousers. The glow of the hallway light framed her like a quiet reassurance.
For a moment, Ethan just looked at her. The intensity of his memories, the suffocating rage of the traitor's shadow, it all softened.
"No," he said, his voice rougher than he intended. "Actually… come in."
She stepped inside, her presence grounding him in a way nothing else could. She walked to the desk, her eyes catching on the scattered papers before quickly returning to his face. She didn't pry. She never did.
"You've been pacing again," she observed softly, a small smile tugging her lips. "That's your tell."
He almost laughed, almost denied it, but instead he exhaled. "Bad habit."
"Or a man with too much on his mind," she countered.
Her gaze lingered on him with quiet concern, the kind that didn't demand answers but offered space. It was dangerous, how much he had come to rely on that.
"I had a strange thought tonight," Ethan admitted, surprising himself. "That happiness is always… temporary. That it waits until you finally believe in it, and then it disappears."
Isabela tilted her head. "Or maybe it doesn't disappear. Maybe it just… changes shape. You loved your daughter. That love doesn't vanish, Ethan. It's still here." She touched her chest lightly. "It just hurts because it mattered."
Her words sank into him like balm over raw skin. For a man hunted by the traitor, for a man consumed by suspicion, this woman was the one neutral space left in his life.
He nodded, unable to speak, his throat tight.
She offered a softer smile, almost teasing. "Besides, if happiness is temporary, then sadness is too. You can't stay here forever."
Her words struck deeper than she likely realized. For Ethan, here meant not just grief, but the gnawing paranoia of betrayal.
The traitor.
Even as her comfort settled him, the phrase hissed at the edges of his mind, a reminder that he could never fully rest.
Isabela glanced toward the desk. "You've been working late again. Don't forget your health. I'll speak with the Chef tomorrow, to make sure we keep things balanced."
Always thinking of others, never herself. Ethan's chest tightened. He wanted to tell her the truth, about the file, about Desmond's warning, about the serpent inside these walls. But what right did he have to drag her into his shadowed war?
"Thank you," he said simply, his voice low.
As she turned to leave, Ethan caught himself before calling her back. He wanted to say more, to confess that her presence was the only thing keeping him tethered. But instead, he let the silence stretch.
When the door closed, Ethan stood alone again, staring at the papers on his desk. His hand curled into a fist.
The traitor is here. Inside my home. Watching. Waiting.
And now… Isabela, the one light in his storm, was in danger too.