Ethan sat in the driver's seat for a long time after the mission prompt appeared, staring at the glowing letters. Casino. All his money. Debt if he failed.
It was madness.
But eventually, the fire in his chest cooled, and exhaustion crept in. He turned the car around and drove back to the modest hotel where his family waited.
When he entered the room, Anna was already asleep, curled up on the bed with her hand tucked under her cheek. Eliza looked up from where she sat by the window, worry flickering in her tired eyes.
"You're back," she said softly.
Ethan nodded. "Work wasn't as busy as I thought."
She gave him a small smile, though he could see the shadows of doubt lingering. He didn't press. He lay down beside Anna, her small body instinctively scooting closer, and for the first time that night, he allowed himself to close his eyes.
Sleep came heavy and dreamless.
The next morning, sunlight spilled into the hotel room. Ethan rose quietly, careful not to wake his sister. He slipped a folded stack of bills into his mother's hand.
"I've paid for the week," he said. "Here's some money for meals. Make sure you both eat well."
Eliza frowned, looking down at the money. "Ethan… are you sure? This seems like a lot…"
He smiled faintly, brushing off her concern. "Don't worry, Mom. I've got it covered. Just take care of Anna. That's all I ask."
She wanted to press further, but something in his eyes stopped her. She nodded slowly.
"Alright," she whispered.
Outside, the city bustled with life, oblivious to the storm brewing inside him. Ethan leaned against his car, scrolling through his phone contacts until he found the number.
Victor.
He hesitated only a moment before pressing call.
The line rang twice before a familiar, cheerful voice answered. "Ethan! My man! Haven't heard from you since Mary's party. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Ethan kept his tone casual, careful. "I remembered you mentioned you like to gamble. I was wondering… if you wanted to hit a casino together."
There was a beat of silence. Then Victor laughed, loud and genuine. "Now that's what I like to hear! I didn't think you had the itch, Ethan. But hell yes—I'm in. When and where?"
Relief flickered through Ethan's chest. "I'll let you know soon. I've got some things to prepare first."
"Good, good. Just don't flake on me, alright? I'll bring the drinks, you bring the luck." Victor chuckled again before hanging up.
Ethan lowered the phone slowly, his reflection in the car's glossy paint staring back at him. One step closer.
Meanwhile, across town, the atmosphere in the vice principal's office was anything but lighthearted.
Roland Halstrom sat behind his mahogany desk, fingers steepled, his cold eyes fixed on the man standing nervously before him.
Mr. Dalton, Ethan's homeroom teacher, shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the papers in his hands. "You… wanted to see me, sir?"
Roland leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking. The office was lined with neat rows of files, certificates in golden frames hanging on the walls. But the polished décor couldn't mask the sour air of ambition that clung to the man.
"Yes," Roland said smoothly. "It's about the exam results. I want you to adjust them."
Dalton blinked. "Adjust… the results?"
Roland's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You know who funds this school. Who writes the checks. One of our investors has made a request. Ethan Ivers—his grades are to be lowered. Swap them with another student if you have to."
The teacher's grip tightened on the papers. "But… sir, Ethan's scores were excellent. If I tamper with them—"
Roland's gaze sharpened, icy and unforgiving. "Are you questioning me, Dalton?"
Dalton swallowed hard, his protest withering in his throat. "N-no, sir."
"Good." Roland leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Ethan Ivers is a nobody. No family influence, no wealth, no future. It's time he learned his place. Do as I say."
The silence in the office was suffocating. Dalton nodded stiffly, clutching the papers as though they burned his hands.
"Yes, sir."
Roland Halstrom dismissed Dalton with a flick of his hand, the teacher scurrying from the office with the altered exam papers clutched tightly. The vice principal leaned back, satisfied.
Everything was falling into place.
The knock at the door came a moment later. A young man in a tailored suit strode in without waiting for permission, his smirk bold, his steps heavy with entitlement.
"Mr. Vale," Roland greeted smoothly, rising to shake the young man's hand. "Always a pleasure."
Adam Vale's grin was sharp. "Father wanted me to check on things personally. I trust the arrangements are being handled?"
"Of course," Roland said, his voice slick with assurance. "Ethan Ivers's results will be adjusted. He won't even qualify for the scholarship slots. He'll be forgotten."
Adam chuckled, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Good. I don't like nobodies sniffing around what isn't theirs."
Roland inclined his head. "And as for Lena…?"
Adam's grin widened. "Leave that to me."
Lena sat stiffly on the velvet sofa of her family's sprawling living room, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and roses, but it was heavy with tension.
Her mother, elegant in a silk dress, perched across from her. Her father stood by the window, his voice calm but firm.
"Lena," he said, "you're not a child anymore. It's time you started thinking about your future."
She bit her lip. "I am thinking about my future. But why does that mean being forced into—"
Her mother cut her off sharply. "Do not call it forced. Adam Vale is a fine young man from a powerful family. His father owns a growing tech empire, and their influence is only expanding. This match would secure your future, and ours as well."
Lena's chest tightened. She remembered Adam's smirk, the way his eyes lingered too long, the arrogance dripping from his every word. She had never liked him.
And yet… her parents spoke as though she had no choice.
Her voice wavered. "What about what I want?"
Her father's gaze hardened. "What you want is irrelevant. We've tolerated your little… relationship with Ethan Ivers long enough. But that boy is nothing—no money, no status, no future. He can't give you the life you deserve."
Her heart clenched at the name. Ethan. She saw his face in her mind, his dark eyes, the quiet kindness that had once made her feel safe. He had never tried to buy her affection, never treated her like a prize to be won.
He had simply cared.
But her parents' words were knives, cutting away those memories.
"You will attend the gathering this weekend," her mother said, her tone brooking no argument. "Adam will be there. The arrangement will be announced."
Lena's hands trembled in her lap. She wanted to scream, to argue, to tell them she didn't care about wealth or status. But the weight of their authority pressed down like a stone.
"…Yes, Mother," she whispered.
Her parents exchanged a satisfied glance.
But inside, Lena's thoughts burned.
She remembered Ethan's smile, the way he had stood in front of her when others mocked, the quiet strength that had always surprised her.
And she wondered—despite everything—if he was still out there, still fighting.