The black SUV pulled up to the front of the Mitchell mansion. Ethan looked out the window. He had seen big houses on TV, but this was different. The driveway was long and lined with trees that looked like they were trimmed with a ruler. There were fountains everywhere. It felt less like a home and more like a fortress meant to remind everyone else they were poor.
The scarred man, whose name Ethan learned was Miller, opened the door. "Get out. Try not to track dirt onto the marble. Those shoes look like they've seen better decades."
Ethan ignored him and stepped out. His legs felt a bit stiff. "I'm just here to talk," Ethan said. "I didn't bring any dirt on purpose."
"Just move," Miller grumbled, shoving him toward the massive front doors.
Inside, the house was quiet and smelled like expensive candles. They walked through a hallway filled with paintings that probably cost more than Ethan's entire neighborhood. They eventually reached a large study with heavy wooden doors. Miller knocked once and then pushed Ethan inside.
Robert Mitchell was sitting behind a desk that looked like it was carved from a single tree. He was drinking coffee and reading a tablet. Lisa was there too. She had changed into a sharp business suit, but her eyes were still red from crying. Standing next to her was an older woman with pearls around her neck—Lisa's mother, Martha.
"So, this is the trash," Martha said, not even looking Ethan in the eye. She looked at him like he was a bug she found in her salad. "He looks even worse in person. Robert, why is he standing on our rug?"
Robert Mitchell looked up. He didn't look angry; he looked bored, which was somehow scarier. "Sit down, Ethan. That's your name, right? Ethan Hunt?"
"It's just Ethan," he replied, sitting in a velvet chair that felt too soft. "Look, Mr. Mitchell, I know how this looks. But I didn't do anything to your daughter. She ended up in my room by accident. I was trying to sleep."
"Shut up!" Lisa snapped. She was pacing by the window. "You're going to sit there and lie to my father? You saw an opportunity to get into a rich woman's bed and you took it. You're a bottom-feeder."
"I have a sister in the hospital, Lisa," Ethan said, turning to her. "I don't have time to chase you around. I was tired. I worked a double shift at the warehouse before I went out with Royce."
"A warehouse," Martha scoffed. "He's a manual laborer. Robert, this is a disaster. The Zhao family has already sent a letter. They want to cancel the engagement. The stocks are dropping. We look like a joke because our daughter was caught with a… a delivery boy."
Robert tapped a pen on the desk. "The damage is done. The photos are everywhere. If we kick him out now, it looks like she had a one-night stand with nobody. But if we say they've been secretly dating… if we say they were already engaged… we can save the Mitchell Group's reputation."
Lisa's jaw dropped. "You want me to marry him? Dad, look at him! He's wearing a shirt with a hole in the armpit!"
"It's a temporary arrangement," Robert said coldly. "Two years. A contract marriage. You'll live here. You'll show up at events. You'll be a loyal husband. In exchange, the Mitchell family will provide you with a salary."
Ethan shook his head. "I don't want your money. I just want to go back to my life."
"Your life?" Robert pulled a folder from his desk and tossed it across the wood. It slid right to Ethan's hands. "Hailey. Age 19. Chronic heart failure. She needs a transplant within the next six months, or she won't make it to twenty. The bill is currently at three hundred thousand dollars. You have forty‑two dollars in your bank account, Ethan."
Ethan felt like someone had punched him in the throat. He stared at the hospital bill. There was a red OVERDUE stamp on the front. "How did you get this?"
"I own the hospital, kid," Robert said. "I can have her moved to a private suite with the best doctors in the world today. Or I can have her discharged in twenty minutes for non‑payment. Which one do you want?"
Ethan's grip tightened on the folder. He looked at the black mist he had seen earlier around Lisa. It was still there, pulsing. He looked back at the bill. He didn't have a choice. He never had a choice.
"I'll do it," Ethan said, his voice cracking.
"Good," Robert said. He signaled to Lisa. "Give him the papers."
Lisa walked over and slammed a thick stack of papers onto his lap. "These are the house rules," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "I wrote them myself while you were in the car."
Ethan flipped through the pages. It wasn't a marriage contract; it was a slave manual.
Rule 1: You will never touch me.
Rule 2: You will sleep in the servant's quarters.
Rule 3: You will not speak unless spoken to.
Rule 4: You will clean the house if the staff is busy.
Rule 5: You will surrender your phone and your privacy.
"You want me to be a maid?" Ethan asked, looking up at her.
"I want you to be nothing," Lisa said. "You're a tool to fix my reputation. Once the two years are up, you'll go back to the gutter where you belong. Sign it, or your sister is on the street by noon."
Ethan looked at Robert, then at Martha, who was smiling as if she were watching a funny movie. Then he looked at Lisa. That golden glow in her eyes flickered again. He could see her heartbeat—it was irregular. She was sicker than she knew.
He picked up the pen. It felt heavy. He thought about Hailey's face, how she always tried to smile even when she couldn't breathe properly. He signed his name at the bottom of every page.
"There," Ethan said, tossing the pen back. "You bought me. I hope you got a receipt."
"Take him to the basement," Robert said to Miller, who was standing by the door. "Give him a suit that fits. We have dinner tonight with the press. Make sure he knows his lines."
As Miller grabbed Ethan's arm to lead him out, Lisa leaned in close to his ear. "I'm going to make these two years the worst years of your life," she whispered. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll wish you had died in that hotel room."
Ethan didn't flinch. He just looked at her. "You should watch your stress levels, Lisa. It's bad for your heart."
She slapped him, hard. The sound echoed in the quiet study.
"Get him out of here," Robert commanded.
Ethan walked out with Miller, the side of his face stinging. He didn't feel like a god. He felt like a prisoner. But deep inside, that golden energy was humming again. It was as if the Dragon God was laughing at the humans for thinking they could chain a storm.
"Keep walking, 'Young Master,'" Miller mocked as they headed for the stairs to the basement. "Let's see how long you last in this house."