"Ethan, I will not repeat myself twice!" David barked, his voice slicing through the room like a whip. His fist clenched in anger, knuckles white with fury. Ethan met his gaze, unflinching, his eyes burning with quiet defiance. But before another breath passed, a hand came out of nowhere, Mrs. Judith's struck Ethan across the face with such force that his head snapped to the side.
"How dare you exchange words with Lord David, you wretched fool!" she spat, eyes ablaze. "He could have you erased from existence with a whisper, and you stand here like an equal?"
A heavy silence followed her outburst. Ethan's cheek burned, not just from the slap, but from the humiliation. His pride, already chipped and cracked, took another blow. He bent down in silence, picking up the shattered glass he had dropped, pouring another drink for David with trembling hands. The shame in his heart was louder than the laughter that erupted around him. He'd been diminished—again.
As he turned to retreat to his room, David's voice rang out behind him, cold and mocking.
"Tonight's your wife's birthday, isn't it? I hope your pathetic self can conjure a decent gift. Would be quite the embarrassment if everyone showed up and her weakling of a husband came empty-handed." His laughter rang through the room, joined by Judith's cackling.
Ethan quickened his steps, his jaw clenched tight. He slammed the door to his room and leaned against it, panting like he'd been running for miles. Rage simmered beneath his skin, but it was the sight of his wife's portrait on the dusty nightstand that cooled his fire. Her eyes—gentle, kind, distant—stared back at him.
"I'll make tonight unforgettable for you, my love," he whispered, brushing his fingers against her frame. He washed up, put on his most presentable clothes—though still faded and worn—and slipped out. The guards by the gate scoffed and muttered cruel jokes under their breath. Ethan didn't flinch. Their mockery was nothing compared to what he'd endured.
He flagged down a taxi and headed straight to the city's grandest jewelry store, his mind already set on what he wanted.
"That bracelet… it's perfect," he said softly, eyes locked on a gold piece glittering behind glass. It wasn't just jewelry—it was a symbol. A token of love, of redemption.
Inside, store employees glanced at him and smirked. His clothes screamed poverty. His face, though once proud, bore the look of someone who had lost more than wealth.
"May I help you, sir?" a young attendant asked, her tone polite but tinged with doubt.
"I want to buy a gift for my wife. That bracelet will do. How much is it?" Ethan asked with a hopeful smile. He hadn't spoken kindly to her in weeks. Maybe this could be a new beginning.
"That piece is ten thousand dollars," she replied.
His heart sank. The number echoed in his ears like a gong. Still, he didn't show his despair.
"Any discount?"
"Unfortunately not, sir. That's the final price," she said, her smile now tight.
"I'd like to speak to the manager," he said, forcing his voice steady.
"And what exactly do you need the manager for, sir?" a heavy voice interrupted. A bulky man in a crisp suit approached. His name tag read: Antonio.
"I just want to confirm the price. I want this bracelet, Mr. Antonio."
"It's ten thousand. We don't haggle here. If you can't afford it, please leave. We have real customers to attend to," Antonio said sharply.
Ethan's expression didn't change. He turned and exited, heading straight to the nearest ATM. His hands trembled slightly as he inserted his card. His balance: $10,500. That was all that remained after months of grueling work under Judith's cold eyes—months of sneaking out to perform odd jobs, scraping for tips, skipping meals. He withdrew the entire sum.
Back at the store, Ethan returned with a small envelope filled with hundred-dollar bills. The staff stared in stunned silence. Antonio's mouth twitched, the fake smile returning.
"Wrap it up," Ethan said calmly. "Now."
They served him a glass of wine while the bracelet was prepared. But just as one of the assistants approached with the boxed piece, Antonio grabbed her arm and yanked her to the side.
"Sir? Is something wrong?" she asked, startled.
"I don't trust that man. No way someone like him earned that money honestly. He probably stole it. Or worse," Antonio muttered darkly.
"He paid in full. We've issued the receipt already—"
"Give him a replica. He's too stupid to tell the difference anyway," Antonio sneered. His fingers were already swapping out the authentic piece for a cheap fake.
"I'll deliver it myself."
Back on the floor, Antonio returned, oozing charm. "Mr. Ethan, apologies for the delay. We truly value customers like you. Here's your bracelet and your receipt. We hope to see you again."
Ethan shook his hand, unaware of the betrayal that had just occurred. He walked out of the store with a quiet satisfaction. For once, he'd done something good—something worthy.
By evening, Ethan stood in front of his cracked mirror, adjusting the collar of his only suit. It was the same one he wore to corporate galas before the accident—the accident that shattered his car, his body, and his world. Now, all he had left was this moment.
He placed the bracelet in a velvet box, tucked it carefully in his pocket, and used the last of his money—exactly $500—for a cab to the grand ballroom.
The scene that greeted him left him breathless. Limousines lined the entrance. Paparazzi snapped photos of guests in diamonds and designer gowns. Wealth, power, glamour—it all swirled around him like a fog he no longer belonged to.
Still, he moved forward.
Every step toward the door was a battle. His head throbbed. Images flashed: twisted metal, blood on glass, sirens in the distance. The accident wasn't just a memory—it was a ghost clawing at his sanity.
When he reached the entrance, two sharply dressed bouncers blocked his path.
"I'm her husband," he said, voice strained. "I don't need an invitation. Just check your list."
They glanced at their tablet, then back at him with scorn.
"Your name's not here. Step aside."
"Don't you understand? I'm her husband!" Ethan protested, louder now. Heads began to turn.
"We have strict instructions not to let you in. Move, now," one of them barked, removing his glasses and revealing a pistol holstered at his side.
Ethan took a step forward. "Let me through. I won't say it again."
Gasps rose from the crowd. Among them were business tycoons and celebrities, their eyes narrowing as they recognized him.
"That's Ethan?" one whispered. "He used to own half the district"
Ethan tried to dash past them, desperation in his veins. But the bouncers caught him mid-stride and slammed him to the ground. A heavy boot struck his ribs. Blood trickled from his lip. The velvet box slid across the floor, opening slightly—revealing the fake gold bracelet.
He groaned, curled in pain, while laughter rippled through the crowd of guests watching in utter amusement.