Chapter Title: Whispers Behind the Bloodline
The sterile smell of antiseptic filled Ethan Thorne's nostrils as his eyes blinked open. It was a slow return to consciousness, like emerging from the depths of murky water. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar, clinical. Machines beeped steadily at his side, confirming the unthinkable—he was alive.
Pain, dull and sharp, throbbed in his abdomen. He shifted slightly and groaned. His hand instinctively moved toward his stomach, meeting thick layers of bandages. He had been shot. The memory wasn't clear, but the ache confirmed it.
"Sir?" a familiar voice called softly.
Mr. Hills, the Thorne family butler, was at his bedside in an instant. There were dark circles beneath his eyes and tension in his shoulders, but his voice remained composed.
"Young Master Ethan... you're awake."
Ethan turned his head slowly. "What happened?"
Mr. Hills bowed slightly. "You were attacked and Shot the bullet was poisoned . You've been in a coma for three months."
Ethan closed his eyes, fragments flashing in his mind. Running. Blood. Footsteps. And then—darkness.
"How did I survive?"
Mr. Hills hesitated. "You collapsed in a park a little girl found your phone and called your emergency contact. We got to you just in time."
A little girl had saved him.
---
The next morning, Hale Thorne walked in.
Sleek in a tailored suit, with not a single hair out of place, his presence commanded the room. He stood at the foot of Ethan's bed, arms folded.
"You're awake. Good."
Ethan looked at his father. There was no warmth in his voice, only efficiency.
"Who did this to me?" Ethan asked.
"A random attack. Wrong place, wrong time."
"No, it wasn't. I was being chased. I remember."
Hale's eyes narrowed slightly. "You're still recovering. Don't stress yourself with theories. What matters is you're alive."
"Someone tried to kill me. I need to know who."
"It's already been handled. We don't need scandal. The doctors say you should be discharged in a week. Focus on recovery."
Handled.
The word stung. Like his life was a transaction.
Their relationship had always been cold. Hale wasn't the kind of father who hugged or comforted. From childhood, Ethan had been raised more as a legacy than a son. Discipline replaced affection, success was expected, not celebrated. To Hale, Ethan was a project—not a person.
It had always been that way.
Ethan's mother had died when he was eight. A quiet woman, graceful and intelligent, yet never truly loved by her husband. Hale had married her for status, not love. While she withered away in silence and sorrow, he chased other women.
Hale had been having an affair with his current wife, Celeste, even before Ethan's mother passed. And after her death, he didn't mourn. Instead, he remarried within months. The household changed. The warmth disappeared completely.
Ethan grew up watching his father lavish love on Celeste and their young son, Felix—a half-brother who would never know their mother's pain.
---
That evening, Celeste and Felix came to visit.
"Ethan," she said in her honeyed voice, "you look better than expected."
Felix, clutching a toy car, stepped forward. "Brother, they said you were dead."
Ethan managed a thin smile. "Guess I was Lucky."
Celeste chuckled lightly. "We're all just glad you're breathing. There's no need to dig too deep. What happened is in the past."
But Ethan could see it in her eyes—the same indifference Hale wore.
"You're very lucky," she added. "Some people don't get second chances."
---
Downstairs in the sitting room, Hale poured himself a drink. Celeste joined him, smoothing her dress.
"He needs to leave," she said.
"He's not going anywhere," Hale snapped.
"You're letting your pride get in the way again. The boy is a stumbling block, Hale. And you know why."
"He won't die. if he leaves. He'll survive."
"He already almost didn't. Hugo wants him out of the country. You know that."
"Of course he does," Hale muttered bitterly. "He's grooming him to take everything from me."
"This is about Felix too," Celeste said, her tone sharpening. "What will be left for our son if Ethan returns stronger?"
Hale drained his glass. "Then he won't return stronger."
---
The next morning, Claire arrived. Tall, elegant, with eyes that used to light up when she saw Ethan. Now, they were dim, hesitant.
"You look different," she said.
"Three months in a coma will do that."
She placed a bouquet on the side table. "I didn't know if I should come."
"Yet here you are."
"They said you have a blur memory."
"Unfortunately, I remember enough."
Claire looked away. "Your father and Celeste—"
"I know," Ethan said flatly. "They've already written my obituary."
She leaned forward, whispering, "They're pushing to make Felix the heir."
"Of course they are."
"Where does that leave us, Ethan?"
He stared at her. "Where do you want it to leave us?"
Claire hesitated, then stood. "I just wanted you to know. I still care. But I can't choose for you."
---
Later that day, Rui came barreling into the room like a storm. Casual, loud, familiar.
"Dude. You look like a zombie."
"Feel worse."
"I swear, you scared the hell out of us. I thought we lost you."
Ethan gave a faint smile. "You don't lose a Thorne that easily."
Rui sat beside him, voice dropping. "I've been digging. You were set up. That wasn't just a hit—it was an inside job."
"Figures."
"They're already moving your things from the penthouse."
"My own father."
"Celeste too. She's redecorating your mother's wing. Turning it into a playroom."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Of course she is."
---
That evening, Hugo Thorne arrived. Though age weighed on his shoulders, his eyes were sharp.
"You look better than the rumors say."
"I feel worse than I look."
"You shouldn't be here."
"I know."
"You're leaving in three days. I've arranged everything. Private security. An international partner to take you in. You'll train, learn, prepare."
"And then?"
Hugo stepped closer. "Then you'll come back. Not as a son. But as a storm."
---
That night, in the garden, Celeste sat with Hale and Felix.
"He's leaving?" Felix asked.
"Yes," Hale said. "For now."
"Will he come back?"
Hale's eyes were cold. "Only if we let him."
---