Episode Twelve
The door swung open without delay. Julian silently pushed the wheelchair, guiding Ethan into his room with practiced ease. Once inside, she gently helped him onto the bed, making sure he was comfortable before stepping back. The lights flickered on overhead, casting a warm glow across the room. Behind them, the door closed with a soft click. As soon as Ethan had settled, Julian turned as if to leave.
"Wait," Ethan said quietly.
Julian froze in place. Her fists clenched at her sides, knuckles turning white.
"You told Dad about what we talked about," Ethan said, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Why would you do that?"
"What?" Julian replied, slowly. Her tone was flat, guarded.
"Are you upset?" Ethan asked, reaching out to take her hand. But she pulled away before he could touch her.
"Don't forget something, Ethan," she said, her voice low and tense. "Yes, we might have a relationship... but you need to be careful not to draw attention. Don Emilio isn't your biological father, and if you act like you don't belong, people will notice."
Ethan stared at her, confused. "What? I don't understand. I saw what happened that day. Don Emilio... he killed Rose. I still can't believe it. That wasn't like him. I didn't do anything—I just kept it to myself..."
Julian stepped closer, her eyes sharp with pain. "That's the problem, Ethan—your silence is a form of interference. That's why I had to tell him you knew. My father doesn't handle secrets well. He's dangerous. You think you can protect yourself, but you have no idea what he's capable of. One day, one of his personal escorts followed me. I barely escaped alive."
She paused, eyes flicking away, voice softening but still cold. "The less involved you are in our... inner conflicts, the safer you'll be. Trust me."
With that, the door slammed behind her.
Ethan sat frozen, breath caught in his throat. His jaw tightened, and slowly, the heat of frustration began to rise in him. Anger crept into his chest like fire licking at dry wood. His mind raced back to Don Emilio's reaction the moment Ethan had confessed what he saw.
He remembered...
"I know," he had told Don Emilio. "I saw it that day."
Don Emilio's eyes had widened instantly. "Who told you?" he demanded, voice trembling.
"No one," Ethan replied. "I saw it myself."
A beat passed—long, tense. Don Emilio's face had gone pale, eyes searching Ethan's as if trying to determine the truth.
"Ethan..." he whispered.
"Don Emilio, are you okay?" Ethan had stepped forward, but Don Emilio staggered.
"Tell them... I need my... my..." The words choked in his throat. His body gave out and he collapsed to the ground. Julian had screamed, fumbling for her phone to call an ambulance.
Ethan, paralyzed by shock, could do nothing. He had wanted to protect Don Emilio, to understand him. But now he was left with more questions than answers.
"What did you force me into, Don Emilio?" he muttered under his breath, a bitterness surfacing in h
is voice. "Why did you exile me...?"
---
Afternoon
Still at Don Emilio's Mansion,
The sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the sitting room, casting golden patterns across the marble floor. The house, though still grand and impressive, felt colder now—less like a home and more like a fortress of secrets. Ethan sat quietly in his wheelchair, the silence in the room heavy and uncomfortable. His ankle throbbed with pain, but it was nothing compared to the sting in his chest.
Maxwell stood nearby, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve. "Ethan, I know you're still trying to make sense of everything. Wondering why we kept things from you. But don't misunderstand us," he began, his voice thick with regret. "We were only trying to protect you…"
Ethan looked up, his eyes narrowing. "No," he interrupted, his tone low but steady. "I get it now. I finally understand. I don't belong here." He hesitated, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I've tried to act like everything was fine, like I didn't know the truth. But deep down, I always did. I always felt it. I'm not his real son, am I? That's why things have always been different."
Maxwell's face fell. He stepped forward, but Ethan leaned away. "Ethan, please," he said gently. "I know you're upset. And I'm sorry it had to come out like this. But right now… Don Emilio is in a hospital bed, fighting for his life. When he pulls through—and I believe he will—we can sit down. We'll talk about everything, including Nathan and this new threat from Rezaki."
Ethan laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "Oh, I see. Now I'm only useful when gangs are involved. You want me to fight a war for a family that never really wanted me." His voice trembled with a mix of anger and pain. "He sent me away when I was just a kid, like I was some kind of problem. And now that I'm back, all I get are orders and silence. I'm tired of being kept in the dark. I deserve to know what the hell is going on in this family!"
As he moved to stand, his injured ankle gave out beneath him. Maxwell reached out instinctively. "Ethan, be careful—"
"Don't!" Ethan snapped. "Don't act like you care now."
Just then, Julian entered the room, catching sight of Ethan's struggle. Without hesitation, she rushed to his side and gently helped him ease back into the wheelchair.
"Could you please just rest for a while?" she asked softly. "At least until you're healed?"
Ethan frowned, but he didn't argue. Deep down, he knew she was right.
Julian knelt in front of him, looking him in the eyes. "Listen. I know this isn't how things were supposed to go. I'm sorry you feel like you've been left out. But could you at least try to understand Don Emilio's side? I promise, once you've recovered, you can walk away if you still want to. Just… don't forget what he's done for you. He's not perfect, but he did care—in his own way."
Ethan looked away, the rage in his chest still simmering. But his thoughts drifted elsewhere—back to the mysterious door Mrs. Calotte had told him about. Maybe that door held the answers he was so desperate for. Maybe it was time to stop waiting for truth and go find it himself.