Chapter 290: Chapter 290
Chapter 290
The morning sun barely cut through the thick canopy of trees surrounding the cabin, but inside, the fire in the small stone hearth kept the wooden room warm. Ethan sat on the edge of the low wooden cot, his bare leg stretched out in front of him. He slowly unwrapped the tight linen bandages Jean had tied around his calf the night before.
The wound was raw, jagged, and swollen, but the bleeding had stopped completely thanks to the crushed herbs Colette had applied. Every time Ethan flexed his foot, a sharp, burning pain shot straight up into his thigh, making his jaw clench tightly. Still, he forced himself to move his toes back and forth, testing how much strength he actually had left. He couldn't lie in this bed forever while Isabelle was somewhere out there, running for her life.
Colette walked over from the small kitchen corner, holding a steaming mug of black tea and a clean strip of cloth. She set the mug down on the bedside stool and gently took the old bandage out of his hands. She looked down at the deep tear in his flesh, shaking her head with a soft, motherly sigh. She didn't speak much English, but her gentle touch showed enough care. She carefully wrapped the fresh cloth around his leg, pulling it snug without causing him unnecessary pain, and patted his knee before turning back to her kitchen tasks. Ethan offered her a faint, appreciative nod, taking a small sip from the mug as he stared out the small glass window toward the deep green woods.
About an hour later, the wooden front door clicked open, letting in a cool gust of morning air. Jean stepped into the cabin, stomping his heavy rubber boots against the floorboard mat to knock off the damp mud from the path. He carried a small brown paper bag filled with fresh bread and coffee beans from the nearby village market. Underneath his arm, tucked tightly against his wool jacket, was a folded edition of an international newspaper printed in English.
Jean tossed the paper bag onto the kitchen table for Colette, then pulled the newspaper out and walked over to Ethan's bed. He held the paper out, pointing a thick, weathered finger right at a prominent photograph printed near the top of the second page.
"I was at the market stall in town," Jean said in his heavy, broken French accent, leaning against the wooden bedpost. "I saw this paper at the international stand. I do not read the English words so good, but I recognized the face on the page right away. I spent a few coins to bring it back for you."
Ethan took the newspaper from Jean’s hands, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion. As he unfolded the page, his eyes landed straight on the bold black headline printed above a large, formal headshot of himself in a dark suit.
His heart dropped straight into his stomach as his eyes scanned the bold text: Ethan Castellan Officially Confirmed Dead Following Tragic Incident
Ethan stared at the words in absolute shock, his thumb pressing so hard against the cheap paper that the black ink smudged onto his skin. The short article underneath quoted an official public statement released directly by his father, Richard Castellan. The statement claimed that Ethan had passed away suddenly from medical complications while traveling abroad, and that the family was requesting total privacy during their time of mourning.
"Confirmed dead..." Ethan whispered under his breath, his voice barely a rasp as he read the line over and over again. His father hadn't just reported him missing to the police or stayed quiet while search teams combed the river—Richard had actively stepped in front of news cameras and declared his own son dead to the entire world.
Jean exchanged a quick, uncertain look with Colette, who had walked over to the side of the bed, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. "What does it say, Ethan?" Jean asked, leaning closer as he pointed at the big print. "Why is your picture in a paper all the way out here? Is it bad news about the men who shot you?" Colette spoke up in quiet French, asking her husband what was happening, her eyes darting between Ethan’s pale face and the dark ink on the page. Ethan barely registered their voices over the rush of thoughts flooding his mind.
He was completely trapped in his own head, processing the ruthless efficiency of his father's move. Declaring him dead wasn't just a mistake or a hasty assumption—it was a total power move to shut down any questions, secure the family assets, and bury whatever Sam Keystone had done in those woods before Ethan could ever speak a word.
If the world believed he was dead, then Richard could take complete control of everything they had built, and anyone who claimed otherwise would sound completely insane. Ethan's gaze stayed glued to Richard's printed quote, his fingers slowly clenching around the edge of the paper until the corners crumpled completely in his fist.