Chapter 32 Chapter 32
Chapter 32
Maria turned back from hearing footsteps from behind.
Ethan stood there, dragging two luggages behind him. His face looked tired, his shirt half tucked in, and his eyes said more than his mouth could ever explain.
“Where are you going by this time of the night?” Maria asked, standing up from the couch.
Richard looked up from his newspaper, confused for a second before realizing what was happening.
“I’m leaving this house,” Ethan said. His tone was calm, but there was anger beneath it anger that had been piling up for too long.
Maria’s face changed. “Ethan, what do you mean you’re leaving?”
He sighed, dropping one of the luggages to the floor. “I can’t stay in a house where I’m not loved.
You both only care about business. You don’t care about me, about my health, or about how Amelia almost drove me insane months back. All you care about is power and money.”
“Ethan, please don’t talk like that,” Maria said, her voice trembling. She moved closer, but Ethan took a step back.
“Darling, stop him,” she turned to Richard, trying not to cry. “He can’t leave like this.”
Richard said nothing at first. He just folded the newspaper slowly and set it on the table. Then he stood up and looked at Ethan.
“Stop it, Ethan,” Richard said finally. His voice was firm but not angry. “You can’t walk out like a child every time something doesn’t go your way.”
“This isn’t about getting my way,” Ethan said, dragging the second bag toward the main door. “It’s about peace. I’ve had enough.”
Maria’s eyes filled with tears. “Ethan, please, baby, don’t do this. We’re still your parents. You’ll regret leaving this house.”
Ethan didn’t reply. He didn’t even look back. He reached for the door handle, pulled it open, and stepped outside.
The night air was cold. His driver, who had been waiting outside, quickly came forward.
“Sir?” the driver said quietly.
“Bring the McLaren,” Ethan said. “Trail behind me with the rest of the things.”
“Yes, sir.”
He walked down the driveway toward his Lamborghini. The headlights flashed as he pressed the remote. He placed one of the luggages in the back seat and slid into the car.
Maria ran to the front door and called out again, but Ethan had already started the engine. The loud sound of it filled the night, echoing through the quiet neighborhood.
Richard stood at the doorway beside her, his hands in his pockets, saying nothing. His eyes followed the car as it drove off through the gate.
The driver followed behind with the McLaren, carrying the rest of Ethan’s belongings.
Ethan didn’t look in the mirror. He didn’t want to see the house again, not tonight.
The drive through Monterey was silent. The city lights stretched out in front of him. It was almost 9:15 p.m. when he reached the part of the city where his penthouse stood one of those tall glass buildings that overlooked the coastline.
He parked the Lamborghini in the reserved lot and handed the keys to the valet. The driver arrived behind him and unloaded his things.
“Take them upstairs,” Ethan said briefly.
The driver nodded and carried the luggages toward the elevator. Ethan followed behind slowly.
He hadn’t been here for almost a year. The place had always been quiet, almost too quiet.
The elevator doors opened, and he stepped out onto the top floor. His penthouse was just as he had left it clean, neat and untouched. The long glass windows looked out over the city, the lights glowing below like scattered stars.
He dropped his phone on the counter and unbuttoned his shirt. His jacket came off next. The room smelled faintly of polish and silence.
He opened the curtains wide and walked toward the balcony. The breeze hit his face as he stepped out. The sound of the ocean waves from afar mixed with the faint noise of the city below.
The driver walked in quietly. “Sir, should I make any arrangements for dinner?”
“No, thank you,” Ethan said without turning around.
The man nodded and left.
Ethan stood there for a while, staring at nothing in particular. He wasn’t thinking about business, or even his father. He just needed the quiet.
After a few minutes, he turned back inside, switched on the lights, and sank onto the couch. He rested his head against the backrest and closed his eyes for a moment.
He could still hear Maria’s voice in his head, the way she called his name when he left. But he pushed the thought away.
He opened one of the luggages, pulled out his pills, and placed them on the side table. He didn’t take them yet. He just wanted to breathe.
The sound of his watch ticking filled the room. It was the only sound.
He stood up, walked toward his bedroom, and switched on the light. Everything was exactly as it was — the dark sheets, the simple furniture, the untouched view.
He sat at the edge of the bed and looked around. It didn’t feel like home, but at least it was his space.
Finally, he leaned back on the bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed that way, but the quiet was enough. For the first time in a long while, no one was telling him what to do.
He reached for his phone, set it on silent, and placed it face down.
Then, without saying a word, he closed his eyes.