Chapter 1 - The Storm Before the Dawn
The rain,
which had been falling for hours,
drummed against the roof,
like the beating of a hollow drum,
signaling the end of an era,
for the Sterling family.
The towering stained-glass windows,
which stood like silent sentinels,
rattled under the pressure,
of the howling wind,
and the relentless cold,
that had consumed the night.
Inside the grand,
marble-floored foyer,
the air was suffocating,
heavy with the scent,
of lilies,
and expensive,
cloying perfume.
Arthur Sterling,
the man who had built an empire,
from nothing but grit,
and sheer determination,
was now nothing more,
than a memory,
his last breath,
taken only hours ago.
But in the hall,
there was no sign,
of genuine grief,
or sorrowful lament,
only the cold,
hard reality,
of greed.
Ethan Sterling,
the eldest son,
who had been cast out,
like a forgotten toy,
five years ago,
stood in the center,
of the vast,
opulent hall.
He was wearing a damp,
faded canvas jacket,
which seemed like a stain,
against the pristine,
expensive decor,
of the room.
He looked entirely,
and painfully,
out of place,
beneath the multi-million dollar,
crystal chandelier,
that hung above him,
like a frozen,
jagged teardrop.
He had come here,
rushing directly,
from his dusty,
oil-stained,
mechanic shop,
the moment he heard,
the devastating news,
hoping only,
for a chance,
to say a final,
quiet goodbye,
to the man,
he once called,
his father.
The silence,
however,
was shattered,
by a cold,
venomous voice,
that sliced through,
the air,
like a serrated blade.
Victoria Sterling,
the stepmother,
who had woven,
a web of lies,
glided down,
the grand,
spiral staircase,
her black silk dress,
flowing behind her,
like dark water.
She was dripping,
in diamonds,
which caught the light,
and mocked,
the humble man,
standing below.
Beside her,
walking with the arrogance,
of a prince,
was Julian,
his half-brother,
whose face,
was twisted,
into a smug,
victorious grin.
Ethan stood his ground,
despite the cold,
seeping into his bones,
and the judgment,
in their eyes.
I came to pay,
my respects,
to my father,
Ethan said,
his voice quiet,
but steady,
like an anchor,
holding firm,
in a storm.
Your father,
Julian repeated,
letting out,
a sharp,
mocking laugh,
that echoed,
off the cold stone.
He stopped being,
your father,
the very day,
he threw you out,
like common trash.
You are just,
a stray dog,
looking for,
a handout,
or perhaps,
you are simply,
sniffing around,
for a piece,
of the inheritance.
Ethan met his gaze,
his eyes unblinking,
and unwavering.
I do not care,
about the money,
Julian,
he replied,
with calm defiance.
But I have,
a right,
to be here.
That calm,
that refusal,
to crumble,
shattered Victoria's,
elegant facade,
in an instant.
Her eyes narrowed,
into thin,
cruel slits,
of pure hatred.
In a flash,
of uncontrolled rage,
she raised the glass,
of red wine,
she was holding,
and dashed it,
violently,
directly,
into Ethan's face.
The dark,
cold liquid,
drenched his hair,
seeping into his eyes,
stinging his vision,
and dripping,
down his neck,
like a mockery,
of blood.
Ethan blinked,
trying to clear,
his sight,
but before,
he could react,
Julian stepped forward,
and shoved him,
with all,
the strength,
he possessed.
Ethan stumbled backward,
his boots slipping,
on the polished,
marble floor,
losing his balance,
completely.
He crashed,
heavily,
into an antique,
glass display cabinet,
that stood,
in the corner.
The wood groaned,
under the impact,
and the glass,
panels shattered,
with a deafening,
explosive crash,
that seemed,
to shake the house.
Ethan hit the floor,
hard,
surrounded by,
the sharp,
jagged shards,
of broken glass.
A piece,
sliced clean,
across his left,
cheekbone,
cutting deep.
A thin,
sharp line,
of crimson blood,
began to seep,
from the cut,
mixing with,
the red wine,
dripping down,
his face.
Julian stood,
over him,
straightening his,
luxury suit jacket,
as if he,
were brushing,
off dust.
Victoria looked down,
at Ethan,
as if he,
were merely,
a bug,
beneath her heel,
insignificant,
and loathsome.
She gestured sharply,
to the towering,
security guards,
standing by,
the entrance.
Throw this,
garbage out,
Victoria hissed,
her voice,
dripping with venom,
and cold authority.
And make sure,
he never,
steps foot,
on Sterling property,
ever again.
The guards,
efficient,
and brutal,
grabbed Ethan,
by his arms,
dragging him,
across the cold,
hard floor.
They hauled him,
toward the front doors,
their grip,
like iron bands,
against his skin.
They threw him out,
face-first,
into the mud,
and the pouring rain.
Ethan lay,
in the wet dirt,
his cheek stinging,
from the jagged cut,
his clothes,
soaked to the bone,
shivering,
in the cold.
As the massive,
oak doors,
of the mansion,
slammed shut,
locking him out,
in the dark,
he slowly,
pushed himself up.
He wiped the blood,
and the rain,
from his eyes,
his gaze,
turning to ice.
They thought,
they had won,
they thought,
they had taken,
everything.
But Ethan,
knew his father,
better than they did.
And as he looked,
up at the,
glowing windows,
of the mansion,
a cold,
quiet realization,
washed over him.
The storm,
May you like
was just,
beginning.
