Chapter 3

Unbeknownst to William Armond, it was Ethan who had orchestrated the sudden change in the inheritance competition rules. Using his influence in the region, Ethan discreetly fed information to Gregory Mitchell, ensuring that the final round required both candidates to present their firstborn sons. While William reeled from the unexpected announcement, far away in the Armond estate, Ethan, still dressed in the rough, ill-fitting servant’s clothes he had been forced into, stood unmoved as Brandon strutted in, flanked by two towering guards. Brandon’s lips curled into a sneer. “So, you’re the pathetic fool who thinks he can marry that cursed woman, Lily?” He let out a cruel laugh, shaking his head. “You must be out of your damn mind!” Brandon had always been as ruthless as his father—perhaps even more so. He had been raised with the belief that power was absolute and that those beneath him existed to be crushed. And now, as he entered the dimly lit room where Ethan was being held, he was eager to remind him of his place. Ethan remained still, his expression unreadable. Brandon turned to one of the guards. “Give him his meal.” The guard stepped forward, holding a metal plate. The moment he tilted it, Ethan saw its contents—live insects, alongside some reptiles, writhing against the surface. Ethan wasn't surprised; he'd been waiting for this moment. He knew Brandon would come to provoke him, especially after overhearing Brandon the day before, boasting about how he was going to almost sniff the life out of him. Brandon’s smirk widened. “If you want to prove you’re worthy of my sister, you’ll eat every last one of them!” Ethan didn’t flinch. He simply tilted his head, watching Brandon with an unsettling calmness. The lack of reaction irritated Brandon. He strode up and pushed Ethan’s head toward the plate. “Are you deaf?! Eat it!” Ethan’s hand shot up, gripping Brandon’s wrist in an iron grasp. With a single violent twist, Brandon let out a strangled yell, yanking his arm back in pain. His face twisted in fury. “You dare touch me?” Brandon turned to the guards. “Strip the bastard!” The two men moved forward, ripping Ethan’s shirt off with force. His torso, lean but corded with muscle, remained still under their hands. He didn’t resist—not yet. He was waiting. Brandon let out a mock whistle. “We need to see what you’ve got under those pants, too. Can’t have Lily burdened with a weakling!” He let out a laugh and nodded to the guards. “Take off his last piece of dignity!” One of the guards reached forward, but before his fingers could touch the waistband of Ethan’s pants, Ethan moved. Like a coiled viper, he grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it hard. The room filled with the sickening snap of bones breaking. The guard screamed, collapsing onto the floor as blood dripped from his twisted limb. Brandon and the remaining guard froze, their eyes widening in disbelief. Ethan slowly turned his gaze toward them with his voice low and menacing. “You should have thought twice before trying to humiliate me.” Brandon, in a burst of rage, lunged at Ethan, but Ethan was faster. He sidestepped the attack, gripping Brandon’s arm and twisting it behind his back with brutal force. Brandon let out a strangled scream. “Is this not what you wanted?” Ethan growled in his ear. “To test my strength?” Brandon thrashed with his face twisted in agony. “Let go of me, you bastard!” Ethan ignored his plea. Instead, he shifted his grip and drove Brandon down to his knees. The remaining guard hesitated, torn between fear and duty. “Attack him, you idiot!” Brandon screamed at the guard. The guard gritted his teeth and rushed forward. Ethan met him head-on, delivering a devastating punch that shattered the man’s nose. Blood sprayed across the floor! Before the guard could recover, Ethan grabbed him by the collar and slammed his head against the stone wall—once, twice—until his body slumped lifelessly. Brandon was now the only one left standing. Or rather, kneeling. Brandon’s breath came in ragged gasps. His arms trembled as he tried to pull away, but Ethan kept him pinned with ease. “Still feeling bold?” Ethan murmured. Brandon clenched his teeth. “I swear… my father will—” A sharp cry escaped his lips as Ethan twisted his arm further. “Your father?” Ethan smirked. “The same man who’s expecting you to stand beside him tomorrow? What a shame that won’t be happening.” With one swift motion, Ethan dislocated Brandon’s knee. Brandon howled in agony, collapsing onto the floor. His leg lay limp at an unnatural angle. But Ethan wasn’t done! He reached into the small satchel he had hidden in his tattered clothing and pulled out a tiny bottle. Brandon’s tear-streaked eyes widened in fear. “What… what is that?” Ethan crouched beside him, pouring a clear liquid into a small cap. “You’ll find out soon enough.” He shoved the cap to Brandon’s lips. “Drink.” Brandon shook his head violently, but Ethan applied pressure to his wounded knee. The pain was unbearable. With a choked sob, Brandon gulped down the liquid. Seconds later, he began to gag. His throat constricted, and he clawed at his neck. His body convulsed violently before he suddenly coughed—spitting out a single, gleaming gold coin. Ethan picked up the coin and smirked. “Congratulations. You’ve just been marked.” Brandon’s hands trembled. He tried to speak, but no words came out. His mouth opened and closed in panic. Ethan chuckled darkly. “Oh, you can’t talk anymore? How unfortunate.” He twirled the coin between his fingers. "This coin is my tracker. As long as I have it, I’ll know every move you make against me—and everything happening around you." He leaned closer. Brandon let out a desperate, soundless scream. Ethan stood up, wiping his hands clean. He glanced down at the two unconscious guards before turning his gaze back to the broken, voiceless heir. “I hope your father enjoys the surprise waiting for him.” With that, Ethan walked away, closing the door behind him. At the same time, back at the estate’s main house, William Armond returned from the inheritance session in high spirits, anticipating the victory he had worked so hard to secure. He strode inside, barking orders to the servants. “Send Brandon to me at once.” Without hesitation, one of the servants quickly left William's sight to fetch Brandon. A few minutes later, he returned, pale and visibly shaken. William's anger flared. Hadn't he just given a clear instruction? So why was the servant standing there, without Brandon? He snapped, "Didn't I tell you to bring Brandon?!" The servant stammered, "Sir, there's... a situation." William’s smile faltered. “What situation?” Moments later, William was standing before his son’s crumpled form. The sight of Brandon—his leg twisted, his mouth gaping in silence—sent an ice-cold wave through his body. His son, his heir, was both crippled and mute! William’s fingers curled into fists. “Who. Did. This?!” The servants were silent, but the terror on their faces spoke volumes. William’s mind raced. He had left Brandon in control, ensuring everything was under his grasp. How had it all fallen apart in the span of a few hours? And worse—how the hell was he supposed to present his son tomorrow? His entire world was collapsing, and he had no idea who had set it on fire! "I. Said. Who. Did. This?!" William snarled in fury.