The group of lackeys froze, not daring to make a move, their eyes darting nervously toward Summer.
Summer remained silent, her thoughts unreadable.
Ethan pressed the jagged glass harder against Lucas's throat. "Apologize. Or I'll end you right here."
"Fuck you! Go on, do it!" Lucas snarled, though his voice wavered.
Ethan's hand didn't tremble. He applied steady pressure, and everyone watched, tense, as the sharp edge indented Lucas's skin, a thin trickle of blood welling up. In the fragile area of the neck, no one knew when the glass might slip and tear straight through.
"Okay! Okay! I'm sorry!" Lucas finally yelled, the fear breaking through his bravado.
A collective, silent sigh of relief passed through the onlookers.
Ethan tossed the broken bottle aside and shoved Lucas away by his hair, sending him stumbling to the floor.
"Son of a bitch!" Lucas scrambled to his feet, face flushed with rage and humiliation. "Get him! Kill him!"
"Enough!"
Summer's voice cut through the tension. Her cold stare swept over the group.
They glanced between Lucas and Summer, ultimately hesitating.
Summer waved a dismissive hand. "Don't just stand there. Take Lucas to get patched up."
Lucas seethed with resentment but was dragged away by his crew.
Once they were gone, Summer plucked a grape and popped it into her mouth, studying Ethan with keen interest. "How did you know you could get away with that?"
Ethan twisted the cap off a beer, took a long swig, and wiped his mouth. "I've only met Michael once before. At the hospital. He came to see my mom. She threw him out. Afterward, he stopped me outside. The way he looked at me… it was pure disgust. But he still gave me his number. Told me to call if my mom ever needed anything." Ethan's voice was flat. "I think he still cares about her. But my existence is what forced them apart. So he hates me."
Summer's eyes glinted with intrigue. "Go on."
"When I called him to the school today, the moment he walked into that office, I saw the annoyance in his eyes. He just wanted to go through the motions—show up so they wouldn't call my mom. We both want to protect her from stress. But when he saw those eight guys, all bruised up from our fight… he changed his mind. He decided to stand up for me. Because that way, I'd owe him."
"And that's why you came with me when I picked you up," Summer deduced.
Ethan nodded. "Yeah. Because I owed him."
Summer tilted her head. "But with that mob waiting for you at the school gates, did you really have another choice?"
"Not a good one," Ethan admitted. "But it was a choice. Fight them. Either they beat me into submission, or I beat them into submission. That's the only way something like that ends. You showing up today didn't really solve the problem. They'd be back tomorrow, or the day after. It only stops when someone gives in."
"You sound very sure of that," Summer said, opening her own beer.
"I've had enough experience." Ethan's smile was thin and humorless. "Growing up, I fought off other vendors, market inspectors, drunks harassing my mom… you name it. You learn how these things work."
Summer paused, taken aback. She clinked her bottle against his, took a deep drink, and licked her lips. "Keep going."
"Him suddenly deciding to help me? It's because he saw I can handle myself. But let's be real—a man like him has plenty of tough guys willing to work for him. So what he needs isn't just muscle. He needs someone connected to him, who also has that edge. I don't know why yet. That's just my guess."
Summer's interest visibly deepened.
Ethan continued, "Then I come here with you, and this Lucas guy shows up immediately, all pissed off. He acts threatened, like my mere presence challenges his position. But that doesn't make sense. A legitimate heir wouldn't feel threatened by a bastard son who's never been in the picture." He uttered the word 'bastard' with a trace of self-mockery. "My guess? Lucas screwed up. Badly. And now, Michael needs a 'son' to clean up the mess. My arrival made Lucas feel exposed and inadequate. He had to rush over and try to put me in my place."
"So, if I'm here to do a job for Michael," Ethan concluded calmly, "why should I put up with his son's crap? We're not family. We're strangers. I don't owe him anything."
Summer laughed, a low, magnetic sound. "Ethan, I think I'm starting to like you. Cheers."
"No more for me." Ethan shook his head and pulled a textbook from his backpack, opening it to study.
Summer leaned in, her unique perfume drifting around him. She glanced at the neat handwriting in his notebook. "What are your grades like?"
"Top of the school," Ethan replied without looking up.
Summer was genuinely surprised. Someone from his background, with his hardened demeanor, usually didn't prioritize academics.
"You enjoy studying?" she asked.
"No." Ethan shook his head. "I hate it."
"Then why be the top student?"
"It makes my mom happy." He turned the page.
Summer noticed his complete seriousness. She finished her beer, lit a slender cigarette, and watched him. "You really care that much about your mom's feelings?"
"Yeah." Ethan nodded. "She's my life."
After a brief pause, he added softly, "And I'm hers."
It had been a long time since Summer had heard anything so… sincere. It touched a forgotten part of her. "If that's true, you could have refused to come today. You're smart enough to know what you were walking into."
"He's going to pay me," Ethan stated simply.
"What?"
"He's going to pay me. Right?" Ethan repeated. "And it won't be a small amount. He knows I can't refuse. That's the real reason he helped me today." His voice was steady. "I need money. A lot of it. For my mom's chemo. So she doesn't have to cut grass to feed fish, haul nets, and sell at the market anymore. I wanted to drop out and work. She wouldn't let me."
Footsteps approached.
Michael Langford arrived. He sat down across from Ethan, glanced at the shattered glass on the floor—clearly already briefed—but said nothing about it. He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and gestured toward Ethan, who was putting his book away.
"Did you tell him?" Michael asked Summer.
"No." She shook her head, a sly smile playing on her lips. "He figured it out himself."
Michael's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. He studied Ethan more closely—his posture, his composure, his ability to block out everything else while focused on a task. The resemblance to his younger self was unsettling.
Summer relayed the message. "Right now, his main concern is how much you're paying."
Ethan finished packing his bag just as the conversation turned to him.
Michael tapped his cigarette ash. "Name your price."
"I don't know," Ethan said, his gaze level. "I don't really understand money. I just know a pound of carp costs eight bucks, a pound of lettuce is a dollar ten, one radiation session at the hospital is eighteen hundred, and real-time monitoring during treatment is forty dollars per session."