Ethan's Point of View
The hotel room was silent except for the sound of my footsteps pacing back and forth across the carpeted floor. The opulent furnishings, the subdued lighting, the air of polished luxury—all of it grated on my nerves, mocking the turmoil swirling inside me. I felt caged, trapped within the confines of a gilded room while my mind screamed for release. Caspian. My son. The truth of it was like a blade lodged in my chest, every breath driving it deeper.
Marcus stood near the window, his expression a study in conflicted loyalty. I could tell he was wrestling with how to approach me, to navigate the minefield of my anger without setting off an explosion. But I was past caring. I was past everything except the burning need to act.
