The House That Never Felt Like Home
(Ethan's POV)
The city lights blurred past Ethan's windshield as he drove through the quiet streets. The evening charity event still lingered in his mind—not because of the speeches or the donors, but because of one woman.
Ophelia.
He smiled to himself as he stopped at a red light.
Who spends an hour arguing over a sculpture?
Apparently, she did.
He could still hear her laughter echoing in his ears.
"That looks like someone's aunt chasing a chicken!"
He had laughed harder than he had in years.
The light turned green.
His smile slowly faded as the familiar iron gates of the Harrison Estate came into view.
The guards recognized his car immediately.
"Good evening, Mr. Ethan."
He gave a polite nod before driving through.
The mansion stood proudly under the glow of golden lights. It was magnificent—three stories of marble, glass, and carefully trimmed hedges. To anyone passing by, it looked like the home of a perfect family.
To Ethan, it had always felt like a museum.
Beautiful.
Cold.
Untouchable.
He parked the car and remained seated for a moment, staring at the front door.
"I'll only be here for a few minutes," he muttered to himself.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped out.
Before he could knock, the door swung open.
There she was.
Celeste Harrison.
Elegant as always, dressed in a cream silk gown, a glass of red wine resting delicately in her hand.
She looked him up and down before offering a smile that never reached her eyes.
"Well..."
"What a surprise."
Ethan slipped one hand into his pocket.
"Good evening, Celeste."
"You remembered this house exists."
"I came to see my father."
"I'm sure you did."
She took a slow sip of her wine.
"You disappear for weeks... sometimes months...after arriving in the country and suddenly you decide to come home."
"This is still my father's house."
Her smile tightened.
"Is it?"
Silence settled between them.
She leaned casually against the doorway.
"You know..."
"It has been so peaceful since you moved out."
Ethan looked at her quietly.
Not angry.
Not surprised.
Just tired.
She had mastered the art of saying cruel things with perfect manners.
"I'm not here to argue."
"I know."
"You're here to play the perfect son."
He walked past her without another word.
Behind him, her voice followed.
"Try not to stay too long."
"The house has finally learned to breathe."
Ethan didn't stop walking.
The staircase creaked softly beneath his footsteps.
Every corner of the mansion carried memories.
Some good.
Most painful.
As he reached the second floor, his eyes drifted toward a framed photograph hanging in the hallway.
His mother.
She wore the same warm smile he remembered from childhood.
He stopped in front of it.
For a long moment, he simply stared.
"I miss you."
The words escaped in a whisper.
"If you were here..."
"Things would've been different."
A lump formed in his throat.
He gently touched the edge of the frame before continuing toward the study.
The door was slightly open.
A familiar voice called out before he could knock.
"You can come in."
Ethan smiled faintly.
His father always knew it was him.
Richard Ashford sat behind a massive oak desk covered with files and contracts.
The moment he looked up, his face softened.
"Ethan."
The single word carried relief.
He stood immediately and crossed the room..