Chapter 4
1066words
Months had passed since Ethan had imprisoned himself. The flowers that once surrounded him like a golden ocean had transformed into blackened remnants with a sickly-sweet, putrid smell.
Ethan lived among this decay, surrounded day and night by withered blooms. He seemed to have become part of the rot, breathing the air of deterioration, his body covered in the dust of time.
That morning, as he sat among the withered heap staring at Mia's silent smile on the wall, a forgotten tablet in the corner—covered in dust—suddenly lit up.
In the tomb-like space, this artificial light seemed abrupt and ominous. A recurring reminder—set by his own hand in another life—appeared punctually:
Mia - Anniversary.
Ethan stared at the text. It no longer stung as it once had, nor could it stir the violent sorrow in his heart. Now it was merely a timer, a bell toll, calmly announcing: time's up.
He rose from the withered ruins and, for the first time in months, walked out his door.
New York's sunlight remained harsh, its streets as noisy as ever. The once-familiar city now felt like a foreign country. The rushing crowds, garish billboards, honking cars—all seemed behind frosted glass, blurry and distant. In his wrinkled, unwashed shirt, he looked haggard and out of place in this bright world, like a ghost wandering through the living.
He bought a basic phone with cash at a corner convenience store. Holding the cheap plastic device, he felt oddly detached.
Back home, he dialed a number from memory. David—once his most trusted wealth manager—answered.
"Ethan! My God, is that you? You finally called! We're going crazy here—the board's in chaos, stock's tanking, what on earth..." David's anxious voice poured through the line.
"I have instructions, David." Ethan cut him off, his voice calm as still water. Not the commanding CEO's voice, but that of a terminal patient arranging his affairs.
"Instructions? Of course, anything—just come back..."
"When the market opens," Ethan said slowly, "liquidate all company shares under my name. All of them."
Silence stretched for ten seconds. Then David's voice, pitched octaves higher: "All of it? Ethan, are you insane?! Do you realize what that means? That's over 40 million shares!"
"I know." Ethan's response was casual, as if discussing someone else's problem.
"But why?!" David's voice trembled. "Ethan, this is your life's work!"
"My life's work..." Ethan tasted the phrase, a bitter smile touching his lips. A deliberately suppressed memory surfaced with crystal clarity.
The day of the company's IPO bell ringing. He'd stood on NASDAQ's trading floor amid flowers, applause, and flashing cameras, his company's ticker symbol displayed proudly. A conquering king basking in glory. That same afternoon, Mia had called, tearful, saying she felt terribly ill, struggling to breathe, heading to the hospital. He'd glanced at the waiting reporters and said impatiently: "Honey, we're celebrating here—it's the company's big moment. Go ahead without me. See the doctor, and I'll come when I'm finished."
He never did finish. The celebration stretched into the night. By the time he remembered to check on her, the doctor called to say Mia had been moved to intensive care.
His most glorious day. Also the last time he pushed her away before losing her forever.
"Ethan? Are you there?" David's voice choked with emotion.
"I'm here," Ethan returned to the present, the last hesitation vanishing from his eyes, leaving only cold resolution. He spoke calmly, each word distinct: "Because the price I paid was far higher than its worth."
He hung up and tossed the phone into a bin of withered petals without a second thought. He'd just abandoned everything—the career he'd spent half his life building.
And he felt only profound calm.
A week later, Ethan sat in a top Midtown law firm's reception area, wearing his only decent—but heavily wrinkled—Armani suit. The spotless space smelled of premium wood and leather, with expensive art adorning the walls—a stark contrast to his apartment's floral graveyard. He sat like a visitor from another dimension, utterly disconnected.
A well-dressed senior partner slid a thick document before him.
"So, Mr. Hayes, let's confirm once more," the lawyer said professionally, his tone reverent of the astronomical sum involved. "The proceeds from liquidating all your assets will establish an irrevocable anonymous donation fund. And you, as sole donor, will permanently and absolutely remain anonymous. Do you confirm these terms?"
"Yes." Ethan answered.
"Forgive my impertinence," the lawyer ventured, "but are you certain you want no recognition? Such an enormous charitable act would surely—"
Ethan didn't let him finish. His gaze drifted past the lawyer to the glittering skyline. He thought of Mia.
"I'm certain," he said softly.
He lifted the heavy Montblanc pen and signed the document that would erase his worldly identity. His hand was steady, like his heart.
He stood, shook hands without eye contact, then walked out—out of the office, out of the building that symbolized wealth and power, leaving behind his past, his fortune, and the name that had once commanded the world's attention.
When he returned to the apartment thick with decay, an empty sense of relief washed over him. Like a long-serving prisoner finally freed, only to discover he had nowhere to go.
This place was his only refuge.
He removed the ill-fitting suit, tossing it onto withered flowers like a discarded costume.
Then he walked to the projector and turned it on with practiced ease.
The familiar electrical hum—like an eternal lullaby—filled the space. Slowly, almost reverently, he returned to the sofa, sat down, and looked up.
On the wall, light and shadow danced. Mia's face appeared once more.
She stood at the seaside, facing sunshine, eyes narrowed, smiling brilliantly. That sunshine, for him, had long since set.
His life had compressed to this room's dimensions. His time simplified to a single cycle: wake, watch, sleep, repeat... until death claimed him.
He was no longer a man grieving for memories.
With what remained of his decaying, motionless life, he proved—day after day—that the love he'd once neglected, now dead, had once vibrantly existed.
The image changed. Their wedding.
Young Mia turned her head, looking past the camera at him, her eyes bright with hope for their future.
Ethan gazed back quietly, his face illuminated by the flickering light.
He knew he was already buried, without needing to die.
