Out of the Embers

Eight years ago, I was charged with a DUI that resulted in dozens of deaths. I refused to plead guilty. I wanted to tell the truth. But I soon discovered that my own parents had already forged the evidence to protect my adopted brother, forcing me to take the fall for his crime. As public outrage boiled over, every single art gallery canceled their contracts with me. I begged my fiancée for help, but she refused to listen to a single word of my explanation. She screamed at me, calling me a murderer. She even stood by and watched as the victims' furious families slashed the tendons in my right hand, ensuring I would never pick up a paintbrush again. And finally, she joined hands with my parents to send me to a maximum-security prison for eight years. Eight years later, I walked out of those prison gates. I changed my name, found a quiet apartment complex, and took a job as a security guard. No one knew my past. I adapted to my new, silent, and peaceful life. Until my former fiancée, Isabella Thorne, showed up again. Her eyes were red. She gritted her teeth and demanded, "Ethan Pierce, why are you hiding?" "Do you have any idea how long your parents and I have been looking for you?" …… I sat perfectly still inside the guard booth, wearing my cheap uniform. "Ma'am, you have the wrong person." But Isabella wouldn't let it go. She lunged forward, grabbing my hand to drag me outside. "You've always been so selfish! Eight years ago, your selfishness killed all those innocent people. When are you finally going to grow up?!" Her voice was loud and piercing. But the moment she looked down at my right hand, the words died in her throat. She stared at my twisted, deformed right hand. Her fingers trembled as they brushed against the hideous, jagged network of scars. It had been eight years. The wounds didn't physically hurt anymore. But Isabella's fingertips felt like razor blades, slicing open my old scars inch by inch. Cold sweat instantly soaked through my shirt. The paralyzing terror of having my tendons brutally severed eight years ago came crashing back. I couldn't stop my entire body from shaking. Isabella's voice turned hoarse. "Ethan... back then... did it hurt?" "I'm sorry." I didn't answer her. But her erratic behavior had already caught the attention of my security captain, Dave. He ran over, looking tense. "Hey, what are you doing?! Let go of Ethan!" Before Dave could even reach us, a group of students from the nearby art institute swarmed Isabella. "Oh my god, you're Isabella Thorne, right?! The most famous contemporary artist in the country! Can I get your autograph?!" Thanks to the students, Isabella finally let go of me. I immediately took a step back, putting distance between us. Dave finally realized what was going on. He turned to me, his jaw dropping in shock. "Ethan... these kids are saying you're some kind of big shot. Who... who exactly are you?" Before I could answer, one of the art students chimed in. "I heard Ms. Thorne has been looking for her ex-fiancé who just got out of prison. Don't tell me it's this security guard?" The student shot me a look of pure disgust. "But her ex-fiancé used to be a genius painter. This guy is just a broke rent-a-cop, and a cripple too. Ms. Thorne, you must have the wrong guy, right?" I smiled bitterly. They were right. I could never pick up a paintbrush again. What was left of the genius I used to be? But Isabella, who had been signing autographs, suddenly let her face darken. She stopped signing. "Shut up!" "This is between me and Ethan! Keep your mouth shut!" With that, she pushed through the crowd, walked up to me, and handed me an elegant, gold-foil envelope. I looked down. The elegant cursive on the invitation pierced my eyes. [You are cordially invited to the wedding of Caleb Pierce and Isabella Thorne] Ah. So she was marrying my adopted brother. "Ethan." A flicker of pain crossed Isabella's face. "Because of the horrible things you did eight years ago, I was in a lot of pain. Caleb was the one who stayed by my side. He's been with me for eight years. I can't let him down." "You used to say you wanted to see me in a wedding dress. I hope you'll come." I took the invitation from her hand and tossed it casually onto the counter in the booth. I didn't say a word. I thought that would be the end of it. But that very night, I received a termination notice from my secondary gig at the local warehouse. "Ethan, son, you're still young. You used to be a big-shot artist. Keeping you here is beneath you." The old warehouse manager's voice was shaking over the phone. "I'll pay you three thousand for this month. Just please, don't come back." I was stunned. Just as I opened my mouth to ask what happened, the call dropped. He had blocked my number. A minute later, Isabella called. "Ethan." Her voice sounded exhausted. "You shouldn't be working as a security guard. I talked to the warehouse manager. Come back to us. Your parents and I will take care of you financially. I even have ways to get you back into the art world. You don't need to—" Before she could finish her sentence, I hung up. By what right? Who gave her the right to dictate my life? Eight years ago, she refused to listen to my explanations. She was so convinced I was guilty that she used her own twisted sense of justice—standing by while my tendons were severed—to punish me. And now, without asking, she unilaterally shattered the peaceful life I had built. She still didn't have an ounce of trust in me. She still didn't doubt the "truth" for a second! Isabella's words made me so furious I felt physically sick. I sat on my cramped bed in the employee dorms, taking a long time to calm my breathing. Dave, noticing something was very wrong, poured me a cup of hot water. "Ethan, man... what exactly is going on?" I knew Dave was bursting with questions. I owed Dave my life. When I first got out of prison, I had nothing. My hand was crippled. Dave took pity on me and pulled strings to get me this security job. Even though it only paid minimum wage, it came with room and board. It gave me a place to survive. So, I didn't hide anything from him. I went out, bought some fried chicken and a cheap bottle of bourbon, and told Dave everything. Dave listened in complete silence. He patted my shoulder heavily and let out a long sigh. "Forget it. We'll find you another job. If you don't have anywhere to go, I've got a finished basement at my place. You can crash there for a while." The next morning, I had to move out of the dorms. But as I packed my bags and walked out the door, the victims' families from eight years ago—tipped off by God knows who—were already blocking the entrance. The moment they saw me, their rage ignited. "You animal! We finally found you!" "You killed our families! What gives you the right to still be breathing?!" They swarmed me. I opened my mouth to explain, but a heavy boot slammed into my stomach. I doubled over in agony, curling into a ball on the concrete. Immediately, a hail of fists, kicks, and metal pipes rained down on me. Crimson blood poured from my mouth and head. My luggage was ripped apart, my few belongings scattered everywhere. Drip— The sky was overcast. Suddenly, a torrential downpour began. Maybe they got tired, or maybe it was the heavy rain, but the beating finally stopped. They kicked me a few more times in disgust and walked away. When the crowd dispersed, I was the only one left, lying paralyzed on the concrete. The pouring rain washed the blood from my face. I tried to push myself up, but after several failed attempts, I collapsed back onto the ground. "Ethan! How bad is it?!" Dave came running through the storm with an umbrella. He hauled me up off the pavement, loaded me onto his beat-up motorcycle, and rushed me to the hospital. But whether it was a major hospital or a tiny urgent care clinic, the moment they saw my face, they waved us away and refused to treat me. Finally, an older doctor took pity on me. He secretly slipped me a bottle of painkillers and whispered: "Kid, some very powerful people put the word out. No one in this city dares to treat you." "Get out of here before you cause more trouble!" I laughed. I laughed so hard tears mixed with the rainwater on my face. Isabella... is this your way of "helping" me? You are truly ruthless! With no other choice, I returned to Dave's basement. But just as I laid down to rest, there was a heavy knock on the door. It was my adopted brother, Caleb, standing alongside my biological parents. The moment Caleb saw me, his eyes welled up with perfectly timed tears. "Ethan... how can you live in a place like this?" "I know you've always loved Isabella. I know you're upset. If it means that much to you, I'll call off the wedding... I'll give her back to you..." By the end of his sentence, he was weeping softly, acting as if he was enduring some massive, heartbreaking sacrifice. This was Caleb's signature move. Since we were kids, anytime he wanted something from me, he pulled this exact stunt. Because his biological parents died in a car crash saving mine, my parents poured every ounce of their guilt and love into him. If he cried, it automatically meant I was bullying him. Sure enough, seeing Caleb's pitiful tears, my father stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face. "Stop embarrassing us!" "Do you honestly think looking this pathetic will make us feel sorry for you? Do you think Isabella is going to run back into your arms? Keep dreaming!" My mother comforted Caleb, patting his back before glaring at me coldly. "Enough. People have already spotted you. If you don't come back with us now, the press will say we abandoned you. If those rioters dig too deep and figure out what really happened back then, it'll ruin everything." "Come home with us right now!" When I didn't move, my father took it as a challenge to his authority. Furious, he kicked me—his heavy shoe landing squarely on my broken, bleeding ribs. Fresh blood soaked through my shirt. My father raised his hand to hit me again, but froze in mid-air. After a long moment, he slowly lowered his arm. Even my mother's voice carried a sudden, hesitant sliver of concern. "Ethan... what happened to you? Where did you get all these injuries?" I gritted my teeth, my body trembling violently from the excruciating pain. Seeing this, a flash of panic crossed Caleb's eyes. "Mom, Dad, Ethan must have been so angry about the wedding that he started self-harming, like those people on TV." He wiped his fake tears and stepped closer to me. "Ethan, please stop making Mom and Dad worry. Stop hurting yourself." He sounded so sincere. But as he leaned in, his lips brushed against my ear, and he whispered: "Why didn't those people just beat you to death? You really are useless." Then, he backed away and loudly gave me some more fake, brotherly advice. My parents, of course, swallowed Caleb's lie instantly. My father scoffed. "If he wants to self-harm, let him rot. Caleb, stop being so soft-hearted. Let's go. Leave him." With that, they turned and walked away. They didn't see the smug, triumphant smirk Caleb shot me over his shoulder. After they left, I locked the door, pulled out a first-aid kit, and forced myself through the agonizing pain to change my bloody bandages. Just as I finished, Dave knocked and walked in. He wrung his hands, his face pale and twisted with guilt. "Ethan, man..." He paused for a long time, struggling to find the words. Finally, he spoke. "It's not that I don't want you here. It's just... sigh. The big shots in the city sent someone to my door. My kids are still young, Ethan. I just can't risk it..." Hearing that, what else was there to say? I didn't blame him. I knew Dave had already risked everything for me. I thanked him one last time. To avoid dragging his family down any further, I packed my things and moved out that very night. The moment I stepped out of Dave's house, Isabella was waiting for me with a professional moving crew. Seeing her, my suspicions were confirmed. I frowned in disgust. "Isabella, is this fun for you? Why are you threatening innocent people?" Isabella's eyes darted away guiltily. She glanced at Dave's house before looking back at me. "Ethan, I didn't want to do this. You forced my hand." "Just come back with me. I'll help you pull yourself out of this downward spiral. Why are you fighting me so hard?" I didn't answer. The air turned suffocatingly heavy. From that small suburban town all the way back to the coastal city, we didn't speak a single word. When we arrived, I was escorted into a small, upscale apartment. My parents were already sitting on the sofa waiting for me. The second I saw them, my instincts screamed at me to leave, but Isabella slammed the door shut behind me. My father spoke first. "Where do you think you're going? Haven't you humiliated us enough?" My mother scoffed. "For a convicted murderer like you, providing you with a place to hide is more than generous." "I know you're bitter that Isabella and Caleb are getting married. But look at yourself. You're a crippled ex-con. You don't deserve her anymore. Until the wedding is over, you are staying right here. If you need to go out, you ask for permission, and you wear a mask!" My parents' words almost made me laugh out loud. "Me? A murderer? A humiliation?" "You both know exactly what happened eight years ago..." Before I could finish, my mother slapped me across the face. My father jumped up in a panic, glaring at me with murderous rage. "Shut your mouth! If you ever spout that nonsense again, I'll tear your tongue out!" Isabella looked thoroughly confused. But right at that moment, my father's phone rang. It was the family butler. "Mr. Pierce, it's terrible! Young Master Caleb spiked a fever and collapsed!" Hearing that, Isabella abandoned her confusion instantly. She and my parents practically tore the front door off its hinges rushing out to save him. Watching their frantic, panicked retreat, a dull, agonizing ache still rippled through my chest. But at the same time, I finally felt a strange sense of relief. Ding— My phone buzzed. A text from Caleb. [See, Ethan? All it takes is one little word from me, and everyone abandons you to run back to my side!] Attached was a photo: Isabella busy making soup in the kitchen, while my parents tenderly wiped his forehead with warm towels. I didn't reply. I locked my phone and lay down on the bed. I had given up hope on them a long time ago. I no longer cared who held a more important place in their hearts. Ever since Isabella reappeared, I hadn't had a single good night's sleep. Exhaustion dragged me under, and I fell into a deep sleep. The next day, I was woken up by blinding pain. My mother was dragging me out of bed by my hair. I hissed in pain. Just as I opened my mouth, she screamed furiously in my face: "Ethan Pierce, what the hell are you trying to do?!" "Why did you post about coming back on the internet?!" I was completely confused. I immediately defended myself. "I've been asleep since yesterday! I didn't post anything!" My father violently threw a smartphone directly at my face. I picked it up. Someone pretending to be me had posted on X (Twitter): [I'm finally back. But my fiancée is marrying someone else.] The post had caused a massive uproar. The comments were already past 9,999+. Almost all of them were vicious attacks aimed at me: [A literal murderer has the nerve to act like he deserves a saint like Isabella?!] [Take a look in the mirror, you crippled psycho!] [Why don't you just die? Why haven't you paid for the lives you took, murderer?!] Reading the comments, my father gritted his teeth. "Still lying!" "You just can't let Isabella go! She and Caleb are getting married tomorrow, and you just can't stand to see your brother happy!" "Caleb treats you so well! Why have you been such a toxic, jealous cancer since you were kids?!" Isabella looked at me with profound disappointment. "Ethan. Eight years have passed, and you haven't changed a bit." "You make me sick." With that, she grabbed my arm and dragged me toward a tiny, cramped storage closet in the hallway. She shoved me inside, slammed the door shut, and locked it from the outside. "Ethan, Caleb has been crying all day. He feels guilty because of you." "To make sure you don't ruin the wedding tomorrow, you are going to stay in here. You aren't going anywhere!" I pounded on the door frantically. "No! No! I won't go out tomorrow! I won't go anywhere!" "Please, let me out! I can't stay in here!" No one answered. After the sound of the front door closing, the only thing left in the apartment was the echo of my own desperate begging. The storage room was tiny, pitch-black, and had absolutely no windows. When I was in prison, the other inmates used to torture me. Once, they locked me inside a dark janitor's closet for three days without food or water until I passed out. Ever since then, I suffered from severe claustrophobia. I curled myself into a tight ball on the floor. My wounds from the beating had split open and were bleeding again. The physical pain, combined with the suffocating terror and lack of oxygen, made my consciousness blur. But my survival instincts kept me trapped in a state of semi-awareness, unable to fully pass out and escape the terror. I don't know how much time passed. It must have been the next day. I could faintly hear the festive honking of a wedding motorcade outside. Isabella and Caleb were getting married. I felt like I couldn't hold on any longer. But right at that moment, thick, black smoke began seeping in through the cracks under the closet door. Fire! I tried to stand up. I tried to scream for help. But my body was entirely devoid of strength. The smoke grew thicker. The heat from the roaring flames licked at my skin, burning me alive. My mind slipped further and further into the dark. Finally, right before I lost consciousness entirely... a blast of cool, fresh air hit my face, and I felt myself falling into an embrace that smelled incredibly familiar and comforting...