Ethan stood under the shower, hot water pounding against his new muscles, steam filling the small bathroom until the mirror fogged completely. He let the heat work into his shoulders, washing away the day.
All of it swirled down the drain with the soap.
He dressed in fresh clothes: dark jeans that fit his thicker thighs perfectly, a gray Henley that hugged his chest and arms without being obvious, and bare feet for comfort.
The house smelled different now—cooking, something rich and savory drifting up the stairs. Voices murmured below, laughter that sounded forced. He checked himself in the mirror one last time: jaw set, eyes steady, posture straight.
No more hunched shoulders, no more avoiding gazes.
He was different now, and he carried it like armor.
The stairs creaked under his weight as he descended, each step deliberate.
The living room opened before him—his father, Richard, standing near the fireplace with Jennifer, the two of them close, talking in low tones about something work-related.
She laughed at something Richard said, touching his arm briefly.
Vanessa was in the kitchen, apron on, moving between the stove and counter, her face drawn and tired, mascara reapplied but eyes still red-rimmed.
And Charlize, his Aunt Charlize, stood near the dining table, setting out plates with long, graceful fingers, her presence commanding the room without effort.
Ethan, once again, was lost in a daze, watching her.
Charlize Embray looked like she'd walked off a magazine cover even in casual wear: a fitted black sweater that clung to her tall, athletic frame, designer jeans that hugged her hips and long legs, and blonde hair swept back in a loose ponytail.
When Ethan entered the room fully, she looked up, and their eyes met.
Something flickered there, recognition of the change, curiosity, appraisal.
"Dinner's ready," Vanessa called from the kitchen, her voice strained with false cheer.
"Everyone, please sit."
They gathered around the dining table, a large oak piece that had seen too many silent meals. Richard took the head, Vanessa to his right, Charlize and Jennifer on the left, and Ethan at the far end facing his father.
The table was set with care: good china, cloth napkins, candles flickering in the center. Platters of food covered the surface: roasted chicken glistening with herbs, mashed potatoes steaming, green beans almondine, and fresh bread in a basket. It looked like a scene from a family magazine, but the tension underneath was palpable, thick enough to choke on.
Vanessa served, her hands moving quickly, piling plates high.
"I made your favorite, Richard, rosemary chicken. And Charlize, I remembered you like the potatoes with extra butter."
Her voice was too bright and too eager, trying to paper over the cracks.
Charlize accepted her plate with a tight smile.
"Thank you, Vanessa. Very thoughtful."
The words were polite, but her tone was ice.
Jennifer, ever the peacemaker, jumped in.
"This looks wonderful, Vanessa. You've outdone yourself."
She was warm and genuine, her British accent softening the words.
Richard carved the chicken, the knife slicing through the meat with precision.
"Dig in, everyone. No point letting it get cold."
They ate in silence for a moment, the only sounds the clink of silverware on china and the scrape of knives. Ethan cut into his chicken, the meat tender and juicy, but he barely tasted it.
He was stealing glances at Charlize and thought back to the rewards.
The numbers had made his pulse race.
Charlize was a goldmine but also the hardest target imaginable: a married lesbian, his father's sister, strong-willed, and sharp as a blade.
It must be the taboo act that made the rewards higher. He thought that the system must have given the task because of its forbidden nature.
The system was pushing him into deeper, darker waters.
But why now? He frowned inwardly, chewing slowly, letting the question simmer.
Charlize broke the silence, her voice cutting through the quiet like a knife through silk.
"So, Ethan."
She set down her fork, dabbed her lips with the napkin, and locked eyes onto him with laser focus.
"Your father tells me you're graduating soon. Have you thought about what you will do after graduating?
What are your plans? College? Work? Drifting aimlessly?"
There was a challenge in her tone, the way she'd always tested him since he was a kid—never coddling, always demanding more.
Ethan met her gaze and didn't flinch. His posture was upright now, shoulders back, and chin level. The old Ethan would have mumbled into his plate.
This one spoke clearly.
"Architecture. I'm looking at universities with solid programs, in-state and out. I've always liked designing structures—big ones. There's something about scale that feels… right."
Richard's head snapped up from his plate, surprise flickering across his face.
"Architecture? Since when? You never mentioned that before. Thought you were into computers, coding, all that tech nonsense."
Ethan shrugged, slicing another piece of chicken with deliberate care.
"Things change."
Vanessa jumped in, her voice overly enthusiastic, desperate to engage.
"That's wonderful, Ethan! I'm so happy you're thinking seriously about your future. Architecture is a respected field—creative but practical. Your father always said you needed direction, and now you have it. We can visit campuses together and talk to admissions counselors. I know people, connections through the school district—"
Ethan stayed silent, his jaw tightening imperceptibly.
He didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge the words, and just kept eating.
The slight was subtle but unmistakable.
Vanessa's smile faltered, her hand freezing mid-reach for the bread basket. She glanced at Richard, seeking support, but he was watching Ethan with narrowed eyes, calculating.
Charlize noticed immediately. Her sharp gaze flicked between Ethan and Vanessa, reading the tension like a book.
"Connections are useful," she said smoothly, steering the conversation.
"But merit matters more. Ethan, have you put together a portfolio yet? Architecture programs are competitive. They want to see vision, creativity, and technical skill. I could introduce you to some people at my firm, architects I work with on projects. Get yourself some exposure, maybe an internship."
Ethan nodded, swallowing.
"That'd be helpful. Thanks, Aunt Charlize."
His tone was respectful but guarded, not the eager gratitude of a child.
It was measured, adult.
Jennifer smiled warmly from across the table, her kind eyes crinkling.
"Charlize is being modest. She's worked with some of the best architects in the country and won awards for her designs. If she's offering help, take it. She doesn't offer lightly."
Charlize waved a hand dismissively, but there was a flicker of pride.
"I recognize talent when I see it. Or potential, at least. Ethan, you've always been bright, too bright to waste it. Architecture suits you. Requires vision, patience, and the spine to fight for your ideas against clients and contractors who think they know better."
She leaned back, wine glass in hand, studying him with those piercing eyes.
"You look like you have been doing some activities. Join a sports team?"
She asked him again.
Richard chuckled, low and skeptical.
"Sports? Ethan? Please.
He's never been the athletic type. Too much time in his room with books and screens. I figured he'd end up some pale desk jockey, never seeing sunlight."
There was an edge to his words, the old disappointment creeping through even as he tried to mask it with humor.
Ethan's grip on his fork tightened, knuckles whitening, but his face remained neutral. He didn't respond to his father and didn't rise to the bait.
Just kept chewing, eyes on his plate.
Vanessa tried again, her voice softer, pleading.
"Richard, don't. Ethan's doing great. Look at him—he's healthy and focused.
We should be proud."
She reached across the table toward Ethan, her manicured fingers seeking his hand.
"Honey, I know things have been... difficult. But I'm here for you. We're family. We can talk about anything—"
Ethan pulled his hand back before she could touch it, the movement quick and deliberate. He still didn't look at her, his silence louder than any words. Vanessa's face crumpled slightly, her eyes welling, but she blinked it back, pressing her napkin to her lips to hide the tremor.
The table went quiet again, the tension ratcheting up another notch.
Charlize's eyes narrowed further, her sharp mind piecing together the fracture.
Jennifer cleared her throat gently, trying to ease the moment.
"So, Richard, how's the Denver project going? You were supposed to be back days ago."
Richard latched onto the lifeline, turning to Jennifer with relief.
"Delayed again. The client can't make up his mind about the design specs. Keeps changing requirements, pushing timelines. Frustrating, but the money's good."
He launched into work talk, contracts, budgets, and corporate politics. Jennifer engaged politely, asking questions and nodding. Charlize half-listened, but her attention kept drifting back to Ethan, watching the way he held himself now, the quiet strength radiating from him.
Vanessa picked at her food, appetite gone, her earlier cheer deflated. She tried once more, voice small.
"Ethan, sweetheart, if you need help with applications, essays, I can—"
"I've got it covered," Ethan said flatly, still not looking at her. His tone was polite but distant, a wall of ice.
"Don't need help."
Richard frowned, setting down his wine glass with a clink.
"Don't be rude to your mother, Ethan. She's trying to be supportive. Show some respect."
Ethan finally looked up, his eyes meeting his father's across the table. The gaze was steady and unflinching, with something hard and unyielding in it that made Richard blink first.
"I'm not being rude, just honest. I can handle my own future."
Charlize watched the exchange, a slow smile tugging at her lips.
There was something almost approving in her expression, a recognition of backbone, of someone standing their ground.
"Good," she said, drawing all eyes.
"A man should handle his own affairs. Dependency breeds weakness."
She raised her glass slightly toward Ethan.
"To independence."
Ethan met her eyes and lifted his water glass in return.
"To building something real."
They clinked across the table, the moment charged with unspoken understanding. Jennifer joined in, her smile genuine.
"Hear, hear."
Richard hesitated, then raised his glass with forced joviality.
"To... family."
Vanessa lifted hers last, her hand shaking slightly, her voice barely a whisper.
"Family."
The dinner continued, conversation flowing around Ethan in waves he only half-engaged with. Charlize talked about her latest project, a high-rise in the city with eco-friendly design, rooftop gardens, and solar integration.
Jennifer discussed market trends, interest rates, and investment strategies. Richard dominated when he could, steering back to his work, his importance. Vanessa faded into the background, serving more food no one wanted, refilling glasses, and trying to be useful.
Ethan observed it all with new eyes.
His father, distant and self-absorbed, always measuring worth by success and strength, was disappointed in the son who'd been weak. His mother, desperate for approval, clung to appearances while her life unraveled behind closed doors. Charlize—powerful, sharp, untouchable. Jennifer—kind but loyal to her wife above all.
They were all pieces on a board he was just learning to play.
Dessert came: apple pie.
Vanessa had baked it, warm, with vanilla ice cream melting over the top. They ate in relative quiet, the earlier tension settling into an uncomfortable détente.
Charlize finished first, pushing her plate away with satisfaction.
"Excellent meal, Vanessa. Truly."
The compliment was genuine this time, surprising.
Vanessa's face brightened slightly.
"Thank you, Charlize. I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Richard stood, stretching.
"Coffee in the living room? Or are you two heading out?"
Charlize glanced at Jennifer, who checked her watch.
"We should stay a bit. Catch up properly. It's been months since we've seen you all."
They moved to the living room, Richard and Jennifer resuming their spot near the fireplace, Charlize taking the armchair with regal posture, and Vanessa hovering near the kitchen doorway. Ethan went back to his room, leaving them to their own matters.