Ethan Storm’s Dark Awakening novel Chapter 15

Ethan watched from the shadows as Alice’s car disappeared through the gates of the Morgan estate. His face was unreadable, but his fingers curled slowly into fists. The moment he had stepped out of that ballroom with her, he knew this wasn’t over.

Before parting, she had clutched his hand tightly, eyes wild with fear.

“Promise me,” she whispered. “Promise me you’ll keep your head down.”

“I’ll handle it,” Ethan had replied, voice low and sure. “Don’t worry.”

But Alice did worry.

She returned to her family estate like a lamb walking into a den of wolves, trying to hold herself together. At the entrance, she straightened her shoulders, wiped the sweat from her palms, and rehearsed the line again in her head: I landed a fifty-million-dollar deal. That had to mean something.

Inside the opulent Morgan mansion, her family sat in the drawing room, dressed in their usual layers of judgment and expectation. Her father, Lawrence Morgan, barely looked up from his cigar. Her mother sipped tea, pinky raised, lips pressed thin. Her grandparents sat solemnly, ever watchful.

“I have news,” Alice announced, lifting her chin. “I secured a $50 million project with Nova Corp. The contracts are signed.”

Her voice was confident, but her heart pounded like a war drum.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then came the dismissive scoff.

“That’s business, dear,” her mother said coldly. “Not marriage.”

Her grandmother leaned forward, tapping her cane on the floor. “What about Carl Irving? We were to finalize the proposal this week.”

Before Alice could speak, a cousin, Belen burst into the room, breathless.

“Have you heard?! Carl—he was attacked last night. Someone beat him so badly he… he can’t have children anymore!”

Gasps filled the room.

“What?!”

“That can’t be true—!”

“He’s the only Irving heir!”

The air in the room turned cold.

Lawrence turned sharply toward Alice, suspicion in his eyes. “You were with Carl at the gala. You must know what happened.”

“I—I didn’t see anything,” Alice stammered. “He got into a fight… but I don’t know the details.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not!” she snapped, heart hammering. “I didn’t see who hurt him!”

Suddenly—BANG!

The grand oak doors exploded open. Armed men in black poured in, brandishing batons and pistols. A few had blood-red armbands—the mark of the Irving family’s enforcers.

The Morgan family screamed and scrambled back.

They were from the Irving family. That much was immediately clear—the blood-red armbands, the merciless expressions, the authoritative stench of vengeance clinging to their presence like smoke.

“Everyone down!” one of the masked enforcers barked, baton raised. “Where is Alice Morgan?”

Gasps and shrieks rang out. Alice’s grandmother collapsed into a chair, trembling. Her mother clutched her pearls. Lawrence Morgan stood rigid, face pale.

Alice stepped forward, lifting her hands. “I’m here,” she said, voice steady despite the way her knees quaked.

Martin Irving pushed through the crowd of armed men, dressed in black with a red embroidered crest over his chest. His dark eyes locked onto Alice like a predator spotting its prey.

“You,” he growled, storming up to her. “You were the last person with Carl.”

“I don’t know what happened,” she began, but before she could finish, Martin palm cracked across her face. The sound echoed like a gunshot. Her head snapped to the side, her lip splitting against her teeth.

“You owe us this much,” her father snapped. “After everything you’ve done.”

“I’ve done?” she laughed bitterly, a tear rolling down her swollen cheek. “You never cared. Not when I succeeded, not when I suffered. If the Irving want blood—then take them too. I’m done protecting this nest of vipers.”

Martin smirked. “Brave little lamb. But I’ll break you.”

With a barked order, two men seized Alice by the arms. She struggled, kicked, screamed—but they were too strong. Martin followed behind, laughing maniacally.

“Destroy the house,” he commanded. “Make sure they remember what betrayal costs.”

“No—no, please!” her mother shrieked, crawling across the floor. “Please don’t!”

But it was too late. The enforcers began overturning furniture, smashing priceless antiques, setting fire to curtains. Paintings were ripped from walls, chandeliers shattered into glittering ruins.

“Stop it! This is my legacy!” Lawrence cried, trying to shield his whiskey collection.

Alice felt utterly hopeless. Her voice was raw from screaming, her limbs sore from fighting against iron grips that wouldn’t let go. Martin had gone mad—completely mad. He laughed like a devil in a nightmare as he forced her into the backseat of a black car, his breath hot and foul as he leaned close.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he murmured, brushing a bloody strand of hair from her face. “When you’re carrying my child, you’ll see how merciful I’ve been.”

“I’ll never forgive you,” she spat, struggling as the doors slammed shut.

“Forgive?” He chuckled. “You think I need forgiveness from a traitor’s daughter?”

Outside, the mansion that had once been her prison and her home collapsed into chaos. Flames licked the sky. Shattered chandeliers lay like glass bones. Her father screamed as enforcers tore through his wine cellar, smashing bottles like they were cheap toys. Her mother sobbed, her makeup streaking down her cheeks, begging for mercy from men who didn’t have hearts.

“This is your fault, Alice!” she shrieked from the steps. “You brought this on us!”

“Curse you!” her uncle roared, trying to cover his family as goons trashed the garden. “You selfish girl! You’ve ruined us!”

Her grandmother’s wails pierced the smoke-filled air. “May the gods punish you, Alice Morgan! May you suffer as we have suffered!”