President's Daughter's Bodyguard-Chapter 131: Silly Boy

Chapter 131: Silly Boy

Ethan used to count power in rooms.

Now he counted cracks in concrete.

While he was sitting on the edge of the metal bed with his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging loose, fingers twitched like they remembered commands his mouth could no longer give.

This place didn’t call his name.

That was the worst part.

In the world outside, his name bent spines. It made people quiet. It made them careful. It made them listen twice and speak once. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

Here, it did nothing.

A guard passed by the bars without slowing down, eyes forward, boots steady. Ethan lifted his head just enough to catch his attention.

"Hey," he called softly.

The guard did not look.

Ethan smiled anyway. The smile broke unevenly, like something split down the middle and forced back together.

Across the corridor, a man laughed loudly and unbothered.

Another voice followed. "He’s still smiling like that. Does he think he’s special?"

"Probably used to people kneeling."

"Not here."

The laughter that followed was careless, very lazy and real.

Ethan closed his eyes.

This was not how it was supposed to be.

He had imagined prison differently. Secret fear. Quiet respect. Guards walking a little faster past his cell. Inmates pretending not to look.

Instead, they watched him the way people watched something broken that thought it was still dangerous.

Curiosity and derision with no fear.

Someone spat near the bars of his cell. It did not hit him, but close enough to make a point.

"Smile at that," a voice muttered.

Ethan’s jaw flinched.

When he opened his eyes again, the smile was gone.

It had been days since anyone asked him anything.

No questions. No interviews. No secret visits. No deals.

They had taken his watch. His rings. His tailored clothes. They had shaved him and given him gray fabric that smelled like every other man’s defeat. They had catalogued him and locked him behind a number instead of a name.

He learned something important very quickly.

In here, reputation did not protect you.

Strength did.

And he had none left.

The first time someone tried to take his food, Ethan laughed. Thought it was a joke. Thought the man was brave or stupid.

The man punched him in the mouth and took his tray.

No one intervened.

The second time, Ethan tried to threaten. Tried to speak like he used to. Slow voice. Careful words. Promises of future pain.

The man leaned in close and whispered, "There is no future here. Only time."

Then he took the tray anyway.

By the third time, Ethan did not resist.

That was when something inside him snapped.

Not loudly. Not all at once.

But cleanly.

At night, he lay on the metal bed and stared at the ceiling while thoughts circled like vultures. He replayed old moments and twisted them until they hurt differently. He imagined doors opening. Imagined people remembering who he was.

Then Theo’s face appeared.

Not the version Ethan liked best. Not the rage or the arrogance or the moments when Theo’s temper cracked.

The calm one.

The one who did not need to try.

That was the version that kept Ethan awake.

Theo had taken everything without even trying to win.

The loyalty. The fear. The inheritance.

The future.

Zack’s voice lived in Ethan’s skull like a venomous echo.

Weak...Wrong son...Unworthy.

Ethan sat up suddenly, breathing hard, fingers digging into the thin mattress.

"No," he whispered to the wall.

Zack was the disease. Not Theo.

Theo was the weapon.

The thought came uninvited and terrifying.

Theo was the only one who could cut Zack out.

And Ethan hated that his mind understood this now. Hated that clarity came only after he lost everything. Footsteps approached again.

A guard stopped outside his cell.

Ethan lifted his head, hope flaring traitorously.

"You have a visitor," the guard said flatly.

Ethan stood so fast the bed screamed against the floor.

"Who," he asked.

The guard glanced at a file. "Attorney. Five minutes."

Five minutes.

It would have been funny once.

The room they brought him to was small and white and too clean. A table bolted to the floor. Two chairs. Glass between them.

The man waiting on the other side was not his lawyer.

Ethan knew that instantly.

He sat like someone who belonged there more than Ethan did.

"We have never met," the man said once the guard left. "And if you are smart, you will understand we never did."

Ethan studied him. The suit was plain. The eyes were strict, clearly not impressed.

"Then why are you here?" Ethan asked.

"Because you are unstable," the man replied. "And sometimes instability produces honesty."

Ethan barked out a laugh that echoed too loudly in the room.

"You bring philosophy into a cell and expect miracles."

The man leaned forward slightly. "I bring opportunity."

That got Ethan’s attention.

"Your father is moving," the man continued. "Quietly. Aggressively. The kind of movement that suggests preparation, not reaction."

Ethan’s fingers curled around the edge of the table.

"And Theo," the man added, watching him closely, "is in his way."

Something sharp twisted in Ethan’s chest.

He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "Then Theo is already dead."

"Not if certain pieces align," the man said. "Not if someone helps."

Ethan smiled slowly, the old dangerous one trying to surface.

"You think I can help you from here."

"I think you can help yourself," the man replied. "You still have knowledge. Names. History. Leverage."

"I have nothing," Ethan snapped. "They took everything."

The man shook his head. "They took your stage. Not your mind."

Silence stretched.

Finally, Ethan spoke, his voice lower.

"Get me out."

"That is unlikely," the man said evenly.

Ethan slammed his hand against the table. "Then why are you wasting my time."

"Because sometimes," the man replied, unbothered, "the best weapon is not freedom. It is redirection."

Ethan stared at him. "I want Zack dead."

The man smiled for the first time. Barely.

"So does Theo."

That name landed differently now. Heavy. Inevitable.

Ethan leaned forward slowly, madness and clarity threading together.

"Then you tell Theo something for me," he said softly.

"What."

Ethan’s eyes gleamed. "Tell him I am ready to burn our father to the ground."

The man studied him for a long moment.

"And why would he trust you," he finally asked.

"Hahahahah!" Ethan laughed hysterically.

"Because no one hates Zack more than the son he threw away."

When Ethan was led back to his cell, the corridor sounded different.

The insults bounced off him now. The laughter grated but did not cut.

Because for the first time since the door closed behind him, he had purpose again.

Not redemption or forgiveness.

War.

And somewhere outside these walls, Theo was bleeding for a fight Ethan had been born into.

Ethan sat on his bed and smiled into the flickering light.

This time, the smile stayed.