A Husband without a voice

Ethan's POV

Sleep never came easily after the Harrington family dinner. Not because Richard's words echoed in my head. They stopped doing that a long time ago. The real reason was much simpler. Nights like those reminded me how strange my life had become. Three years earlier, I'd walked into the Harrington mansion believing that respect could be earned through patience, hard work, and quiet dignity. Three years later, I knew better. Some people made up their minds about your worth the moment they saw your bank account, and no amount of character could change it. Still.. I had never regretted marrying Sophia, not for once.

The first rays of sunlight slipped through the curtains before I finally climbed out of bed. Beside me, Sophia was already awake, sitting against the headboard with a laptop balanced on her knees. She looked just as she had the night before, composed on the outside, exhausted underneath. Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail, and the dark circles beneath her eyes betrayed another night spent working instead of sleeping.

"You've been awake for a while," I said as I buttoned my shirt.

She looked up from the screen and managed a tired smile. "The board wants revised numbers before nine."

"Your father?"

She nodded once.

"He called at six."

I wasn't surprised. Richard Harrington believed sleep was a privilege reserved for people who hadn't inherited responsibility.

Sophia closed the laptop and rubbed her temples. "About last night..."

"You don't have to apologize."

"I know." She hesitated before meeting my eyes. "But I still want to."

I smiled faintly. "Then I'll accept it."

She exhaled, relieved that I wasn't angry. That was one thing she never understood about me. Anger wasn't difficult. Holding on to it was. Eventually, it became too heavy to carry.

"I'll be late tonight," she said.

"Another meeting?"

"Two."

"I'll save you dinner."

She gave a small nod before looking away, and the conversation ended as naturally as it had begun. That was how our marriage worked. No dramatic arguments. No declarations of love. Just two people sharing the same space while life pulled them in different directions.

As I reached for my jacket, my phone vibrated inside the pocket. An unknown number, the same one from last night. For a moment, I simply stared at the screen before answering.

"This is Ethan."

"Good morning, Mr. Cole."

The voice was calm and professional.

"My name is Samuel Brooks. We spoke briefly last night."

"I remember."

"I apologize for contacting you so late yesterday. The circumstances were... unfortunate."

I waited for him to speak.

"There are matters concerning your family that cannot be discussed over the phone."

"My family?"

"Yes."

A pause followed.

"I would appreciate it if you could meet me this morning."

"Where?"

He gave me an address in downtown Manhattan.

The name meant nothing to me.

"I'll be there."

"Thank you, Mr. Cole."

The line went dead. I slipped the phone back into my pocket. Sophia looked up from her laptop.

"Everything okay?" She asked 

I forced a casual shrug.

"Just someone asking about a job."

Her eyebrows lifted slightly.

"A job?"

"I sent out a few applications a while ago."

It wasn't entirely a lie. She studied my face for a second before nodding.

"I hope it works out."

"So do I."

The words tasted strangely bitter. I hated lying to her, but until I understood what this was about...

There was nothing to tell.

---

The Harrington mansion was already alive when I walked downstairs. Housekeepers hurried through the corridors with baskets of fresh laundry. Gardeners trimmed the hedges lining the circular driveway. A delivery truck unloaded expensive wine from wooden crates stamped with French labels. Life never slowed inside this house. It simply expected everyone else to keep up. As I stepped into the dining room, Charlotte looked up from her coffee.

"Leaving already?"

"I have somewhere to be."

She smirked.

"Interview?"

"Something like that."

Richard lowered his newspaper just enough to look over the top of it.

"Don't get your hopes up."

I stopped beside the table.

"I'm sorry?"

"Employers usually expect qualifications."

He folded another page without looking at me again.

"Although perhaps someone's hiring professional house guests."

Charlotte laughed into her coffee. Neither of them waited for a response. I wished them a pleasant morning anyway. It confused them more than any argument could have.

Outside, the morning air carried the lingering chill of early autumn. The city was already awake. Traffic crawled through the streets. Horns sounded in the distance. Office workers hurried toward subway entrances with coffee cups in one hand and phones in the other. I chose to walk because it gave me time to think. Who was Samuel Brooks? What family was he talking about? As far as I knew… I didn't have one. My parents had died when I was young. Every memory I had of childhood came from a modest house, secondhand furniture, and an elderly couple who had raised me without ever speaking much about the years before I arrived.

Whenever I asked questions, They smiled sadly then only give me one statement.. "When you're older." Later became never. Both of them passed away before I turned twenty-two. Their secrets had gone with them so I believed. I reached into my pocket and unfolded the small piece of paper Samuel had dictated over the phone. Brooks, Whitmore & Ashcroft. The name sounded prestigious. Not the kind of law firm someone like me would ever need.

The subway carried me downtown, where towering glass buildings replaced neighborhood cafés and family-owned stores. Men and women in tailored suits flowed through revolving doors, their conversations filled with mergers, acquisitions, shareholders, and quarterly reports. For a strange moment… It felt familiar, I couldn't explain why. Perhaps it was the confidence in the air or perhaps it was simply because everyone here walked as though they belonged somewhere important. I wondered what that felt like.

The address led me to a quiet street tucked between two skyscrapers. Unlike the surrounding buildings, this one was older, built from polished granite with bronze-framed windows that reflected the morning sun. There was no enormous company logo. No flashy entrance. Only a discreet brass plaque mounted beside the door.

BROOKS, WHITMORE & ASHCROFT Attorneys at Law I stood there for several seconds, this didn't feel like a mistake, It felt Expected. As though someone had known, years ago, that I would one day stand on this exact spot. I pushed the thought aside and climbed the stone steps. Inside, the lobby was silent. Marble floors stretched beneath crystal lighting, and the scent of polished wood lingered in the air. A receptionist looked up almost immediately, her expression changing the instant she saw me.

"Good morning."

"I'm here to see Samuel Brooks."

She glanced at her computer.

"Your name, please?"

"Ethan Cole."

For the briefest moment, her professional smile disappeared. She looked at the screen again, then back at me, as though making sure she'd heard correctly. Without another question, she stood.

"Mr. Brooks has been expecting you."

I wasn't comfortable when I heard the word expecting, not scheduled nor waiting for, but expecting. Something tightened in my chest. She gestured toward a private elevator at the end of the lobby.

"Top floor, sir."

‘sir’, I couldn't remember the last time anyone had called me that. As the elevator doors slid open, I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls. Same worn suit, same polished shoes, same ordinary man. Yet somehow...

The world around me had begun treating me differently. And I still had no idea why.