Ethan Cutkosky Dead Novels & Stories

"Thank you mate. This is hard on you." When I hear Ethan Carter’s deep alpha voice, my eyes get wet again. I don't say anything, but his wolf can feel my sadness through the phone link. "Do you want to cry, Collins?" he asks with a rough voice. "I am driving to see you right now! The hockey office doesn't matter." I take a deep breath. "I am okay. I just feel super sick thinking about how our pup almost died from that food. I can't think about how much it would hurt to lose him. I just can't..."

He could not go on anymore, and my heart wrenched at how lonely he must have felt. We sat together in silence, and I was about to ask if I could go in there and see Ruby when I heard footsteps. It was Cole. I jumped up and ran to him, his hands stretching to catch me midway. “Cole,” his name sounded like a plea, a prayer, a broken request, and his hands tightened around me He kissed my forehead and let go of me. “What happened?” I asked and he sighed. “Ethan is dead. He fell into the water while fighting with his brother,” he sounded strange.

CEO Ethan Carter signs expansion deal My eyes moved repeatedly over the name. Ethan Carter. I opened another article faster. The title read: Billionaire CEO Ethan Carter presumed dead after island explosion The phone nearly slipped from my hand but I read again then I opened the article and images loaded beneath. My funeral the realization arrived brutally because standing near the casket was an older man and woman I recognized immediately my father and mother I knew them then another photograph appeared and my throat tightened painfully because Lena stood there wearing black while holding a baby.

“I still remember the sound.” His eyes darkened. “And you...you couldn’t live with it. You knelt next to her and drove the blade right into yourself. That was the last thing I saw.” He pointed at them both now, wild-eyed almost laughing. “We all died that day. Together. Like some cursed little triangle.” Then he leaned in more, his voice barely above a whisper. “But here’s the kicker. You?” he pointed at Ethan. “You were cursed for taking your own life.”

Rich people blurred together after a while. Tristan Musk had come to the gala because his assistant had put it in his calendar and because saying no to his mother was still harder than it should have been. He stood near the bar in a charcoal suit, bored out of his skull, nursing a scotch he didn’t want. Ethan had died four years ago—quietly, in his sleep, after never waking up. The family had buried the grief under layers of charity boards and stock dividends. Tristan ran the company now. He smiled for cameras. He slept alone. The guilt had settled into a low-grade hum he almost mistook for normal.

"Eleanor wanted you to be a mirror. He turned you into a window. Don't look at the data, Ethan. Look at us." The middle of the morning was spent in the deep, cool silence of the earth. We buried the Burnt Ethan beneath a lone Joshua tree, its twisted limbs reaching toward a sky that no longer held any satellites for us. We didn't use a headstone. We didn't need one. We buried him with the sketches from the gallery—the charcoal dreams of a man who had been a 'unit' but chose to be a father. Silas stood at the edge of the grave, his hands folded in front of him. He looked at the New Ethan with a clinical curiosity that slowly melted into something resembling respect.

Rick hesitated. “Sir… his schedule is difficult.” “Make it happen,” Ethan said, clicking his tongue in irritation. “Isn’t that your job?” Rick nodded quickly and left. It didn’t take long before he returned. “Mr. Ethan, we’ve contacted RedFashion.” “And?” “Their CEO, Lucas Fabio, doesn’t accept meetings on Fridays.” Ethan looked up sharply, his brows knitting together. The explanation immediately triggered his suspicion. “Why?” “According to his assistant, every Friday he visits the graves of his mother and younger sibling. That schedule never changes.”

Finding not even the faintest trace of smell other than the human one, we give up by dusk. Hearing someone addressing the pack's link, I tune in. Normally they address each other and only use the link for serious matters. The latest victim is a young gamma named Ethan. He had been one of the pack’s most promising warriors, his life cut short in a senseless act of violence. The pack was grieving, and I felt the weight of his lost life, like all the others, bearing down on me. I head down to Corona’s office, knowing I was about to get a call. I am so fatigued that I barely am able to keep my eyes open with coffee in my stomach.

She claimed she had more to confess and insisted on seeing Henry. When she met with Henry, she immediately retrieved the hairpin that she hid and stabbed it right into Henry's heart. Henry died on the spot from excessive blood loss. Nora was soon executed as well. I heard that before she died, she kept apologizing to me. However, I no longer had any feelings for her. With the approval documents in hand, I took the train back to North Westonia. I was going to spend the rest of my life there, devoting it entirely to national defense.

Mr Carter comforted her though he didn't know anything about Ethan. She put her palm on her mouth, resisting her sobs before she looked at me again. "Ethan has attempted suicide." "What?" Atlas's POV... "Are you crazy?" I really couldn't control my mouth after seeing Ethan lying on the hospital bed, having a cannula in his right hand and his other hand wrapped in a bandage. So he cut the vein of his left hand. He wasn't crazy at all, he had a brain. He knew he will not die. Then why the fuss?