Ethan Frome Novels & Stories

-How cute- Ethan was in awe. He had not achieved his revenge, he had not killed his father, nor his brother, he had not become part of that pack, but... he could say that now he was much happier than if all those things had come true. Even if his brother was present, living in another secluded place, surrounded by savages Ethan felt that everything was right as long as Clara was with him.

He is sure that whoever sent their men to kill Ethan, must have been keeping an eye on his apartment. Ethan lives on the other side of the town. Where Levi’s apartment is in the upscale of the city, Ethan was lucky enough to even have a roof over his head. His apartment was at the shadiest place Levi has ever been to, and Levi has been to his fair share of dubious places. The first ever thing about Ethan that Levi learned besides his name and the fact that he has a sister, was the fact that Ethan isn’t doing well financially. He lives in a one-bedroom apartment in a shabby building.

My skin prickles; the world feels luminous, newly possible. People pass, faces I recognise from the market, a mother with a stroller, and for a moment the need to hide flares, but Ethan’s presence is a quiet shield. We do not talk much. When he does speak it is to point out the names of herbs or the stubborn rose bush that refuses to bloom, and his voice shapes the mundane into something safe.

"Fine." I walked out of the suite and felt the sharp, midnight breeze of the Tundra. I hugged the oversized tunic for warmth, looking up at the moon and breathing deeply. I felt shattered, yet I was forbidden from howling about it. I sat on a stone bench by the roadside. I couldn't face my den or another lodge room. I would wait for the sun. Tomorrow would be a new hunt. At eight the next morning, Ethan woke in Suite V906 with a migraine that felt like a silver spike through his skull. He looked around the unfamiliar furs and saw a woman beside him—dark hair, fair skin, and a distinct mole on her shoulder blade.

All of it — the shell company, my mother’s late-night discovery, the argument in the garden three days before she died, the posture Frank had described, the name he’d finally given up. Ethan went very still. I watched something close behind his eyes, a door sliding shut the way it always did when the pain became too large to leave visible. “He’s certain,” Ethan said finally. It wasn’t a question. “He said he only saw the man once, from a distance. He wasn’t certain of a face. Only the posture.” “That’s not nothing.” “It’s not everything, either.” I reached for his hand, and he let me take it, though his fingers stayed tense in mine. “Ethan. I need to ask you something, and I need you to actu

Ethan Cross was a brat. He was a twenty-two-year-old trust fund baby with a sharp tongue, an overinflated ego, and a trust fund that could buy a small country. He was used to getting everything he wanted, and he loved making grown men feel small. But today, he had made a fatal mistake. He had humiliated the wrong man.

Ethan spent the next two months in a daze, drifting through life like a shadow. He began to leave the house frequently, always returning exhausted. My spectral form grew weaker by the day, unable to withstand direct sunlight, so I had no idea where Ethan was going or what he was doing. Until one deep night, when Ethan left the house again. I followed him to a cemetery by the sea. In front of a gravestone with my photo attached to it, I saw the inscription:

Now standing in front of the door, Ethan had his hand on the knob, but he couldn't bring himself to open it. He didn't know how to face me or Theo, and he didn't even know how to explain years of terrible behavior. Only when the toy in his hand was nearly crushed out of shape did he finally summon the courage to step inside. But what welcomed him was not two familiar figures—it was just darkness and suffocating silence. Ethan's expression froze. He flicked on the lights and searched through every room. But the apartment was barely 900 square feet, and there wasn't much to search for.

ETHAN The rain leaked heavily through the cracked roof of the abandoned warehouse, little water pools under my boots showing me a reflection of my face. The Informant said she was in here hiding out, she didn't look like a high - society Luna anymore or the girl i knew in Eldenridge. She looked like a drowned, frantic rat, her hands shaking violently as she aimed a stolen gun towards where I stood. Having been watching her for the longest, since i entered this warehouse. “Come out!” She shrieked, her voice shaking as she panicked further. “I know you're there,Ethan! I can smell you! I'm not afraid of you!”

Mary Jane took a deep breath as she walked over to Ethan and Clifford’s table. The cosy café, with its warm lighting and comforting smells, suddenly felt too big and too small all at once. Her heart raced, and she wiped her sweaty palms on her apron. Ethan Cogsworth wasn’t just any customer; he was a billionaire, known for his powerful place in the business world. And she was just a barista, trying to get by.