EPISODE 11 — Legacy and Reckoning
(Ethan's POV)
The corridors of the Marshall Tower were too quiet that evening—eerily still, as if the building itself was holding its breath. My steps echoed against the polished marble floors, the weight of expectation pressing down with each one. The moment I stepped out of the car, I knew this confrontation was inevitable.
The viral post had reached every corner of Avalon—and beyond. It wasn't just a campus scandal anymore. My father's name had been mentioned in gossip blogs, and my family's PR team had already called three times before I even left the university gates.
My father didn't believe in coincidences. Or accidents. Only consequences.
I reached the elevator and hit the button for the top floor. As the numbers climbed, so did my pulse.
When the doors slid open, Gregory Marshall was already waiting. His back was to me, hands clasped behind him as he gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. The room smelled faintly of bourbon and cold authority.
"Ethan." His voice was smooth, controlled, too calm. "I suppose I should congratulate you. You've managed to trend for something other than your grades."
I exhaled slowly, shoving my hands into my pockets. "You've seen it, then."
"Of course I've seen it," he said, turning at last. His expression was unreadable, eyes sharp enough to slice through whatever excuses I might've had. "The son of Gregory Marshall kissing a girl in front of half the student body? On camera?"
"She's not just a girl."
He tilted his head slightly, studying me. "No?"
"Her name's Layla."
There was a pause—a dangerous one. "And what exactly is she to you, Ethan?"
My jaw tightened. "Someone I care about."
For a moment, the silence stretched thin. Then he gave a short, humourless laugh. "Care. That's what this is about?" He moved toward the desk, the sound of his shoes striking the floor punctuating each word. "Do you have any idea what this could mean for our reputation? The shareholders have already called. The press wants a statement."
"I don't care about the press."
"You should," he snapped. "Because your name isn't just yours—it's mine. It's the Marshall legacy."
I met his gaze without flinching. "Maybe I don't want to be a legacy."
For a moment, his eyes hardened. "Be careful with that tone, Ethan. You don't want to start a war you can't win."
"Maybe I already have," I said quietly.
He studied me for a long moment before sighing, a flicker of something almost human crossing his face. "This girl—Layla. You think she's worth all this?"
"She didn't ask for the video to go viral," I said. "Neither of us did."
Gregory's gaze sharpened again. "And yet here we are. You've put her under a microscope she isn't built to survive."
My fists clenched. "You don't know her."
"No," he said simply. "But I know what happens to people who get close to us. They burn."
The words hung heavy in the air.
He turned away again, voice cold. "Fix it, Ethan. Whatever this is—end it quietly. Before the board decides to handle it for me."
I stared at his back for a long time, then said, "What if I don't?"
He paused, his reflection in the glass showing a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Then you'll find out exactly how far the Marshall name can reach."
---
By the time I left the building, the city lights were a blur. I leaned against my car, letting the cool air steady me. My phone buzzed—three missed calls from Chloe, one from Mia, and one message from Layla.
> You okay?
I typed back quickly.
> I will be. Just needed to handle something.
Almost instantly, her reply came.
> Your dad?
> Yeah.
> Do you want to talk about it?
> Later. Just… don't worry. I'll handle it.
She sent a single heart emoji, simple but grounding.
---
Back on campus, the atmosphere was quieter than usual. The chaos from the morning had settled into something heavier—an uneasy calm. Chloe and Mia were sitting in the dorm's shared lounge when I arrived. They both looked up, startled.
Chloe folded her arms. "You look like you've just gone ten rounds with a ghost."
"Close," I muttered. "My father."
Mia winced. "That bad?"
"Worse."
Before either could respond, Layla stepped out from her room, wearing one of those oversized sweatshirts that somehow made her look smaller, softer. Her hair was tied back loosely, eyes tired but bright when they met mine.
"You didn't have to come here," she said gently.
"I know," I said, stepping closer. "But I wanted to."
Chloe stood, sensing the shift in the air. "We'll, uh, give you two a minute." She tugged Mia up and disappeared down the hall.
Layla crossed her arms, her voice quiet but steady. "What did he say?"
I hesitated. "Exactly what I expected. That I should fix this before he does."
Her face fell slightly. "And what does that mean?"
"That he wants me to walk away."
She studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she asked softly, "Are you going to?"
I took a step closer, until her scent—faintly of vanilla and something sweeter—filled the space between us. "No."
Her breath caught. "Ethan…"
"I'm not letting him control this. Not again. Not when it's about something that actually matters."
She swallowed hard, eyes glistening just slightly. "You shouldn't have to fight him because of me."
"I'm not fighting because of you," I said quietly. "I'm fighting for you."
For a moment, the air between us was still, charged. Then she stepped closer, resting her hand lightly on my chest. "Then we fight together."
I smiled faintly, my pulse steadying under her touch. "Together."
---
Hours later, long after the others had gone to bed, I stood outside the dorm, looking out across the dark campus. My father's words replayed in my mind—warnings layered beneath threats.
But this time, I wasn't sixteen and scared. I wasn't a shadow trying to live up to someone else's name.
I was Ethan Marshall.
And I'd already decided what kind of legacy I wanted to leave.
---