The rain drummed steadily against the tin roof of the Brooks family mansion, an unrelenting sound that echoed in the vast corridors of the estate. The house stood as a monument to wealth and status, nestled at the edge of Willow Heights, a neighborhood known for its sprawling lawns and opulent homes. Inside, the cold marble floors and the glint of gold-plated fixtures only served to highlight the emptiness Ethan Brooks felt deep inside.
Ethan sat in the sprawling garage, a space filled with expensive cars and machinery, most of which he wasn't allowed to touch. But today, he found himself crouched next to an old bicycle, its wheels long forgotten in a corner, collecting dust. His fingers, stained with grease, worked clumsily on the rusted chain. He had no real knowledge of fixing bikes, but the bike belonged to his younger brother, Daniel Reed, and it was the one thing that Ethan could still hold on to with any sense of pride. Daniel had asked him to fix it, and for once, Ethan thought he might actually succeed.
The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see his father, Michael Harris, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, an expression of disdain etched on his face.
"You'll break it even more," Michael's voice was low, dangerous. It was the kind of voice that made Ethan's stomach twist with a mix of guilt and resentment. Michael was dressed in his usual impeccable suit, his polished shoes clicking against the floor as he stepped closer, eyeing the bicycle with barely concealed contempt. "Why do you always meddle with things you don't understand, Ethan? You're such a fool."
The words cut deeper than they should have. Ethan's heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he froze, the chain in his hands feeling heavier than it had just moments before. His mind raced to defend himself, but all he could muster was a weak, "I'm trying to fix it, Dad. Daniel needs it for school."
"Daniel can do fine without a broken bike," Michael snapped, his voice hard as stone. "You should be focusing on things that matter, not wasting your time with useless projects. You're not good at anything, Ethan." The words stung, leaving a bitter taste in Ethan's mouth.
He didn't respond. There was no point. His father's disapproval had become a constant in his life, a shadow that hovered over every decision, every failure.
From the kitchen, Ethan could hear his sister Emily Scott snickering, her voice light and mocking. "Papa's right," she chimed, stepping into the room with her arms crossed. "You think you're so smart, but you're just clumsy. You're never going to amount to anything."
Ethan's chest tightened. Emily's words weren't new. She had been saying them for years, always with that smug, superior tone. She was the perfect daughter—the one who excelled in everything, the one who made their parents proud. Ethan, on the other hand, had become the family's embarrassment.
His mother, Sarah Bennett, sat nearby, quietly mending a torn shirt. She didn't say anything, but Ethan could feel her gaze shift toward him, soft with resignation. He could tell she was tired of fighting for him, tired of defending him. She, too, had stopped trying to make Ethan feel like he mattered in a world that only seemed to value perfection.
The silence stretched out, heavy with the weight of his family's judgment. Ethan knew they didn't understand him. They didn't care to.
Trying to push away the lump in his throat, Ethan looked back down at the bike, fingers trembling slightly. He couldn't focus. His mind was clouded with the barrage of insults he had just received, each word settling into his bones, reminding him that he would never be good enough.
Finally, he stood up slowly, setting the broken chain aside with a tenderness that almost felt like goodbye. His hands were covered in grease, and his worn-out shorts were soaked from the damp garage air, but none of that mattered. The sting of his father's words was far more painful than the grime on his hands.
"Leave it alone before you make things worse," Michael barked, turning on his heel. "Get inside. You're just wasting time." The screen door slammed behind him, leaving Ethan alone in the quiet garage.
Ethan stood there for a long moment, the only sound now the fading echo of the door's closure. He wiped his hands on his shorts, a futile attempt to rid himself of the overwhelming sense of failure. Outside, the sky was dark, clouds hanging low over the mansion. The rain had stopped, but the chill lingered in the air.
In the silence of his family's mansion, Ethan's world felt smaller than ever. The walls seemed to close in on him, the weight of his family's expectations pressing down, suffocating him. He wasn't good at anything. He failed every test. His grades were a disaster, each one worse than the last. No matter how hard he tried, he was always the one who fell short. His family saw him as a fool.
But tonight, something shifted inside him. As he walked toward the back door, slipping out into the yard, Ethan made a silent vow to himself: he would prove them wrong.
Ethan wandered outside into the cool night air, breathing in the scent of wet grass and earth. The mansion behind him felt as if it were light-years away, the coldness of the house not just in its walls, but in his family's hearts.
He found himself in the large, empty garden, far away from the judgmental eyes of his family. Ethan had always felt a strange sense of peace when he was alone here. The quiet beauty of the garden, with its winding paths and carefully manicured trees, reminded him of something pure—something untouched by the weight of expectation.
But tonight, the garden felt different. As he walked aimlessly, Ethan's thoughts kept drifting back to the one thing that had caught his attention earlier that evening.
On the living room television, a news anchor had spoken of hidden wisdom—something lost in history, something that could change everything. Ethan had listened intently, a sense of excitement building in his chest. It was the first time in a long time that something had made him feel like maybe, just maybe, there was something out there that could make him feel like he was worth more than the fool his family saw him as.
The words echoed in his mind: There is a hidden wisdom in the history of the world.
Ethan couldn't explain it, but something about the phrase felt like a sign. It was as if the universe had thrown him a lifeline, offering him a chance to escape the suffocating box his family had put him in. He had nothing to lose, and for the first time in a long while, a spark of determination flared within him.
The idea of a secret, hidden wisdom wasn't just a concept—it was a mission. And Ethan knew that if he followed it, it could be the key to proving to himself that he wasn't a fool.
But he couldn't do it alone.