CHAPTER 0: PROLOGUE 2
The ride carried him through the city, streets blurring past the window. The sky was heavy, clouds pressing low, and halfway there the first drops began to fall. By the time the car slowed near the hospital, rain was coming down in sheets, hammering the pavement, streaking the glass.
John frowned, pressing a hand against the window.' What the hell…? is it supposed to rain today? '
After a while he finally reached the hospital. He paid the driver, shoved the door open, and jogged through the downpour; his clothes plastered to his skin by the time he reached the entrance.
Inside, the air was warm, dry—quiet, with that faint hospital smell John had grown sick of. He shook himself off, drops of rain sliding from his sleeves, and set the flower he'd bought earlier on the counter. Leaning forward, he steadied his voice.
"I'm here for Alex Blackwell. My brother. He was supposed to be discharged today."
The receptionist gave a professional smile. "Okay, just give me a second."
John nodded, shifting his weight as his eyes wandered across the lobby. The minutes stretched, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence.
Two minutes later, the receptionist looked up again. The smile was gone. Her tone had changed, careful, hesitant.
"Sir… just to confirm, you said your brother's name was Alex Blackwell?"
John's stomach tightened. "Yeah," he answered, voice rough. "Is something wrong?"
She drew in a breath, her eyes flicking down to the screen before meeting his again. The look alone made his gut twist.
"I… I'm very sorry to tell you this. Alex passed away earlier this morning."
The words landed like a blow. For a moment, John just stood there, frozen, the hum of the hospital collapsing into a dull roar in his ears. His chest tightened, his breath caught, and the world tilted as if the floor had dropped out beneath him
John's breath caught, his chest tightening as the words echoed in his head. Passed away. No. That wasn't right. That wasn't possible.
He shook his head, voice breaking. "No. You're wrong. He was supposed to be discharged today. He was doing well."
Before the receptionist could respond, John turned and bolted down the hallway. His shoes squeaked against the polished floor, his pulse pounding louder than the hum of the lights above. He reached Alex's room, shoved the door open—empty. The bed was done, machines gone, curtains drawn.
His stomach dropped. "Where is he? Where the hell is he?"
A nurse appeared, hands raised in calm. "Sir, please—"
John's voice cracked, raw with panic. "Don't call me sir. Just tell me where he is. Take me to him!"
The nurse hesitated, her eyes flickering with recognition. She'd seen John here many times before—waiting, worrying, clinging to hope. Her voice softened, careful. "John… please. You need to calm down. Just breathe."
But John shook his head violently, his voice breaking as it rose. "Calm down? what do you mean calm down? He was supposed to be discharged today. Why are you all saying he's dead?" His chest heaved, words tumbling out raw, tangled with fear. He leaned closer, eyes burning, desperate.
The nurse lowered her gaze, her voice heavy. "Yes… he was supposed to leave today. Everything looked fine. But this morning… he… he just stopped breathing. We don't even know why."
John's voice cracked, trembling. "No… no I don't believe you. Please… just take me to him."
Her lips pressed tight, sympathy softening her eyes. She nodded once, quietly, and turned.
The walk felt endless. Each step echoed too loud, the air colder, heavier. John's breath came shallow, his pulse hammering in his ears. When the door to the morgue opened, the world narrowed to a single point.
Alex lay still.
John froze, then moved forward slowly, as if his body no longer belonged to him. He reached the bed, his hands trembling as he gripped Alex's shoulders. "Wake up,"
He whispered, shaking him gently. "Come on, man. The joke's not funny." His voice cracked, rising. "Wake up!"
The nurse stepped closer, trying to steady him. "John… please."
But John shook harder, desperation spilling out. "You promised me! You said you wouldn't die. You said you wouldn't leave me! ... WAKE UP, YOU IDIOT!"
His voice cracked into a scream, echoing against the sterile walls. His knees gave way, buckling beneath him, and he collapsed against the bed. His forehead pressed into the sheets, his sobs tearing through the quiet space.
The nurse hovered nearby, her own eyes wet, torn between duty and compassion. She reached out, steadying his shoulder, but didn't try to pull him away. She knew this wasn't something to interrupt.
Finally, when his sobs dulled into silence, she held out Alex's jacket. The familiar fabric, worn and folded, carried the weight of memory. John took it with shaking hands, clutching it to his chest. The scent, the feel, shattered him all over again.
He sat there for a long moment, jacket pressed tight, whispering through the tears. "You promised me… you promised."
When John finally pushed himself up, the jacket weighed heavy in his arms. He stepped out of the hospital doors, the automatic glass sliding open with a hiss. The world outside felt different... colder. Rain hammered down relentlessly, soaking him the instant he crossed the threshold. He didn't flinch or seek cover.
The jacket clung to him, darkening as the water seeped in, each drop striking like a drumbeat. His hair plastered to his forehead, his shoes splashing through shallow puddles, but he kept walking aimlessly.
His feet carried him forward without thought. Each drop struck like a drumbeat, like a reminder of what he'd lost. He pulled out his phone, thumb trembling against the screen, and called Lisa. The line rang, unanswered. His jaw tightened.
'I need her. I can't do this alone.'
Memories of her flickered in his mind—her hand squeezing his at Alex's bedside, her voice promising he wouldn't be alone. That promise was all he had left, and it pulled him through the storm.
By the time he reached her house, his clothes clung to him, his boots filled with water. He didn't knock. He pushed the door open, blind to anything else.
John started down the corridor, the weight of Alex's jacket dragging at his shoulders. Then he heard it—Lisa's voice, light and familiar, drifting from the living room. He turned, hope flickering for the first time all day.
But what he saw shattered it.
Lisa's lips pressed against Eliyas, the man's hand lingering at her waist. Eliyas's smirk broke into laughter, a laugh John had heard many times in schoolyards and parties: mocking and entitled.
Something inside John cracked. A sound escaped him—half laugh, half sob.
Lisa spun, eyes wide, her body jerking away from Eliyas as if burned. "J…John? What are you—" She faltered, panic flooding her face. "Wait… wait, let me explain, this isn't—"
John's hollow laugh cut her off, his voice shaking. "Explain? What's there to explain? That you're cheating on me… with the guy I hate most?"
Eliyas turned, confusion flickering before it hardened into smugness. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes narrowing.
"Well, if it isn't the charity case. Did you really think Lisa would stay with someone like you when someone so much better is in-front of her?"
John's rage surged, but his voice came out low, cutting. "Better? You mean you? The guy who hides behind daddy's money? The guy who has to buy his friends?"
Eliyas's smirk widened, slow and deliberate, his words dripping poison.
"At least I have a father," he sneered. "Yours didn't even bother sticking around. Walked away like you were nothing. Hell, he probably doesn't even know you exist. Or maybe your mother never even knew who he was. That's why you carry her name, Blackwell — because there was nothing from him to claim. You're not a son, you're a mistake. Just another bastard she dragged into the world while selling herself to anyone who'd throw a few bills her way. That's your legacy, John — dirt, shame, and a name that means nothing."
The words sank deep, sharper than any fist.
John snapped.
His knuckles smashed into Eliyas's jaw, the impact snapping his head sideways and sending him staggering back. Shock flashed across Eliyas's face before it twisted into fury.
They crashed into each other, fists flying, the room erupting into chaos.
Lisa screamed, rushing forward.
"Stop it! Both of you, stop!"
She grabbed at John's arm, trying to pull him back, but he tore free and drove Eliyas to the ground.
John straddled him, fists slamming down again and again, every blow fueled by grief and something uglier.
"You don't get to talk about my mother!" he shouted. "You don't know anything about her!"
Blood smeared across Eliyas's mouth as he laughed, the sound thin, cracked, and cruel. He spat red onto the floor, eyes burning up at John.
"Oh, I know enough," he snapped. "She was broke, desperate, and willing to spread her legs for anyone who'd pay. And you?" He sneered. "You're just an unwanted outcome. Tell me I'm wrong."
Lisa shoved between them, tears streaking her face. "Stop it! Please, stop! This isn't you, John!" Her voice cracked, torn between fear and guilt, her hands trembling as she tried to hold him back.
John's hand closed around a bottle on the counter, knuckles white as he raised it high. His breath came ragged, eyes wild.
"John, stop!" Lisa's voice cracked, desperate. She threw herself between them, her hand flying across his face. The slap rang sharp, cutting through the storm inside him.
John froze, stunned, the bottle slipping from his grip. His chest heaved, disbelief flooding him.
Lisa's eyes brimmed with tears, her own hand trembling as if she couldn't believe what she'd just done. "John… please. This isn't you. I didn't mean for you to find out like this. I'm sorry. Just… listen to me."
But Eliyas chuckled from the floor, wiping blood from his lip. "Go on, Lisa. Tell him how he was never enough."
John's face twisted, but no words came. He turned, stumbling toward the door, silence heavier than any insult.
Lisa called after him, her voice shaking. "John...wait!"
He didn't.
Couldn't.
The storm swallowed him whole.
Rain hit like icy bullets. Cars blurred past, horns blaring distantly. His mind was a mess: his brother's laugh, Lisa's voice, Eliyas's mocking tone, the sting of her slap.
He didn't feel the cold anymore.
He didn't hear the screech of tires.
Didn't see the headlights.
Only one voice cut through—Lisa's scream.
"John!"
It was the last thing he heard before everything went dark.