At the Portsmouth Harbor, Ethan had barely stepped off the cruise ship when a slender silhouette emerged from the shadows. It was Amelia.

The moment her eyes landed on Ethan, they reddened. She hurried forward, seizing his hands in a frantic grip.

"Ethan..."

Her voice choked, lodged in her throat. Her gaze swept over his pallid, hollowed-out face, the heavy bandages shrouding his right hand, and the thin, worn clothes clinging to his frame. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she forced them back with a steel-willed effort.

Her voice trembled. "You’re back. Thank God, you’re finally back."

"Dad is waiting for you. When you see him, just... just give him a sincere apology. He hasn't said a word about it, but he’s been pining for you every single day these past years."

Ethan offered a gentle, tired smile. "I know, Amelia. Don't worry."

The car wound its way up the cliffside road before passing through the wrought-iron gates of the estate. In the expansive courtyard before the main house, two rows of bodyguards in crisp black suits stood at rigid attention.

As the car pulled to a stop, the men bowed in unison. The air hung thick with gravity.

Ethan stepped out. His eyes scanned the familiar display of ancestral authority and order with a calm, detached expression. He turned to Amelia. "Amelia, did you prepare what I asked for?"

Amelia’s eyes flickered. She bit her lip and gave a subtle nod to the head of the security detail.

The guard stepped forward, offering a long, dark ebony box with both hands. Amelia took it, her fingertips brushing the cold, polished wood before she hesitated, finally passing it to Ethan.

Ethan clicked the latch open. Inside, resting against black velvet, lay a heavy, oil-slick leather scourge.

The moment the item was revealed, the temperature in the courtyard seemed to plummet. The bodyguards lowered their heads further, as if sensing the impending storm.

Ethan closed the lid. He carried the box in his one good hand, his spine straight as a rod, and walked toward the main entrance.

A servant pulled open the heavy bronze doors. Warm, golden light spilled out, carrying the comforting, familiar scent of sandalwood.

Ethan crossed the threshold, reaching the center of the foyer. He began to lower himself to his knees.

Before his weight could settle, a steady, powerful stride echoed from behind the room's decorative screen. It was his father, Thaddeus Spencer, the patriarch of the family.

Thaddeus’s face was usually a mask of stern, uncompromising authority, but now, it was frayed with uncontainable urgency. He closed the distance in a few strides, bypassed all pleasantries, and pulled Ethan into a crushing, desperate embrace.

"You’re home..."

Thaddeus’s voice was gravelly, thick with unshed emotion. "You’re finally home, son."

Ethan froze, his entire body rigid.

The explosive rage he had braced for—the cold, stinging reprimand, the expected lash of the whip—none of it came. There was only this sudden, heavy, suffocating warmth.

"The Hayes family, and that brat from the Meyer family... I know what they did to you," Thaddeus murmured, his voice cracking. "You’ve suffered, Ethan."

Thaddeus let out a long, ragged sigh, forcefully stifling a volcanic rage. "Why did you carry it all alone? Why didn't you come home? Why didn't you send word? Did you think that just because you grew a backbone, you could turn your back on this family? Did you think you could just cut me off?"

His tone was sharp with reproach, but beneath it lay a profound, aching tenderness.

"Never forget, you have your sister behind you. You have me. You have the entire Spencer legacy. As long as this family stands, who dares to humiliate you, to hurt you, to threaten your life?"

Thaddeus took a breath, his voice softening. "I was too stubborn. I wanted to force you onto the path I’d paved, but while you were gone, I realized the truth. If you want to chase your dream of being a master chef, then go! The Spencer name is your anchor, your shield—it was never meant to be your chains. The two were never in conflict."

A sudden, sharp sting of emotion pricked at Ethan’s eyes. His voice was raw. "Thank you, Dad."