I KNEW YOU BEFORE

POV · Ethan

They left Chicago at the end of summer. Ethan had just turned twenty-one.

It happened too abruptly to be called simply a new chapter. Too quickly for him to get used to the idea that he was actually leaving.

The boxes appeared in the apartment one morning — many of them, identical, neatly lined up along the walls. He clipped one with his foot as he walked past, and it didn’t even shift.

Two weeks later, the city he had grown up in had become nothing more than a place they had left.

His father made the decision on a Wednesday. By Friday the papers were signed.

No one asked them.

No one ever asked him or his mother.

He had long since gotten used to it.

The house in New York met them with silence. Not a cozy silence — a deliberate one. Almost calibrated down to the smallest detail.

They had been here before. Sometimes they came for a few days when his father needed to stay in the city on business. Always briefly. No one had planned on living here.

And yet the house met them with the same silence. The kind where every sound became too distinct: his own footsteps, the faint creak of parquet under someone else’s feet, the distant hum of the city beyond thick glass.

Ethan walked forward without stopping and ran his hand along the back of the sofa. No dust.

So everything had been prepared in advance.

Of course.

His mother moved slowly through the rooms. She touched the furniture — first with her fingertips, then with her palm, lingering longer than she needed to. She ran her hand along the edge of the table, the glass of the cabinet. Stopped at the window.

“It’s beautiful here,” she said, like she was trying to convince herself.

His father didn’t even look in her direction. He was already on the phone the moment they walked in. He passed them without slowing.

“I’ve seen the figures. No, ‘almost’ doesn’t work for me. Either we do it properly, or we don’t do it at all.”

“Mr. Williams, I’ve brought the documents for your signature,” a man in a suit said in a low voice.

His father only gave a brief wave in reply. The office door closed behind them.

His mother let her hand fall. She smiled — quickly, almost imperceptibly.

Ethan held his gaze on the closed door a little longer than he should have. Then he turned away.

At dinner it was all the same. A large table — too large for three. White plates. The quiet, almost sterile sound of cutlery.

Ethan pulled his chair a little further out than usual and sat down without hurrying.

His mother sat across from him, cutting her food into small, neat pieces, though she barely ate.

His father sat at the head of the table. His phone lay beside his plate. He wasn’t looking at it, but he kept it in his field of vision.

“University,” he said. “You start tomorrow.”

Ethan nodded.

“Harlow University. I didn’t choose it at random. The children of the right people study there.”

Ethan looked up.

“I figured.”

His father paused for a second, studying him as if appraising another investment.

“Connections form early,” he went on. “You don’t have to be friends with everyone. But you need to understand who can be useful to you.”

Ethan leaned back in his chair.

“And if I’m not interested?”

His mother’s eyes snapped up.

A pause.

His father’s expression didn’t change.

“You will be,” he said calmly.

“Maybe he just needs to study?”

“Natalie…”

His father didn’t have to raise his voice. One look was enough to silence her completely.

“Because you’ve decided so?”Ethan smirked, just barely.

The silence grew denser. Almost tangible. His mother lowered her eyes back to her plate. His father slowly set down his cutlery and laced his fingers.

“Because you understand how things work,” he answered.

Ethan held his gaze.

“Or because you want me to play by your rules.”

Another pause. A long one. He didn’t raise his voice.

“There’s no difference.”

“There is.” Ethan nodded slowly.

He didn’t go on. Neither did his father.

“Besides,” William added a second later, his voice already evening out, “they know the name there. The Cole Foundation is one of the university’s sponsors. More will be expected of you.Don’t disappoint.”

Ethan picked up his fork. “We’ll see.”

After dinner his mother stayed in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table with a cup of tea, warming her palms against the hot porcelain.

Ethan stopped in the doorway.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She turned.

“Of course. I’m just… getting used to it.”

“To what?”

She looked out the window and didn’t answer.

The room upstairs met him with the smell of fresh paint and something foreign, something that hadn’t yet become his. Boxes along the wall. A bed without a cover. A bare desk.

He dropped his backpack on the floor. It struck a box and slowly slid down. The window looked out onto the inner courtyard: a streetlight, a tree, a bench. Empty.

Ethan came closer and looked down for a few seconds. Then he stepped back and lay down on the bed, hands behind his head.

University. New people. A place where everything had long since been decided — roles, groups, rules.

His plan had been to finish university in Chicago, get out, and do what he actually wanted. But his father had plans of his own. And of course they led straight into Cole Holdings.

Ethan slowly ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek and smirked.

“We’ll see.”

He wasn’t planning on adjusting to anyone.

Outside the window the city was living its own life — loud, fast, indifferent. Cars rushed by somewhere below. The light of the streetlamps fell across the ceiling in ragged stripes. New York didn’t seem to notice that someone had just started a new life here.

He stared into the darkness, not closing his eyes. And somehow he was certain of only one thing:

Tomorrow everything would change.