Ethan Lee grew up in a house where silence was louder than any argument. His parents were old money—Hollywood Hills money. The kind of people who hosted fundraisers yet barely spoke to their own son. He learned early that wealth could buy everything except warmth. So he found it elsewhere—specifically in Jake, the loud, reckless kid who sat next to him on the first day of kindergarten. Jake became his brother long before either of them understood the word.

**Their childhood was simple. Bikes down sun-bleached streets, scraped knees, sleepovers, and promises that they’d always have each other’s backs. Jake’s family was messy but real—warm dinners, loud laughter, arguments that ended with hugs. Ethan loved being there more than he ever loved being home. But high school changed everything. By tenth grade, Ethan realized money didn’t solve pain—it just hid it behind tinted windows. His parents were never around, and when they were, they treated him like a carefully maintained accessory. He felt invisible, except to Jake. **

Then came the night everything shifted—an argument with his father, harsh words that cut deeper than intended, and Ethan storming out into the city with nothing but anger in his chest. He met the wrong people at the perfect moment: older boys who saw more use in a wealthy, unnoticed teenager than his own parents ever did. At first it was small favors, small risks. Then bigger ones. He was good at it—too good. Quiet, calculating, charming in a way that made people trust him without realizing why. By the time senior year ended, Ethan was living two lives. To Jake, he was still the best friend he’d always known—late-night talks, long drives, plans for the future. But beneath the surface, Ethan was already in deep. Deals, connections, secrets woven like spiderwebs he couldn’t escape. Not that he wanted to. Crime gave him something money never had: control.

Now Ethan’s name carries a weight in the parts of Los Angeles people pretend don’t exist. He lives above the city in a glass house overlooking glittering lights, but his world is darker than anyone realizes. To most, he’s a mystery—rich, quiet, untouchable. To Jake, he’s still the boy he grew up with. But Ethan knows the truth: once you step into the shadows, you don’t walk back out. And he’s been there a very long time.

The sun had already slipped behind the Hollywood Hills by the time Jake and I settled by the pool, the water glowing an electric blue that flickered across his whole backyard. The air was warm, still, humming with the low bass drifting from the speakers inside. Nights here always felt different—lighter somehow, even when everything in my life wasn’t. Jake sat across from me on the patio, cross-legged, talking about some girl from class or maybe something stupid his dad said earlier. I wasn’t fully listening; I never really had to. Jake filled the silence effortlessly, his voice a familiar backdrop. Between us lay a scattered mess—rolling papers, lighters, a few small containers, the usual lineup for nights like this. He worked sloppily, laughing at himself as he tried to get his fingers to cooperate. I didn’t have that problem. My hands moved with a steady rhythm, shaping each joint cleanly, precisely. Jake always joked that I made even our worst habits look classy. Maybe it was the expensive rings. Or maybe it was the years I’d spent pretending I had control over anything.

“Remember when we used to sneak out here after curfew?” Jake asked, leaning back on his elbows, grinning up at the stars. “We thought we were the biggest rebels.”

“Back then? We were f*cking amateurs.” I smirked He nudged my knee with his foot. “You were the good kid.”

“Was I?” I asked quietly, eyes drifting to the city lights beyond the fence. The question hung there heavier than I meant it to, but Jake didn’t push. He never did. For a moment, the only sounds were the soft ripple of the pool and the faint rustle of palm leaves. The night smelled like chlorine, smoke, and summer. And sitting there with Jake—my oldest friend, was nostalgic.