- 4.
I was under strict surveillance, with little chance
to use the burner phone. Ethan, inexplicably,
returned from his trip after only five days. Once
he was back, the monitoring eased, and I finally
had access to the phone again.
I texted: “Dude, this is low. Even if she cheated,
just get a divorce. Why lock her up?”
His reply was swift: “She didn’t cheat. I trust
her. Avery wouldn’t do something like that.”
<
I stared at the message, dumbfounded. What
did he mean? While I hadn’t actually gone
through with it, he couldn’t possibly know that.
How could he understand me so well? He was
always so distant, so indifferent.
Desperate, I pushed further, adding fuel to the
fire:
“Ethan, you don’t know your wife as well as I
do.”
“She has three moles, one on her ribcage, one
near her navel, and another… Every time I trace
them with my finger, she shivers
uncontrollably.”
“But you’re her husband. Surely you already
knew that, after three years?”
Pure sarcasm. He hadn’t touched me in three
years.
“Crash!” The sound of shattering glass echoed
from upstairs, from Ethan’s study. I flinched,
quickly hiding the burner phone.
L
The crashing sound repeated. Then I heard
Ethan’s footsteps descending the stairs.
“Have someone clean that up. I need a new
computer,” he said wearily to the housekeeper.
His footsteps approached. I trembled, imagining
him tearing me apart next.
I burrowed under the covers, feigning sleep. The
lock on my door had mysteriously broken since
his return.
Ethan turned the handle, finding the room dark.
He didn’t speak. In the silence, his ragged
breathing and pounding heart were so loud I
wondered if he could hear mine too.
He stepped closer, closer. I squeezed my eyes
shut.
He didn’t wake me. He didn’t grab me,
demanding an explanation. He simply stood by
my bed. Even with my eyes closed, I felt his intense gaze fixed on my abdomen, as if he was debating whether to confirm something.
<
Don’t flinch. Breathe evenly. Keep up the act!
I remained motionless.
The mattress dipped beside me. Ethan lay down
next to me. That burning gaze remained fixed
on me.
I gritted my teeth. No risk, no reward. Time to
turn up the heat.
I rolled over, as if in a dream, nuzzling into his
chest. He stiffened. The burning intensity in his
eyes softened.
“Ethan…” I murmured.
He froze.
I wrapped my arms around him, using the
sweetest voice I could muster. “Ethan, hold
me.”
I expected anger, a slap across the face. I’d
never called him Ethan before. He knew who I
was really calling for.
But…
He stared down at me, his grip tightening on
<
my arms, his body trembling with barely-
contained rage. Yet, at my involuntary whimper,
he forced himself to loosen his hold. He cupped
the back of my head, pulling me closer. He
kissed my hair. Then, his hand began stroking
my back, a clumsy, tender gesture meant to
soothe.
“I’m holding you,” he whispered.
I froze.
His eerie calmness was utterly unnerving. Ethan
was brilliant. He should have known from the
first text that I was lying, trying to provoke him
into a divorce. He should have been drawing up
papers, throwing me out. But he’d denied it,
again and again, vehemently, desperately,
stubbornly. Now, he was clinging to
endearments meant for someone else, almost
as if trying to convince himself.
What was he doing?
He must have thought my silence meant I’d
L
fallen into a deeper sleep. He silently pulled
back the covers, his fingertip landing on my
ribcage, then trailing downwards, following the
path of the imaginary mole.
One light touch, cool against my skin.
And I flinched, my body convulsing involuntarily,
a jolt of electricity coursing through me. It was
the text, my lie, yet… the sensation was real.
I trembled, the act crumbling. I tried to turn
away. He stopped stroking my back, his arms.
wrapping around me, holding me tightly against
him, chest to chest. His grip was firm,
unyielding, like a lock, so tight I could feel the
frantic beat of his heart against my own.
Chaos. Wild, forceful.
He whispered, “You’re mine. I’m yours.”
He’d lost it. Thrown logic and reason out the
window, reduced to pure, primal instinct.
Savage, direct, possessive. Like I’d been
dragged into his lair, and now I belonged to
L
him, period. He’d objectified me, objectified
himself. We weren’t people with fragile skin and
beating hearts; we were two pieces of a lock,
snapping shut.
Click.
Mine. His. He was insane.
I opened my eyes in the darkness, nestled
between his scorching arms, staring at his
sleeping face, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. Exhaustion finally claimed me.
I dreamt of myself, three years younger, begging Ethan to let me go. He’d watched me coldly, until I screamed, “I don’t owe you
anything! You have no right to keep me here!” He’d taken a step back, silent for a full minute before meeting my gaze. “You do owe me. Your sister ran off, broke our engagement. You’ll
spend the rest of your life paying that debt. I’ll never let you go.”
I’d collapsed, touching my face, the face that
く
mirrored my sister’s, finally understanding. He
wouldn’t let me go because I was her
replacement.
Three years of this suffocating existence.
I woke up. Ethan was gone. The bed beside me
was smooth and undisturbed, as if he’d never been there.
