Chapter 4: The Unseen Enemy

Chapter 4: The Unseen Enemy

“Maya, why are you pacing?” Ethan’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the fireplace. He sat in his usual spot near the window, his eyes following her restless movements. “You’re wearing a hole in my rug.”

She stopped mid-step, clutching the edge of her cardigan as if it were a lifeline. “You’re seriously going to pretend that message isn’t a big deal? Someone literally told me to stay away from you or else.”

He leaned back, rubbing his temple with a sigh. “Maya, I’ve been dealing with this kind of nonsense for years. Empty threats, veiled warnings—it’s all part of the package.”

“That’s not the point!” Her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on. “You’re acting like this is normal. It’s not, Ethan. What if this person isn’t bluffing?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “And what do you want me to do? Hide in a bunker? Whoever sent that message is just trying to scare you. Don’t let them win.”

Maya crossed her arms, frustration bubbling under her skin. “So that’s it? Ignore it and hope they go away? That’s your brilliant plan?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly, his tone clipped. “Because worrying about it does nothing.”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t push further. Not yet. She needed to pick her battles carefully, especially with someone as stubborn as Ethan. Instead, she changed tactics. “Fine. Let’s focus on something productive—like your therapy. You’re making progress, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Ethan gave a hollow laugh, glancing at the brace on his leg. “Progress? You mean managing to stand for five seconds before I collapse like a sack of bricks? Yeah, real inspiring.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” she said softly, walking over to sit across from him. “Standing, even for a few seconds, is a huge step. You should be proud.”

He didn’t respond immediately. His gaze drifted to the window, the faint reflection of his face blending with the darkening sky outside. “It’s not enough, Maya. It’s never enough.”

“It will be,” she said, her voice firm. “But only if you stop sabotaging yourself.”

Ethan’s head snapped toward her, his eyes narrowing. “Sabotaging myself? That’s rich coming from someone who barely knows me.”

“I know more than you think,” she shot back, leaning forward. “I’ve been watching you give up before you’ve even tried. You’re scared of failing, so you don’t even let yourself hope.”

“And what would you know about failure?” he challenged, his voice dangerously low. “You’re just playing the saviour, thinking you can fix everyone. Newsflash, Maya: not everyone wants to be saved.”

The sting of his words was sharp, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she stood, her hands clenched at her sides. “You’re right. I can’t save you if you don’t want to be saved. But you’re wrong about one thing—I’m not going to stop trying.”

Without waiting for his response, she turned and left the room, her heart pounding.

Later that evening, Maya found herself drawn to Ethan’s study. She hesitated at the door, feeling a pang of guilt for what she was about to do. But something about that message—combined with Ethan’s refusal to take it seriously—set her on edge. She needed answers, and if Ethan wouldn’t give them to her, she’d have to find them herself.

The room was dimly lit, the faint scent of cedar and leather lingering in the air. Papers were scattered across the desk, along with a half-empty glass of whiskey. Maya’s eyes scanned the clutter until something caught her attention: a file folder tucked beneath a pile of mail. It was labelled simply with Ethan’s last name.

She bit her lip, glancing toward the door before pulling it out. As she flipped it open, her breath hitched. There were photographs of a mangled car, police reports, and a detailed analysis of the accident. But it wasn’t just an accident. The report highlighted signs of tampering—cut brake lines, loosened bolts.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her hands trembling. Someone had tried to kill him.

“Looking for something?”

Maya whirled around, clutching the folder to her chest. Ethan stood in the doorway; his face unreadable.

"I-I was just—"

"Save it," he interrupted, stepping into the room. "If you wanted to know about my past, you could've just asked."

She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "Would you have told me?"

He paused, his jaw tightening. "Probably not."

"That's what I thought." She set the folder down, her hands shaking slightly. "Why didn't you tell me the accident was deliberate? Someone tried to kill you, Ethan. And now I'm getting threats just for being near you."

"Because knowing doesn't change anything," he said, his tone bitter. "It happened. I survived. End of story."

“No, it’s not the end,” she insisted, her voice rising. “Someone wanted you dead, and they might still be out there. Don’t you care?”

“Of course I care!” he snapped, his eyes blazing. “But what do you want me to do, Maya? Spend every waking moment looking over my shoulder? That’s no way to live.”

“Better than pretending everything’s fine,” she shot back. “You can’t keep running from this.”

Ethan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t understand—”

“Then help me understand!” she pleaded, taking a step closer. “Let me in, Ethan. Stop shutting me out.”

For a moment, he looked as if he might say something. But then his expression hardened, and he shook his head. “I can’t.”

Before she could respond, the doorbell rang, breaking the tense silence. Ethan turned without a word, leaving Maya alone in the study.

The gala was everything Maya had expected: lavish, ostentatious, and suffocatingly formal. She felt out of place in her borrowed gown, surrounded by people who seemed to delight in reminding her she didn’t belong.

“Is that the new Mrs. Blackwood?” a woman’s voice drifted toward her, laced with thinly veiled disdain. “I heard she was a charity case.”

Maya bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to smile politely as she moved through the crowd. She spotted Ethan’s mother near the bar, watching her with a calculating gaze.

“You’re holding up well,” Mrs. Blackwood said when Maya approached. “I wasn’t sure you’d survive the sharks.”

Maya forced a laugh. “I’ve had worse.”

“Hmm,” Mrs. Blackwood mused, her eyes scanning the room. “Let’s hope you continue to prove me wrong.”

Before Maya could respond, a voice behind her sent a chill down her spine.

“Enjoying yourself?”

She turned to find Thomas standing there, a smug smile on his face.

"What do you want?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral.

Just a friendly chat, he said, his smile expanding. Though he couldn't help but notice just how. out of place she seemed.

Thanks for the observation, she said dryly, turning to walk away. But he stepped in front of her, lowering his voice.

"You should be careful," he said, his tone suddenly serious. "Ethan's secrets have a way of ruining everything they touch."

"What are you talking about?" Thomas smirked and leaned in close. "Ask him about the accident. Ask him who really benefited from it." Maya's heart was racing. She stared at him, her mind racing with a million questions, but before she could say a word, silence fell over the room. All eyes turned toward the entrance where Ethan stood. He wasn't in his wheelchair. He wasn't leaning on a cane. He was standing.

Maya's breath caught as their eyes met. Instead of pride or joy, though, Ethan's gaze was icy, his jaw clenched as he stared at her and Thomas.

"Ethan," she began, stepping toward him.

"Save it," he said coldly, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.