Bound by deception

The ring feels like a shackle. I sit stiffly in the middle of Ethan’s penthouse, glaring at the massive diamond he just slipped onto my finger. The damn thing sparkles under the chandelier light, mocking me. “This is ridiculous,” I mutter, twisting it around my finger like I can rip it off by sheer will. “You’ll wear it at all times,” Ethan says, standing over me. “No exceptions.” His voice is calm, firm, as if he’s telling me I’ll breathe air or drink water. As if this is a law of nature I can’t argue with. I scoff, shifting in my seat. “Afraid someone will think your fiancée doesn’t love you?” Ethan steps closer, his presence swallowing the space between us. He doesn’t touch me, but it feels like he does. His energy is suffocating, like a magnetic field trapping me in place. “Afraid you’ll forget this is just business?” His voice drops an octave, smooth as silk but sharp as a blade. His breath warms my skin, and for a terrifying second, my pulse skips. I hate how m

I storm into Ethan’s office, my heels clicking against the marble floor. The room is sleek, modern, just like him. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch behind a black glass desk, offering a perfect view of the city skyline. A world he owns. A world I’m trapped in. But right now, I don’t care about the wealth or power surrounding him. I care about the lie. The one he’s keeping from me. “What the hell are you planning?” Ethan glances up, completely unfazed. His charcoal suit is crisp, his tie slightly loosened like he’s already settled in for the night. Like he expected me. His expression doesn’t shift. No surprise, no guilt, just a cool, collected mask. He leans back, fingers steepled together. Calm. Confident. Dangerous. “You were eavesdropping?” His voice is smooth, like I’m the one crossing a line. I slam my hands on the glass desk, hard enough to make the papers tremble. Hard enough to show I’m not afraid. “Don’t turn this on me.” His lips twitch in a ghos

The folder lingers between us like a ticking bomb. I stare at it. It's thin. Deceptively light. Nonetheless, it feels heavier than anything I've ever held. It makes my fingers shake as I try to grab it. The weight of my heart weighing heavily on my ears.' I shouldn't open it. I am aware of the instincts of animals that alert them to running before a storm. This is their way! But I do it anyway. If I flip that folder open, the air changes in the room. Tighter. Heavier. Ethan doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Pay attention as my world unravels among a collection of meticulously curated documents.'... A photo is included on the first page. Lucas. My breath catches. Pale. Weak. Hooked up to twelve machines in a clean medical facility. His eyes are shut, his body is frighteningly still. I blink. My throat tightens. The next page—his medical bills. Unpaid. Stamped with red warnings. FINAL NOTICE. As I flip through them, my stomach knotters.

I know I lost the moment Ethan's fingers clung to my wrist. Not in a loud, dramatic manner. No. This loss is quieter. More dangerous. The manner in which he moves, his hold firm but not bruised and his posture controlled. He pulls me from the ballroom, weaving through the crowd, past the shimmering chandeliers and ruffled gowns, silently talking to me and laughing in champagne glasses. There is silence between us. I don't fight him. I can't. Knowing the cost involved in creating a scene, I cannot say no. It's not when I acknowledge that I'm already standing on my feet. Why? We are watched by twelve eyes, but no one dares to intervene.’ A. Not with Ethan Sinclair. And certainly not for me. After passing the arched exit, we hear a sound from gala.? With a dim lighting system, the marble floor casts shadowy hued by warm glow from sconces in the grand hallway. Ethan stops when the doors swing in front of us. Then—. He turns. Fast. Smooth. Predatory. I'm pressed against the

Despite feeling pain in my fingers, I can't shake off the folder. From the glossy photo inside, I can see my face staring back at me - this is before my nightmare became reality. Looking up, my eyes ablaze with anger. "What's going on?". Without any hesitation, Ethan leans down on the leather seat. “I want to know why.” Hean.... I shake my head. “No. No, this—this doesn't make sense. It was my first time meeting you in person last week. Damien makes a sharp and amusing laughter from the far end of the vehicle. "Do you believe it's me?" could be the question? "I look at him with a giggle. He responds with, "Laughter!". His gaze enlarges as he faces the folder, his expression spreading. "Do you suppose Sinclair misplaced something?!". Sweetheart, the photo is not for entertainment. A coldness that reaches me causes pain in my chest. I tighten my grip on the folder and have an irregular breath. Ethan looks at me with confusion. "It's not like he ever thought anything could happen