Chapter Five: The Brand of a Sinner (Pt 1)

The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the breakfast feels like a spotlight on a crime scene. 

I feel exposed, raw, and aching in places I can’t explain to the man sitting at the head of the table.

I’ve wrapped a silk Hermès scarf around my neck, the knot tight enough to make it hard to swallow. 

I’ve layered on enough concealer to hide a murder, but the skin beneath the silk is throbbing. I can still feel the ghost of Ethan’s teeth sinking into my flesh.

"You look a bit pale this morning, Sweetheart," Arthur says, his voice full of genuine concern. 

He’s sipping his tea, looking every bit the gentle billionaire who thinks he’s rescued a damsel. 

"Did you not sleep well? The first night in a new house can be unsettling."

"I’m fine, Arthur," I lie, my voice sounding thin to my own ears. 

"Just a bit of a headache. The excitement of the wedding, I suppose."

Across from me, Ethan is sitting there, draped in a charcoal-grey suit that makes him look like the devil’s favorite son. 

He hasn’t touched his food.

He leans back, a cup of black coffee in his hand, his eyes, those storm-grey, predatory eyes locked onto the silk around my throat.

He doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. 

The way he watches me is a physical weight, that he knows exactly what’s under that scarf. He looks satisfied. Fed.

"A headache?" Ethan finally speaks, his voice a low, dry rasp that sends a shiver of pure terror straight down my spine. 

"Perhaps the house is too loud for you, Mother. These old mansions tend to echo."

I grip my fork so hard the metal bites into my palm. "I didn't notice."

"And the scarf?" Ethan tilts his head, a cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It’s nearly eighty degrees outside. You’re dressed for a blizzard."

"I felt a bit of a chill," I snap, looking down at my plate.

"Zora is delicate, Ethan," Arthur chides gently, reaching across the table to pat my hand. 

"We must take care of her. In fact, I was thinking of taking her to the lake house for a few days. A private honeymoon."

The air leaves my lungs. Isolation with Arthur. 

It might be a prison because I don’t have any feeling for Arthur, but at least the bars wouldn't have Ethan's name on them.

"Actually, Father," Ethan’s voice drops an octave, turning thick and dark like motor oil.

"I already promised Althea the lake house for her vacation and she is already there. Perhaps it’s best if Mother stays here. I’m sure she has plenty of activities to keep her busy..."

I look at Arthur’s kind, oblivious face, then at Ethan’s ruthless one. 

I am beginning to realize that in the Reynolds mansion, the sun never truly rises because Ethan holds the ultimate power.

“Speaking of Althea,” Arthur says, fixing Ethan with a stern look. 

“Why are you still delaying the wedding? You’ve been engaged for over a year. The family expects a merger.”

My heart stops. 

A fiancée?

Ethan has a serious relationship, a life planned in the light, while he spends his Fridays and nights dragging me into the dark?

“About that, Father,” Ethan replies, his lips curving into a smile. 

“We plan on starting the wedding preparations the moment she returns in two weeks. We’ve already discussed it; the delay was Althea’s doing, not mine. I’ve been ready to claim her for a long time.”

A Wedding?  

He’s building a sanctuary with another woman while he ruins mine.

“Great! We’ll plan something luxurious, a ball for the announcement,” Arthur beams.

Ethan nods, then turns his gaze to me. 

It’s a predatory stare that strips the clothes from my body. 

“I would love that. What do you think, Mother? Should we celebrate my commitment?”

He grins wickedly, mocking me. He wants me to applaud while he ties a noose around my neck and a ring on another woman’s finger.

“It’s a... great idea,” I reply, my voice thin, forcing a smile that feels like it’s cracking my face.

“I’ll make sure to introduce her to you, Mother,” Ethan adds, his eyes dancing with malice. 

“I think you two will have so much to talk about.”

“You would absolutely love Althea,” Arthur says. 

As he reaches for my hand, the breeze from the open patio doors catches the loose end of my scarf.

The silk slips. The knot I thought I tighten well enough loosens just enough for the fabric to slide down my shoulder.

I freeze. The air in the room vanishes.

Arthur’s eyes drop to my neck. His smile falters, then disappears entirely. 

He reaches out, his fingers trembling slightly as he brushes the silk aside to reveal the truth.

The mark is horrific in the morning light: a deep, angry purple-red, marks clearly visible against my pale skin. It’s a brand of ownership. It’s a confession.

"Sweetheart…" Arthur’s voice is a breath of shock. "My God, your neck. What happened? It looks like… like something bite you."

I can feel Ethan’s gaze burning into me. I can feel the dark, twisted joy he’s taking in this moment. 

He’s waiting for me to fail. He wants to see me crumble under the weight of the lie.

"I—I fell," I stammer, my mind racing, searching for a way out of the abyss. 

"In the dressing room last night. I tripped over the hem of my gown and hit the edge of the vanity. It… it caught me right there. It looks much worse than it feels, Arthur, truly."

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Arthur looks horrified, his face pale with worry. 

"We should call the doctor. That looks like a blunt force injury, Zora. I won't have you in pain on our first day."

"There's no need for a doctor, Father," Ethan’s voice cuts through the tension like a guillotine. He sets his coffee cup down with a deliberate clack.

He leans forward, his dark gaze fixed on the mark he made. He looks at it with the pride of a hunter looking at a trophy.

"It’s just a bruise," Ethan murmurs, his eyes shifting to mine, mocking me. 

"I’m sure Mrs Reynolds can handle a little pain. After all, she’s seems to me to be much tougher than she looks. Aren't you, Mother?"

A single, sharp nod of my head is the only answer I give.

I can’t breathe. 

I can only stare at him, trapped between the man who wants to protect a lie and the man who is forcing me to live it.