Chapter eight

~EXPOSED SCARS~

AMAYA’S POV

The words came out faster than I intended. Too desperate, protective, but I couldn’t help it.

Tonight had already shown me how quickly people could disappear. One second Ariel was in my arms, the next guns were pointed at us. I wasn’t ready to let her out of my sight, not even for comfort.

Ethan watched me quietly for a moment before nodding once. “I’ll have Maria bring her back.”

Relief loosened something tight in my chest.

“Tomorrow,” he continued, “you can order whatever you and your daughter need online. Clothes, toiletries, anything.” He paused briefly. “And before you panic again, no—I’m not keeping you hostage. I just don’t think it’s safe for you to be seen outside yet.”

I cut him off gently before he could explain further.

“I understand.” My voice softened a little. “I don’t plan on leaving the house anyway. Not until I heal properly.” Not until I could look in the mirror without seeing fear staring back at me. His expression shifted slightly, almost like approval.

Then he nodded once and stepped back toward the door. “Get some rest, Amaya.”

The way he said my name felt strange. It sounded like he was used to it, like it wasn't something he had just discovered today.

After he left, the room fell silent again.

I slowly walked deeper inside, finally taking everything in properly. The room was elegant without trying too hard—warm lighting, soft cream curtains, dark wood furniture, a fireplace glowing quietly at the far side. Expensive, but comfortable.

Brown’s house always looked beautiful for guests but felt lifeless when the doors closed.

I couldn’t stop wondering if he had found out that I left. I took my phone out of my bag. It was cracked and dead, so I slipped it back inside. What would he do when he realized I was gone with our daughter?

I placed my bag carefully on the vanity table beside the first aid box and stared at my reflection in the mirror above it.

For a second, I didn’t recognize myself.

Swollen cheek. Split lip. Bruises crawling across my skin beneath the oversized gown. My eyes looked tired in a way sleep could never fix.

I looked away quickly. I started pacing, checking the clock constantly. Ten minutes had passed, but every single minute felt like an eternity.

Every second without Ariel in the room made my anxiety worse. My mind kept creating horrible thoughts even though I knew I was overreacting. Trauma did that. It made safety feel suspicious.

Just when I was about to step outside and look for her myself, the door finally opened.

Maria walked in carrying Ariel carefully against her shoulder. Relief hit me so hard my knees almost weakened.

I hurried to the bed and pulled the duvet back quickly. “Thank you,” I breathed.

Maria smiled softly as she laid Ariel down gently on the mattress. Only then did I notice Ariel had been changed into a clean oversized T-shirt that covered her almost completely. Her little face looked peaceful now, freshly cleaned, curls slightly damp.

My chest tightened painfully at the sight.

She looked safe. Like a child should.

Maria adjusted the blanket over her carefully before turning to me. Her eyes lingered on my bruises again, this time with quiet sadness.

“I’ve started a warm bath for you,” she said gently. “There are toiletries in the bathroom, and I will bring fresh clothes over in a few minutes.”

I nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

She moved toward the door but paused before leaving. “You don’t have to be afraid,” she said softly. “No one will hurt you here.”

The words settled heavily in my chest after she left.

Because part of me wanted to believe her so badly… it scared me.

She lowered her head politely before leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.

The silence returned immediately.

I looked down at Ariel sleeping peacefully in the middle of the bed before walking slowly toward the mirror again. My fingers trembled as I untied the headscarf and let it fall. Then I pulled the oversized gown from my body, leaving only my bra and panties behind.

For a moment, I just stood there.

The bright lights above the vanity illuminated every bruise across my skin cruelly. Purple marks wrapped around my arms. Red lashes stained my back and thighs. Fingerprints lingered faintly against my neck like proof that someone once held me down hard enough to leave pieces of himself behind.

I stared at my reflection and felt sick.

Brown used to tell me nobody would ever want me looking like this. And standing there now, broken and bruised under unfamiliar lights in another man’s house, I hated that a part of me still believed him.

My throat tightened painfully.

Before I knew it, tears spilled down my face again. Silent at first. Then harder. I pressed trembling fingers against my mouth to hold back the sob threatening to escape.

I hated crying, but tonight had ripped every last bit of strength out of me. My shaky fingers moved to the bruises around my neck, tracing them lightly as if I couldn’t believe how much damage one person could do to another and still call it marriage.

Then suddenly—

The door opened. My heart nearly stopped.

I spun around sharply, panic flooding me instantly, and my eyes landed directly on Ethan standing at the doorway.