Chapter nine

~EXPOSED SCARS 2~

For one horrifying second, neither of us moved.

His gaze flicked across me, too quickly for me to fully read, but enough to send shame crashing through my chest.

I grabbed the gown from the floor immediately and pulled it tightly against my body. Ethan reacted just as fast. He turned away and shut the door almost instantly.

“I’m sorry,” his voice came from the other side. Controlled, but rougher now. “I should’ve knocked.”

I stood frozen behind the door, heart racing wildly.

“I brought you clean clothes.”

The door opened only slightly this time, just enough for his arm to reach through holding folded clothes neatly in his hand. I hurried forward and took them quickly without letting the gown slip.

The second my fingers touched the fabric, he withdrew his hand and closed the door again completely. I leaned back against it afterward, breathing unevenly.

Heat crawled across my face, not embarrassment alone, but humiliation.

He saw me. Not the polished version Brown forced me to maintain in public. Not makeup or designer dresses or fake smiles.

He saw the bruises and marks, seeing exactly how damaged I was. I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing he must be disgusted by how I looked.

Brown always looked at me with irritation after hurting me, like my bruises offended him more than the violence that caused them. And now Ethan had seen exactly how ruined I really was.

ETHAN’S POV

I stayed outside the door for a few seconds longer than I should have. My hand was still resting against the wood, my jaw tight, my mind replaying the image I had just walked in on.

Jesus Christ. The bruises on her body weren’t normal. They weren’t from one bad night or one moment of anger. Those were the marks of repeated violence. Old scars layered beneath fresh ones. The kind that told a story without needing words.

And the worst part? She looked ashamed of them.

Like she thought she was the ugly thing in that room instead of the man who put those marks on her.

I dragged a hand down my face and stepped away from the door when I heard her muffled sobs from inside. Every instinct in me wanted to walk back in there and tell her she had nothing to hide.

That she was still beautiful, because she truly was.

Even exhausted, bruised, terrified and standing there trying to cover herself like she had done something wrong, she was still one of the most beautiful women I had ever known.

And I remembered exactly the first time I saw her.

Brown had brought her to one of the charity galas years ago. She wore a deep emerald dress and barely spoke all night, smiling politely at everyone like she’d been trained to. They definitely hadn’t noticed me back then. I was only there to oversee the visiting dignitaries, but I had kept my eyes on them, monitoring them from afar.

I remembered thinking she looked too soft for a man like him. Too alive. Now I understood why her smile had looked forced back then.

I clenched my fist unconsciously.

How sick did a man have to be to destroy someone little by little until fear became part of her personality?

I stayed off the radar, preparing myself for war. I was bringing it straight to him, and to every last person who had participated in their evil.

But this?

This was beyond rage. It was cruelty.

I walked away from the door before I did something stupid like drive straight to his mansion and beat him bloody with my bare hands. By the time I reached the upper floor where my private space was, my temper was already boiling beneath my skin.

I went straight to my bar, poured a glass of whiskey, and drank it in one gulp. It burned going down, but not enough. Nothing about tonight sat right with me.

I couldn't forget the way she flinched every time I moved too quickly, or the way she apologized for simply existing. But what cut the deepest was the fact that she looked genuinely shocked anytime someone treated her gently. And definitely not the way she held onto that little girl like the world was constantly trying to steal her away.

I leaned both hands against the counter and stared down at the glass.

I really wanted to tell her about my identity, but under the circumstances, I didn't think it was the right moment. She might panic and run, or see me as no different than Brown. The thought turned my stomach, because I was nothing like him and would never be.

I barely knew her, yet seeing her cry behind that door made something violent rise in my chest.

I wanted to fix it. Which irritated me more than it should have, because I didn’t even know how. I wasn’t good at comfort. I wasn’t the soft one in any room. People usually feared me before they trusted me.

But hearing her cry… fuck.

I rubbed my jaw roughly and reached for my phone instead, needing something else to focus on before I lost my mind.

Without thinking, I opened Brown’s I*******m page.

The perfect billionaire image. Luxury watches, business deals, parties, and cars. Women in the comments were practically begging for his attention, watching videos of interviews where he talked about success and discipline, all while he was beating his wife behind closed doors.

I scrolled further.

More pictures, more fake smiles, and more carefully crafted perfection. Yet nowhere, not a single time, was there any mention of a wife or daughter.

My expression hardened instantly.

“Coward.” I hissed the word, gulping down another drink. “He thinks he’s a real man by hurting a woman he’s supposed to protect.”

He couldn’t even think of his own daughter. The little girl adored him enough to ask if he had sent someone to save her tonight, and yet the bastard acted online like they didn't even exist.

My plan was clear: gain Amaya’s trust and help her find her spark again. Then, I’d bring her to the company to claim my birthright, expose the crimes of him and his mother, and ensure no one ever trampled on her again. I just hoped she had the strength to let go of the past.

I locked the phone and tossed it onto the counter harder than necessary.