The Shares War

I threw the blanket off and grabbed the robe Ethan left hanging on the chair. It was too big. It smelled like him.

My legs were shaking by the time I got to the living room. 

There were two of them. Uniforms. Hats in their hands. Professional, but their eyes were doing that thing people do when they recognize you from the news. 

Ethan was already there. In a black t-shirt and sweats. He looked like he hadn’t slept either.

“Mr. Blackwood,” the older cop said. “We need to ask you some questions about a hit and run from 2023. Case file 8843.”

. 

2023. 

The year my dad died. 

The year I don’t remember. 

Ethan didn’t flinch. “Inside. Now.” He gestured to his office. “This doesn’t concern Miss Miller.”

“It does if she was in the car,” the younger cop said. 

I almost laughed. Almost. Because if I laughed I wouldn’t scream. 

“I was in a car accident?” I heard myself say. My voice sounded far away. “In 2023?”

The older cop looked at me. Pity. “Ma’am, we just have a few questions for Mr. Blackwood. Were you two acquainted back then?”

Ethan stepped between us. “No questions without my lawyer. You can wait in the lobby.”

They didn’t like that. But they left. 

The second the door closed, I turned on him. 

“You knew,” I said. “You knew they were going to come.”

Ethan ran a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted. “I knew David would dig it up. I didn’t know when.”

“So it’s true.” My throat felt like sandpaper. “There was an accident. And you were there.”

“Yes.”

“Was David driving?”

Ethan met my eyes. “Yes.”

The word hit me like a slap. 

Drunk driving. Hit and run. 

My ex. 

I remembered the knife. The blood on my dress. The way David said “you made me do it.” 

Now this. 

“Why don’t I remember?” I whispered. 

“Your dad pulled strings,” Ethan said. “He didn’t want Miller Tech dragged through the mud. He paid the hospital to wipe the record. To protect you.”

My dad. 

The one person I thought never lied to me. 

I sank onto the couch. My knees gave out. 

Ethan sat beside me. Not touching. Just close. 

“I covered it up too,” he said. “I was 22. I found you on the side of the road. David had already run. I called an ambulance. I stayed with you until your dad came. Then he asked me to keep quiet.”

“Why would you do that?” 

“Because you were 19,” Ethan said. “And he said if it came out, the company would crash and you’d have nothing. I thought I was helping.”

You thought you were helping. 

That was the same thing David used to say right before he broke me. 

I stood up. I needed air. 

My phone buzzed on the table. 

Unknown number. 

“Morning, Sarah. Bet the cops are there. Come home and I’ll make it all go away. -D”

I ignored the message.

“Don’t answer him,” Ethan said. 

“I wasn’t going to.” My hands were shaking. “But he’s right about one thing. He’s going to use this to destroy me.”

“Then we use it first,” Ethan said. 

I looked at him. “What does that mean?”

By 9 AM I was in a conference room with three lawyers and a headache that felt like a hammer. 

Ethan sat at the head of the table. He hadn’t changed. Still in sweats. Like he didn’t care what they thought. 

“David’s lawyer sent this at 5 AM,” one of the lawyers said. She slid a paper across to me. 

*CEASE AND DESIST*  

“Sarah Miller is not of sound mind and therefore cannot make decisions regarding Miller Tech shares. All voting rights are to be frozen pending psychological evaluation.”

My shares. 

The 8% my dad left me. 

The only thing I had left of him. 

“They’re claiming you’re unstable because of the breakup,” the lawyer said. “Because of the sudden engagement. Because of ‘erratic behavior’.”

Erratic behavior. 

Like cutting my hair. 

Like saying no. 

I read the paper twice. Then a third time. 

“They can’t do this,” I said. 

“They can try,” Ethan said. “Unless we do it first.”

He pushed another folder to me. 

*POWER OF ATTORNEY*  

“Temporary transfer of voting rights for Miller Tech shares to Ethan Blackwood, for the purpose of protecting shareholder interests during litigation.”

“What?” I stared at him. “You want me to sign my company over to you?”

“I want you to sign it to me for 90 days,” Ethan said. “So David can’t touch it. So I can vote against anything he tries. After 90 days it comes right back to you.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then David files for a conservatorship,” the lawyer said. “And a judge decides. And judges believe rich ex-boyfriends who say their girlfriends are unstable.”

The room was too quiet. 

I thought of David’s hand around my throat. 

Of the USB. 

Of the photo he’d leave next. 

I thought of my dad. What would he do? 

He’d fight. 

I picked up the pen. 

My hand was steady this time. 

“Sarah Miller.”

Ethan took the paper. He didn’t smile. He just nodded once. 

“It’s done,” he said. “He can’t touch Miller Tech.”

One point for us. 

By 3 PM I was done with lawyers and board calls and people calling me “Miss Miller” like I was made of glass. 

I went back to the guest room and opened my laptop. 

If David wanted to say I was unstable, fine. 

Let him watch me build something while he burned. 

I made a new folder. 

*S.M. COLLECTIONS* 

Under it I typed:  

“For the women who survived him.”

“Black. Sharp. No apologies.” 

I sketched for 4 hours. Dresses with high collars to hide scars. Blazers with padded shoulders. Trousers that made you look like you owned the room. 

At 8 PM Ms. Reyes knocked. 

“You’re still up,” she said. 

“I’m starting a brand,” I said. 

She looked at the sketches. Then at me. 

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She pulled a card from her bag. “This is the head of production at Vanta Manufacturing. They work with Blackwood Corp. I told them my client is the daughter of Miller Tech. They’ll take the meeting.”

“Thank you,” I said. 

“Don’t thank me,” Ms. Reyes said. “Use it. Use your name. It’s the only weapon you have right now.”

11:47 PM. 

I was still awake. Going over fabric samples. 

The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet. 

Then the banging started again. 

“Sarah! Open the door!” 

David. 

I froze. 

Ethan was out of his room in seconds. Barefoot. No shirt. He looked dangerous. 

“Don’t,” he said to me. “Stay back.”

He went to the door. Didn’t open it. “Security is on their way, David.”

“I just want to talk to her!” David yelled. “Sarah! He’s lying to you! About 2023! About everything!”

“Leave,” Ethan said. 

Two minutes later we heard footsteps. Security dragging him away. 

But he left something. 

An envelope. Shoved under the door. 

I picked it up with shaking hands. 

Inside: a photo. 

Me. 

In a hospital bed. 

Tubes in my arms. Bruises on my face. Eyes closed. 

And Ethan. 

Younger. Holding my hand. Looking like he was about to break. 

On the back, David’s handwriting. Messy and angry. 

“Ask him why he paid $2 million to erase you, Sarah.  

Ask him what else he’s hiding.”

The paper slipped from my fingers. 

Ethan picked it up. His face went white. 

“I was trying to protect you,” he said. 

“From what?” 

“From him. From seeing this.”

“That’s not protection,” I said. My voice broke. “That’s control.”

I walked to my room. Locked the door. 

My phone buzzed. 

David. 

“Now you know the truth. He’s dangerous. Come home.”

I didn’t answer. 

I sat on the floor and stared at the photo until my eyes burned. 

At 6:14 AM the next morning, Ms. Reyes knocked again. 

“Miss Miller,” she said. Her face was pale. “The police are back. But this time...”

She hesitated. 

“They have a warrant,” she finished. “To search Mr. Blackwood’s office. Regarding the 2023 case.”

A warrant. 

David didn’t just file papers. 

He got the police to dig up a 3 year old case. 

And they were going to search Ethan’s office. 

Right now. 

I looked at Ethan. He was already pulling on a shirt. 

For the first time since I met him, he looked scared.