Chapter twelve: Curiosity Kills

I was barely two hours into my day when my phone buzzed with an internal call from Ethan’s office.

I exhaled sharply before answering, here we go again. “Yes, sir?”

“Bring the documents from my desk and make three copies. Now.”

The line went dead. No please, I didn't want to go to this office but there was no room for negotiation. I gritted my teeth but grabbed the damn files anyway.

Ethan barely glanced at me when I walked in. He was behind his massive desk, flipping through emails on his laptop. The room smelled like expensive cologne and power, a scent that was quickly becoming suffocating.

I moved toward the copy machine in the corner, trying to do my job and leave as fast as possible, but his voice cut through the silence.

“You and your mother,” he mused. “You guys are not close at all, are you?”

My hands shook for half a second before I continued. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Ethan leaned back in his chair, watching me like a hunter amused by his prey’s weak attempt at escape. “Just making an observation.”

I didn’t respond and he didn’t stop.

“I mean, she barely acknowledged you at dinner. She seemed more interested in making sure that I was single.”

I stiffened but forced myself to keep my expression neutral. The copies slid out of the machine, crisp and untouched by my rising anger and I knew I really needed to put it in check .

“Your mother is... interesting,” he continued, his tone almost lazy. “She’s beautiful, charismatic. I can see why people mistake her for your sister.”

I gritted my teeth, I did not need to hear this right now.

“But I didn’t see any motherly love between you two,” he said, his voice deceptively light. “Why is that?”

I turned slowly, meeting his gaze head-on. “Again, I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Ethan tilted his head, studying me. “Indulge me.”

He had struck a nerve, I tried to mask my expression not wanting him to see how much what he said has an effect on me, I could have ignored him. I should have ignored him, but instead, I spoke.

In a low, chilling voice, I said, “What do you know about a mother’s love?”

There was a heavy silence, his expression darkened. His jaw clenched, his fingers flexing slightly as if resisting the urge to react.

Then, in a voice just as cold, he said, “Get the fuck out of my office.”

I didn’t hesitate, I grabbed the copies and walked out, shutting the door behind me with a quiet click. But as I sat at my desk, my hands trembled slightly. Ethan was a jerk and he hated my guts.

Good! Because I hated him too.

***

By the time I finally dragged myself out of the office, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.

My new boss AKA the devil in human form, Ethan Blackwood made sure he drained every atom of energy I had.

My first day had been a special kind of hell, Ethan’s personal version of a draining ritual, I was sure that he had specially doctored this hell, this one torture just for me, his darling little step sister.

Every document I submitted, he sent back. Twice. Sometimes three times. Even when there wasn’t a single mistake.

Although he never raised his voice, never outright insulted me. He didn’t need to. His smirk, his amused glances, the way he leaned against his desk as if he had all the time in the world while I ran myself ragged and tried was all too deliberate, he wanted to see me suffer. Wicked bastard!

All because I asked a simple question.

By the time I stumbled into my apartment, I barely had the energy to kick off my heels before collapsing onto my bed. But my mind wouldn’t shut off.

I grabbed my phone and, against my better judgment, opened my browser.

Ethan Blackwood.

The first thing that popped up was a sea of articles, Forbes features, business journals, gossip blogs. I scrolled mindlessly until a headline caught my eye.

"The Tragedy of Ethan Blackwood: Heir to a Fortune Built on Broken Marriages."

I clicked.

His mother, his biological mother, had died when he was only a child and he had inherited a lot of money from her. The article was vague on details, only mentioning that she died of cancer.

His father, Mr. Blackwood, hadn’t wasted any time moving on. Within a year, he had married Rachel’s mother. I blinked. Wait! Rachel wasn’t his full sister? I had been sure, no, convinced he adored her. But apparently, they only shared a father.

I then proceed to read every article relating to his mother. Every interview. I had seen the pictures of a young, smiling Ethan standing beside a woman who was already fading, her hair gone from chemo, her face pale but still full of love.

Even as a child he was handsome.

I felt really bad, I was a very terrible person, his mother had died of cancer when he was only a child.

And I had thrown it in his face like a careless dagger. I winced, maybe that was why he reacted so harshly to what I said. I wanted to feel bad but he deserved it, but I think I needed to apologise to him.

Rachel’s mother had died as well. No explanation, no cause of death listed. Just a passing mention that Mr. Blackwood had moved on. Again. And again. And till he met my mother.

I kept scrolling, past cold business statistics and stock market analysis, the fact that he founded the company when he was just eighteen branching out and outshining his own family's company, everything was boring to be honest, that was until I hit the good stuff, his dating history.

Models. Actresses. Socialites.

There wasn’t a single normal woman in sight. By normal I meant plain Jane like me, everyone of his ex was exceedingly beautiful, perky breasts, huge ass, flawless skin, one or more amazing features.

Each of his relationships seemed like an accessory, a temporary piece in the curated perfection of his life.

I stared at a photo of him with a blonde supermodel, his hand resting casually on her thigh, and jealousy in my stomach twisted.

It was stupid. I didn’t care. I didn’t.

My phone buzzed, snapping me out of my thoughts, it was a text from an unknown number.

"If you want to know anything about me, just ask. Curiosity does kill you know, it shouldn't repeat it little Sophie.

E."

I dropped my phone as if it burned me. My pulse pounded in my ears.

How the hell did he know?

I swallowed hard, refusing to let my mind spiral. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe he was just—

No. Ethan Blackwood didn’t do coincidences.

I turned my phone off and buried myself under the covers, willing myself to sleep. But even as I was about to close my eyes, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Curiosity was indeed going to kill me.