CHAPTER 7

BELLA'S POV

My blood turns to ice. Ethan was standing in my office doorway, watching me.

I swallow hard, and my grip tightens on the phone. Before I can say anything, Mabel speaks, her voice smooth and unbothered.

"Ethan."

My breath catches. She said his name. Not mine, but Ethan's name.

Not pretending to be someone else.

She wants him to know it's her.

Ethan doesn't even flinch. He steps further into the room, eyes on me, but his voice is for her.

"Mabel."

The tension is suffocating. I grip the phone tighter, but neither of them acknowledges me. It's like I'm not even here.

I feel a pang of jealousy, as his love for her is evident even as she isn't here with us. Even after all these years, I couldn't command his attention the way she did. It doesn't matter what I do or how I do it; he'll never be mine, and he'll never love me.

"You shouldn't be calling my wife at work," Ethan says. His tone is calm, but I know better. There's a sharpness underneath, something coiled and waiting to snap, not towards her but towards me. I didn't mind, as long as he didn't know our plan.

"You shouldn't be tracking her every move," Mabel counters, just as steady. I was just having a little chat with your wife. She seems to be going a little over her head. You know I haven't forgiven her over yesterday's encounter.

A slow smirk spreads across his face. "You're bold today."

"Maybe I'm just tired of pretending. I need her to know her place, and it looks like you did not do a good job at it despite our last conversation." Mabel countered back

My fingers twitch on the desk. They speak in a language I don't understand as if they've had this conversation before, like there are pieces of this war I haven't even seen.

Ethan exhales, almost amused. He finally looks at me, tilting his head. "Looks like you two have become quite acquainted. I don't want you getting in the way of anything again. Your little tantrums don't faze me; know your place and acknowledge that Mabel is my true love."

I don't answer. I can't.

Mabel sighs. "She has work to do, My Love. Let her be."

A slow, deliberate pause. Then, with a final glance at me, he scoffs. "You're slacking off, Bella. This company was mine the second I put a ring on your finger, but now I'm the one running it. While you sit high and mighty," He gestures lazily. "Playing pretend."

Heat crawls up my neck, but I bite my tongue. I know what happens when I talk back for now.

He tilts his head, watching me like he's daring me to speak. When I don't, he chuckles.

"Be home on time," he murmurs. Then he turns and walks out.

Mabel exhales on the other end of the line. "You okay?"

I should say no. I should hang up.

Instead, I whisper, "I'm ready."

I should be afraid, but all I feel is reckless. I've been the one running the company as his 'assistant.' Just because he owns the company now doesn't mean I will allow anyone to ruin my father's work. I channel all my pent-up energy and devise a plan.

At home, I don't tiptoe. I push all his buttons and go against all his rules. I was ready

I test the limits of his patience, little things at first. A dish left in the sink. Taking too long in the shower. Not bringing him his drink when he sits down, or not cooking the meals on time. Not answering him immediately he calls out for my name. Going into his study room.

It's subtle, but I can feel the shift—the tension building in him. He's trying hard not to punish me, but why? This is unlike me, but I do not care. I have a goal I need to achieve, and fast.

Ethan notices. He watches me closer. He exhales sharply. His jaw tightens when I walk past him without saying a word. When I talk with the bodyguards and intentionally leave the kitchen messy. I'm quite aware of his OCD, but I've always wondered why he couldn't do certain things himself.

It's working, but it's not enough. So, I push harder. This time, I enter his study room and leave it messy, disguising it as clumsy.

I "accidentally" take his watch instead of mine and forget to prepare his tea when I leave for work. I also leave my closet light on and forget to respond when he calls the first time.

By the time we sit down for dinner, his grip on his fork is too tight. He's about to explode. I barely take two bites before he speaks. "Something's off with you."

I blink, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

His eyes narrow. "Don't do that."

I set my fork down. "Do what?"

His jaw clenches. "You're testing me."

I tilt my head, pretending to think. "Maybe I'm just tired of pretending." I daringly repeated the same words Mabel said to him.

His nostrils flare. He sets his fork down carefully, deliberately.

"Bella." His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

I hold my breath. And then…

The glass shatters against the wall, and I flinch, but only for show. He's done worse.

Ethan stands, towering over me. "Try that again," he says, voice low, dangerous.

I press my lips together. Wait.

Then I say, just barely above a whisper—

"Make me."

The room turns electric. And then he moves.

A blur of rage, gripping my wrist, twisting while his other hand clenches my jaw.

Pain blooms, sharp and familiar.

I let out a small, broken sound, just enough. Because my phone, hidden under the couch cushion, is still recording.

And he has no idea.

His grip tightens. Too tight.

My vision spots. My breath cuts off.

Something's wrong. I try to move and fight, but my limbs feel weak. Ethan isn't stopping. He's not stopping.

The room tilts.

And then…

Everything goes black.