Chapter Four

Ethan

The morning light filtered through the floor to ceiling windows, casting soft, golden streaks across the walls. 

My body felt heavier than usual, the familiar ache in my legs, those useless, lifeless limbs was a dull reminder of everything I’d lost.

My headache, and for just a second I forgot why. 

The train wreck of memories from last night came rushing at me and I frowned. 

The nightmares. The thrashing. The whispered voice.

Amelia. She'd been here last night.

I swung around and there she was, seated in a chair by the side of my bed. 

Her legs were crossed, and her arms were flat against her thighs, her fingertips absentmindedly batting against the edge of her blouse.

Her hair, the soft chestnut brown with hints of auburn was pulled into a low ponytail, a few loose strands framing her face. 

She wasn’t wearing makeup, and yet her high cheekbones and wide, almond shaped eyes made her look effortlessly composed. 

She had that understated look of beauty that stopped ordinary women, and made people glance twice, without being conscious of the reason.

I hated that I noticed it.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I growled, my voice raspy from sleep.

She startled, her eyes snapping to mine. “You were shouting,” she said cautiously. “I thought you were in pain.”

I propped myself up, ignoring the prickle in my shoulders. “I don’t need your pity, and you were meant to leave.”

She arched an eyebrow, and I could not help but notice, something I didn't quite recognize flashing in her hazel eyes. “I wasn’t pitying you. I was trying to help.”

Again, I hated that I noticed such things about her.

“Don’t,” I snapped, cutting her off. “You don’t know me, and you don’t belong here. So stop pretending you care.”

Her jaw tightened, the color rising in her cheeks. “Perhaps if you weren't so driven to push everyone away, you'd realize that not everybody is coming out to harm you. It's my job to take care of you in any way I can. It said so in the contract.”

I clenched my fists, the sheets bunching beneath my hands. “Get out.”

She didn’t move.

“I said, get out,” I repeated, my voice colder than the steel of my chair’s frame.

For a fleeting second I considered she might get into some kind of argument, but she didn't. 

Instead, she got up and walked over, straightening out her tailored blouse. She was a tall woman, at least five feet seven and moved with a cool self assurance that annoyed me.

“I’m always here, in case you change your mind and admit that you need help," she intoned, her voice now much lower, "I'm here.”

I barked out a humorless laugh. “Save your therapy tricks for someone else, Amelia.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and without another word, she walked out, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in the room.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze of irritation. 

I rolled myself into the study room, over and over again replaying my meeting with Amelia in my head, even though I didn't want to.

Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. 

Why did I have to prove anything to anyone? Much less than men I'd employed in my own company?

I hated that she’d seen me like that, weak, vulnerable, pathetic. 

The accident had taken everything from me, and what I definitely did not want was somebody like her trying to glue me back together.

However, no matter how much I wanted to forget, I just couldn't stop seeing her sitting there, her face dreamy with worry. It was infuriating.

A quick bang on the door brought me back into the present.

“Come in,” I said tersely.

The door swung open, and my stomach dropped as Veronica strolled in, her blood red heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

She always dazzled, dressed to kill.

She wore a seamed tight, black dress that hugged her slim body, her shining golden mane flowing down over her back in dramatic waves. 

Her emerald green eyes glinted, a blend of amused disbelief..

“Morning, Ethan,” she murmured, and her mouth purred into a catlike grin.

“What's the matter, Veronica?” I answered, even toned.

She pouted, sauntering over to the desk and perching on the edge like she owned the place. “Is that any way to greet your stepmom?”

I snorted. “My father's mistress. You will never be more than that to me.”

Her smile didn’t falter. “Details, darling. But I didn’t come here to argue. I came to meet your new... houseguest.”

My gut twisted. “Leave her out of this.”

Veronica arched a perfectly shaped brow. “Why so defensive? From what I hear, she’s quite the good Samaritan, by accepting to marry a crippled man and playing the doting wife.”

I clenched my jaw. “She’s here to fulfill a role, nothing more.”

“Is that what you’ve told yourself?” she said, her tone dripping with mockery. “Face it, Ethan. She doesn’t belong in your world. When she understands that, well, she'll be gone, and you'll still lose the company. It really doesn't matter what you do. When will you understand this, Son?”

I crept toward her, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Stay out of my business, Veronica. You can't just come in here and make demands, besides my father may be many things but one thing he knows how to do well is cut off leeches from his wealth.”

“I will never let you get the company, Veronica. Not while I'm still alive.”

Her smile stretched, but a menacing look was present in her eyes. “Oh, Ethan, you should know by now that I always get what I want. Especially from him.”

Then she got from the desk and walked toward the door, stopped, turned and looked back over her shoulder.

“You should watch your little therapist,” she said lightly. “She might be more trouble than she’s worth.”

The door closed behind her, leaving me alone with her parting words. 

 I hated Veronica and even more, I hated my father for

marrying her.

There was only one thing she wanted. My company.

And I'd be damned if she ever got her hands on it.