chapter 3
At first, he played his part beautifully. My father was so impressed that he handed over most of his authority to Ethan, piece by piece. By the time anyone noticed, Ethan had hollowed out Whitfield Industries from the inside. The shock triggered my father’s heart condition, and he was gone within weeks. My mother followed not long after, withering away from grief until she simply didn’t wake up one morning.
That left me alone to bear the full weight of Ethan’s revenge. He kept me in the basement, and every day the leather whip cracked against my skin.
But his favorite way to break me was in bed—pinning me down, savoring every plea for mercy that fell from my lips.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I would claw desperately at his back, and all that earned me was more force, more pain.
He loved my tears. In his mind, every drop was my penance for Rose’s death.
Eventually, even that wasn’t enough. He started pouring saltwater over the welts, or forcing me to soak in alcohol until every wound screamed. Most days, I wasn’t allowed to wear clothes—because Ethan wanted to strip away my dignity along with everything else.
Those memories were carved into my bones. Sitting across from him now at that banquet table, I caught his eye and couldn’t stop the involuntary flinch that rippled through my body.