Chapter 4

My throat locked up. I couldn't breathe, my mouth felt bone-dry, and I could taste the metallic tang of blood at the back of my throat.

As I sat there shuddering, Ethan reached down and yanked the mask off my face.

Something flickered in his eyes—a flash of disbelief, followed quickly by a wave of grim satisfaction at the ruined state I was in.

Those complex emotions quickly settled into a bitter, mocking smirk.

His gaze drifted downward, landing on Alexander's hand, which was still resting against my wrist.

After a long pause, he let out a soft, contemptuous click of his tongue. "No wonder. You've gone and built yourself a nice little life here."

I couldn't process his words.

My mind went completely blank, save for one terrifying realization: Ethan had recognized me. He knew I was alive, and he wasn't going to let me go.

Alexander finally snapped out of it and snatched his hand back.

He stood up, his face set in a grim expression. "Ethan, I think you and I need to talk."

Ethan let out a low chuckle. "Oh? But I only want to talk to Ms. Jennings."

He reached down to grab my arm.

My teeth chattered, but in a sudden burst of desperation, I snatched my medical report off the desk and bolted out the door.

Ethan was clearly caught off guard.

He froze on the spot, baffled, and didn't immediately give chase.

I sprinted wildly toward the elevators, slamming my thumb against the call button.

When the doors failed to open, I spun around to head for the stairwell.

By then, Ethan had caught up. He grabbed my arm, effortlessly pinning me in place.

He sounded genuinely amused. "Claire, where do you think you're going?"

The fear overtook me, and a scream tore from my throat.

People were walking back and forth all around us, but to me, it felt like running into a demon in a pitch-black alley.

In my ears, the howl of the wind from the night I fell off the cliff roared back to life, accompanied by the line that had haunted my dreams endlessly ever since, "Mr. Pierce says debts must be paid."

My legs gave out, and I hit the floor.

I screamed and sobbed, thrashing wildly to pull my arm free, but his grip was an inescapable vice locked around my wrist.

I couldn't shake him off. Cold sweat and tears plastered my hair across my face, leaving me a chaotic, broken mess.

As a wave of suffocating terror and despair crashed over me, I collapsed straight onto my knees—just as Ethan had done all those years ago, kneeling in the freezing snow to pick up scattered cash.

Choking on my tears, I wept and begged, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, it's all my fault! Please, just let me go!"

Eleanor was still alive. I couldn't die.

Ethan yanked on my arm, watching me drop to my knees.

His face darkened, his eyes turning so cold and heavy I felt certain he was going to strangle me then and there.

But after a long pause, he crouched down instead.

As he suddenly closed the distance between us, terror seized me, and I recoiled so hard I tumbled backward onto the floor.

Panting heavily and trembling from head to toe, I scrambled to drop back onto my knees.

Ethan stared at me as if I were some kind of monster. He clamped a hand onto my shoulder, leaning in to scrutinize my face.

He got so close it felt like he was trying to bore a hole straight through me.

I didn't dare move. My breath hitched in my throat, my entire mind consumed by sheer panic.

He studied me with a look of deep bewilderment for a long time before suddenly asking, "Are you really Claire?"

My immediate reaction was to shake my head frantically.

But realizing there was no fooling him, I quickly began nodding in absolute terror.

He dragged his eyes over me once more, taking in every detail.

Then, reaching out, he snatched the medical report right out of my hand—the one detailing my liver failure diagnosis.

I panicked, desperately wanting to grab it back, but I lacked the courage to reach out.

Not that Ethan cared about what the report said.

He wanted me dead anyway; he certainly wasn't going to shed any tears over my impending demise.

He checked my name and age on the page, confirming my identity. Looking back up at me, he murmured, "I knew I couldn't be wrong."

I kept my mouth shut. Cowering on the floor, I felt like a condemned prisoner waiting for the executioner's blade to fall.

Ethan's brows furrowed as he watched me curl in on myself, trembling like a frightened bird. "Then what the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped, his tone laced with irritation.

I seemed to have lost the ability to form actual sentences. Shivering, all I could manage was to repeat the same three words over and over: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

His patience finally snapped. Grabbing my wrist, he hauled me to my feet in one rough motion. "You brought this on yourself. Who are you putting on this helpless act for?"

The elevator doors slid open. He dragged me inside, forcing me along.

I couldn't bear to imagine where he was taking me.

But I couldn't break free, leaving me no choice but to let him drag me out of the hospital.

James was waiting outside in the car.

Ethan shoved me into the back seat, his voice icy beneath a cruel smile. "I have a dinner party tonight. Perfect chance to bring you along to see some old friends, Ms. Jennings."

I shrank back into the furthest corner of the seat, my spine pressed flat against the door.

A look of sheer disgust washed over Ethan's face. "I just wonder, Ms. Jennings, can you keep up this sweet, obedient act in front of your old friends?"