Chapter 19 — Blind Faith
The penthouse's master bedroom wasn't just an architectural space; it was a decompression chamber.
When Ethan closed the solid wood double doors behind them, the sound of the magnetic lock—that soft, definitive click that Maya had learned to associate with both captivity and safety—sealed the outside world into temporary oblivion.
Out there, Julian Baxter had a broken finger and a shattered ego.
Out there, Las Vegas's elite whispered scandals into their encrypted phones.
Out there, Maya's past and Ethan's uncertain future collided like tectonic plates on the verge of an earthquake.
But in here, there was only the barely perceptible hum of the climate control system, the scent of sandalwood and clean sheets, and the immense gravity of Ethan Vance's presence.
Maya stood in the center of the dark Persian rug, still wearing the emerald velvet that now seemed to weigh a ton. Her feet ached in the heels, but the pain was distant, muffled by the cloud of endorphins and adrenaline still circulating through her system. She watched Ethan.
He moved away from her, walking to the nightstand where a crystal water bottle and two glasses awaited him.
He poured a glass and downed it in one swallow, his throat working as he swallowed, as if trying to wash the taste of violence from his mouth.
He still wore the tuxedo pants and white shirt, now unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal his strong forearms. The black bow tie, undone, hung around his neck like a mourning ribbon or a war trophy.
He set down the glass. The sound of glass against wood was sharp.
Then he turned to her.
The intensity in his eyes hadn't diminished since the limousine. If anything, it had shifted frequency. The protective fury, that red fire that had broken bones, had cooled to a deep blue—a focused, precise blowtorch flame.
“You said you trusted me,” Ethan said. His voice was low, testing the room's acoustics.
Maya held his gaze.
“I said I needed a monster. And that I felt safe with you.”
“It's the same thing,” he countered, walking slowly toward her. “Safety requires trust. Especially when safety comes from the same hand that can destroy.”
He stopped in front of her. He didn't touch her. He brought his hands to his neck and began pulling free the black silk ribbon of the undone tie. The movement was slow, hypnotic. The silk slid over the shirt collar with a soft whisper.
He held the tie between his hands, stretching it taut. The black fabric was smooth, strong.
“You saw what I did tonight,” he continued, wrapping the tie around his right hand—the hand that still had raw, red skin on the knuckles. “You saw how quickly I can hurt. You saw there's no hesitation in me.”
“I saw,” Maya confirmed, her heart beginning to beat a little faster. Not from fear, but from anticipation. The air in the room seemed to have grown thinner.
“And yet, you're here. Standing in my room. Unarmed.” He took another step, invading her personal space. “Is that courage, Maya? Or is it madness?”
“Maybe it's faith,” she whispered.
A ghost of a smile touched Ethan's lips. It wasn't a smile of joy, but of recognition.
“Faith,” he repeated, savoring the word. “Belief in what cannot be seen. Certainty of what is hoped for.”
He raised the silk tie.
“Then let's test your faith.”
Maya looked at the strip of black fabric in his hands. She understood immediately. Her heart skipped a beat, then accelerated into a furious gallop.
“You want to blindfold me,” she said. It wasn't a question.
“I want to remove your ability to anticipate,” Ethan corrected. “Vision is the sense of control, Maya. You look at me and try to read my face. You try to predict my next move so you can prepare yourself, defend yourself, or adapt. It's a survival mechanism you've developed very well.”
He moved even closer, positioning himself behind her. Maya felt the heat of his body at her back, his breath stirring the loose strands of her hair.
“But tonight, I don't want you to survive,” he whispered in her ear, his voice vibrating through her spine. “I want you to exist. I want you to feel without the safety net of knowing what comes next.”
He passed the silk tie over her eyes.
The world went black.
There was an instant spike of panic. Maya's primitive instinct screamed. Blind. Vulnerable. Danger. The darkness wasn't just the absence of light; it was the absence of information. Suddenly, the room seemed vast and unknown. Where was the bed? Where was the door?
But then, she felt his hands.
Ethan didn't tie the blindfold immediately. He held the ends of the fabric behind her head, pulling just enough to block her vision, allowing her to adjust to the transition.
“Do you trust me, Maya?” he asked. His voice didn’t come from behind her now; it came from everywhere, filling the darkness.
Maya closed her eyes beneath the silk. It was easier that way. To accept the darkness willingly instead of fighting it.
“Yes,” she said. The word came out trembling, but true.
Ethan tightened the knot.
It wasn’t painful, but it was firm. The silk pressed against her eyelids, soft and cool, blocking any trace of light. The knot at the back of her head caught her hair, a tugging sensation that anchored her.
She was blind.
“Don’t move,” Ethan said.
And then he stepped away.
That was the hardest part. The loss of immediate physical contact. Without sight and without his touch, Maya felt herself floating in a vacuum. Her other senses kicked into overdrive, trying to compensate for her blindness.
She heard his footsteps on the carpet. Muffled. Heavy. Thump. Thump. He was walking around her. Circling her like a shark in deep water.
She felt the air shift as he passed in front of her. His scent hit her—a wave of sandalwood, musk, and that faint but unmistakable smell of antiseptic she’d used on his hand.
“Relax your shoulders.” His voice came from the left.
Maya exhaled, forcing her shoulders down. She hadn’t even realized they were tense.
“Open your hands. Let go of the dress.”
She was clutching the velvet skirt like a life raft. She opened her fingers. The heavy fabric fell, brushing against her legs.
“Good,” Ethan said. His voice was on the right now, and much closer.
Maya shivered. The unpredictability of his location was both terrifying and electrifying. She was the static center of a universe where he was the only celestial body in motion.
“The dress is beautiful,” Ethan murmured. She felt his breath on her neck, sending shivers across her skin. “But it’s armor. And armor is made to repel impacts. I don’t want to repel anything tonight.”
She felt his hands on her back.
He found the invisible zipper of the haute couture dress. The zipper descending—zzzzzzzip—was loud in the silence of the room, like a veil being torn.
Cold air touched the bare skin of her back. The dress loosened.
“Let it fall,” he ordered.
Maya rolled her shoulders, letting the velvet slide. The dress fell, pooling at her ankles like melted emerald.
She stood in high heels and lingerie. And the blindfold.
She felt naked. More naked than if she were wearing nothing. The blindness stripped her soul as much as her body. She couldn’t see his expression. Was he looking at her with desire? With judgment? With that cold collector’s adoration?
“Ethan?” she called, her voice small in the darkness.
“I’m here,” he replied. He was in front of her now.
She felt his hands. Not on her skin, but on her shoes.
He knelt.
The realization that the man who controlled Las Vegas was on his knees before her made Maya’s knees tremble.
He held her right ankle. His hand was warm, large, wrapping around the delicate bone. He unbuckled the sandal strap and removed the shoe slowly, letting her foot touch the soft carpet.
He did the same with the left.
Now she was barefoot. Smaller. More human.
His hands began to rise.
They slid up her calves. His palms were rough, calloused. The contrast with her soft skin—skin he’d made a point of moisturizing with expensive oils—was shocking.
“You’re trembling,” he observed, his hands rising past her knees, up her thighs.
“I don’t know what you’re going to do,” Maya admitted.
“Exactly,” he said.
His hands reached her hips. He didn’t stop at her panties. He continued upward, his thumbs tracing her ribs, counting them.
“Your senses are lying to you now, Maya,” he said, his voice rising with his hands, reaching her ears as he stood. “Your brain is trying to create images in the dark. You’re imagining my hand before you feel it. Stop.”
He released her waist.
“Just feel what’s happening now. The now is the only time that exists in this darkness.”
He touched her face. With his injured hand.
Maya felt the rough texture of the bandage brush her cheek. It was a physical reminder of the violence he’d unleashed for her. She turned her face into his palm, kissing the bandage blindly.
Ethan let out a shaky sigh.
“Come.”
He took her hand and guided her.
Walking blind required absolute faith. Maya had to suppress the urge to reach out with her other hand, groping for obstacles. She had to trust he wouldn’t let her bump into furniture, that he wouldn’t let her stumble. She had to surrender her balance to him.
They took five steps. Ten.
Ethan stopped.
“Sit.”
Maya felt the edge of the bed against the back of her knees. She sat. The satin sheets were cold beneath her bare thighs.
Ethan didn’t join her immediately. She heard the sound of fabric. He was undressing. The sound of a belt buckle. The sound of pants hitting the floor.
Maya’s imagination, starved of sight, exploded in vivid colors. She pictured his body in the dim light. The muscles, the scars, the hardness she knew he’d have. Desire pulsed in her belly, hot and liquid.
“Lie down,” he said. “On your back. Hands above your head.”
Maya obeyed. She lay down, sinking into the pillows that smelled like him. She raised her arms, exposing herself completely.
She expected him to restrain her. To use handcuffs or ties.
But he didn’t.