Chapter 23 — The Audit #2
“If they find out, what happens, Maya?” Ethan walked toward her, his shoes crushing dirt and flowers into the carpet. He crouched in front of her, ignoring the shards of glass from the broken tumbler scattered dangerously close.
“They'll destroy you. The investors… the board…”
Ethan cupped her face in both hands. His fingers were strong, firm, forcing her to look directly into the darkness of his eyes.
“You think I need protection from an insect like Kyle?” he asked, his voice soft but vibrating with absolute arrogance. “You think my empire is made of glass so thin that the word of some washed-up addict can shatter it?”
He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, wiping away her tears with rough tenderness.
“I'm the monster, Maya. Remember? Monsters aren't afraid of scandals. Monsters eat scandals for breakfast. I have judges in my pocket. I have newspaper editors on my payroll. If Kyle opened his mouth to a reporter, the story would never see print. And Kyle… Kyle would disappear so completely that not even his own mother would remember he existed.”
Maya stared at him, stunned. She understood the magnitude of his power in theory, but in practice, she still thought like a normal person. She thought about consequences. Ethan lived in a world where consequences were optional.
“I didn't know,” she whispered. “I just… I was scared.”
“You were scared,” he repeated. “But you didn't trust me.”
He released her face and stood. The momentary tenderness vanished, replaced by cold calculation.
“That's the problem, Maya. The money… the jewel… I don't care about the stones. I could buy another diamond mine tomorrow. What I care about is loyalty. And today, you proved your loyalty is still divided.”
“It's not!” She stood up too, stumbling over the hem of her pants. “I hate him! I did this to get rid of him!”
“You acted behind your owner's back,” Ethan said. The word “owner” hung in the air, ugly and heavy.
He walked to the bar against the wall. Grabbed another bottle. Didn't pour it into a glass. Drank straight from the neck, a long, brutal gulp.
“You think you can solve problems, Maya. But you can't. You are the problem. You're the chaos I brought into my home. And chaos needs to be contained.”
He turned to her.
“Where's the phone?” he demanded.
“What phone?”
“The old one. That piece of junk you used to coordinate your little smuggling operation. I know you took it. Miller tracked the intermittent signal at the mall.”
Maya hesitated. The phone was in her purse. It was her last connection to her old life. Her old photos. Her mother's messages.
“Ethan, please. There's stuff on there… photos from my childhood…”
“Where. Is. It.”
His voice left no room for negotiation.
Maya walked to the Prada bag lying near the entrance where she'd left it. She opened the zipper with trembling fingers. Pulled out the old device with its cracked screen and yellowed plastic case.
She held it out to Ethan.
Ethan took it. He looked at the object with disgust, as if it were contaminated.
“This,” he said, holding up the phone, “is your weakness. It's the umbilical cord connecting you to the gutter I pulled you out of. As long as you have this, you'll keep looking back. You'll keep listening to the voices of the rats.”
He walked to the balcony. The glass door was closed. He opened it.
The hot night wind swept into the room, stirring the curtains and carrying the smell of dirt and spilled whiskey.
Ethan stepped out onto the deck. He walked to the edge of the pool.
Maya ran to the door.
“No! Ethan, the photos! I don't have copies!”
Ethan didn't hesitate. He didn't look at the photos. He didn't check the messages.
He raised his arm and hurled the phone. Not into the pool.
He threw it off the building.
Maya watched the small black rectangle spin through the air, catching one last glint of moonlight before it vanished into the fifty-story drop. It would hit the street below. Shatter on impact.
Her past life. Her contacts. Her autonomy. All in free fall.
Ethan turned and came back inside. He closed the balcony door and locked it.
Maya stood in the middle of the room, arms hanging at her sides, in shock.
“You erased everything,” she said, her voice hollow.
“I removed the distraction,” Ethan corrected.
He walked toward her. His energy shifted again. The cold anger was transforming into something darker, more possessive.
He stopped in front of her and grabbed her arm. Not hard enough to hurt, but with the firmness of someone claiming property.
“You tried to play the game my way today, Maya. But you lost. And when you lose, there are penalties.”
He pulled her toward the bedroom hallway.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, fear returning, mixed with that traitorous anticipation her body insisted on feeling when he took control.
“The outside world is over for you,” he said, guiding her (dragging her) to the master bedroom. “No more shopping. No more outings. No more internet.”
He stopped at the bedroom door and looked at her.
“From now on, your world is me. The walls of this penthouse. And my bed.”
“You’re imprisoning me,” she whispered.
“I am,” he agreed. “Until you learn that you don’t need protection from me. You need protection by me. And until you understand that your secrets are mine, your fears are mine, and your body…”
He opened the door to the dark bedroom.
“…your body doesn’t have the right to leave my sight.”
He pushed her into the room.
Maya stumbled in the darkness. She heard the door close behind her. And then, the sound of a key turning in the lock. Not the electronic lock. A physical key, heavy and metal.
Click.
She turned around.
Ethan didn’t come in.
“Think about what you did, Maya.” His voice came muffled through the solid wood. “I’ll come back when the anger passes. And pray it passes before I decide to collect the value of that necklace another way.”
Silence fell over the room. Maya was alone in the dark, locked in, isolated, with no phone, no money, and no allies.
She looked at the closed door. And for the first time, she didn’t feel the urge to scream or pound. She felt only the crushing weight of the truth he had told her.
She belonged to him. And she had just proven she couldn’t be trusted with her own freedom.
She walked to Ethan’s bed, lay down on the sheets that still smelled like him, and waited. Waited for judgment. Waited for punishment. And, in the darkest and most broken part of her soul, hoped he would come back soon.