Chapter 84 Wounded, Not Stopped
Olivia's POV:
The house was quiet when I heard the front door open downstairs.
I slipped out of bed, grabbing my silk robe and tying it loosely around my waist. The hardwood floor felt cool under my bare feet as I made my way to the hallway. Pausing at the top of the stairs, I listened. No footsteps climbing up toward the master bedroom as expected, but instead, the distinct sound of water running somewhere on the first floor.
"Ethan?" I called out, descending the stairs. No answer came.
Following the sound of running water, I approached the guest bathroom on the first floor. Faint light spilled from beneath the closed door.
"Ethan," I said again, knocking gently. Still no response, just the steady rush of water.
I was about to head back upstairs when something made me pause. "Ethan, is that you?" I asked, my hand on the doorknob.
The door suddenly swung open. Before I could react, a strong arm reached out and pulled me inside. I stumbled forward, caught against a hard chest, and then Ethan's mouth was on mine, kissing me with a desperate intensity that took my breath away.
When he finally broke away, I gasped for breath. Steam filled the bathroom, clouding the mirrors and glass shower doors. That's when I saw them—angry red welts crisscrossing his back, shoulders, and neck. Some were still bleeding, dark crimson lines mapping out his family's cruelty. His right cheekbone was swollen, a deep red mark extending from his jawline to the corner of his mouth.
"Oh my God," I whispered, instinctively reaching up to cup his face. My thumb hovered just above the bruise. "Does it hurt?"
Ethan's dark eyes fixed on mine, filled with something between rage and vulnerability. He didn't answer, just watched me with that unnervingly intense stare.
Tears welled in my eyes. "Is this because of me?" I asked, my voice breaking.
He pulled me closer, resting his chin against my neck, his face pressed to mine. "No," he said, his voice low and rough. "This has nothing to do with you, Reddy."
I closed my eyes, tears slipping down my cheeks. "Ethan, maybe you should just—"
"Just what?" He shifted slightly, his teeth grazing my earlobe with deliberate pressure. "Unless I don't want you anymore, nothing will keep us apart. Not even you can make that decision."
I couldn't speak. My throat felt tight, choked with emotions I couldn't name.
Ethan kissed my temple gently, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before. "But I'm never letting you go. Don't think about leaving me again, okay?"
The tears came harder now. "Ethan, I'm not good for you. I've never been. From the beginning, I've only been with you because you forced me. Your whole family hates you for choosing me. They literally beat you for it tonight. This isn't worth it. You're tearing yourself apart for someone who doesn't even—"
I couldn't finish. I couldn't say aloud that I didn't love him.
His arms tightened around my waist. "Whether it's worth it or not is my decision to make." The finality in his tone left no room for argument—typical Ethan, stubborn and unyielding.
I pulled back enough to look at his injured face. "Why me? It's been over a year. Aren't you tired of me yet? What more do you want?"
Ethan leaned against the sink counter, his muscled back arching slightly from the pain. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable before a humorless smile curved his lips.
"Olivia Reed." His hand rose to grip my chin firmly. "Are you completely heartless? Or is there anything in there for me at all?"
Of course I wasn't heartless. It just didn't beat for him the way he wanted it to.
There had been a moment, during my freshman year when I'd gotten sick with fever, and he'd flown to Pacifica to check on me, even bringing a doctor. I'd felt something then—a flicker of warmth. But he'd left just as quickly, followed by months of manipulation, isolation, and control. How could I develop feelings for someone so unpredictable, so domineering?
I changed the subject. "Your back looks terrible. We need to clean those wounds before they get infected."
Ethan caught my hand and pressed it to his bare chest. "It hurts. I can't wash it myself."
I understood his silent request. "Turn around. Let me see."
He obeyed, presenting his back to me. I had to bite my lip to keep from gasping again. Up close, the damage was even worse—deep lacerations crossing each other, some still oozing blood. My fingers trembled as they hovered over a particularly angry welt.
"This is too severe," I said, my voice barely audible. "We shouldn't wash it directly. It'll be too painful."
"Then kiss it better," he said, the challenge clear in his voice.
I stared at his bloodied back, knowing I couldn't possibly press my lips to those raw wounds. Instead, I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on a small uninjured patch of skin between his shoulder blades.
Ethan's low laugh rumbled through his body. "Now it doesn't hurt anymore."
I tightened my hold on him. "You're awful, Ethan. You're deliberately making me feel bad."
In one swift movement, he turned and lifted me into his arms. "Seeing me injured and still trying to seduce me—is that your game, Reddy?"
My cheeks burned. "I'm not—"
"Baby, my back is injured, not my hips," he murmured, carrying me toward the shower.
By the time we left the bathroom, I was cradled in his arms, my robe damp and clinging to my skin. Ethan carried me to our bedroom and laid me on the bed before I forced myself up to find the medical kit.
He lay on his stomach while I perched beside him, carefully cleaning his wounds with antiseptic. He flinched slightly as the iodine solution made contact with the open cuts, but otherwise remained still.
"You don't need bandages," I said, finishing up. "But be careful not to reopen these."
Ethan pulled on a cotton t-shirt with surprising ease despite his injuries. "Worried about me?"
Before I could answer, my phone rang from the nightstand. I recognized my grandfather's number immediately and felt my stomach drop.
Ethan noticed my expression change. "Go ahead," he said, nodding toward the phone.
I reached for it, my hands suddenly clammy. My family never called unless they needed something, and calls this late always meant trouble.
"Hello, Grandpa?" I answered, forcing a gentle smile into my voice. "Is everything okay?"