Chapter 18 WHISPERS IN THE DARK,WHO SHOULD I BELIEVE (Demilia’s POV)
Whispers in the Dark
Who Should I Believe?
Demilia's POV
He didn’t let go. “He’s a liar, Demilia.”
“He’s bleeding!”
“He’s manipulating you!”
I shoved him hard, breaking free just as the elevator doors closed on Drake. His eyes met mine one last time ... pleading, desperate... before they disappeared behind the metal doors.
And just like that, he was gone again.
The silence that followed felt louder than the shouting had been.
I turned to Ethan, shaking with fury. “How could you?”
He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “He’s dangerous, Demilia. He’s been working with people who want to destroy this family.”
“Or maybe he’s trying to save me from it!” I snapped.
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then tell me!” I cried. “Tell me what he meant! What did your father do to me?”
He didn’t answer.
The silence was worse than any lie could have been.
Finally, he said quietly, “You need to rest. You’re obviously confused.”
“Don’t do that,” I said, tears burning my eyes. “Don’t gaslight me, Ethan. Not now.”
He didn’t respond. He just turned and walked out, the door closing behind him with a soft, final click, the sound of walls being built, again.
I sank onto the floor, my mind spinning.
You’re not who you think you are.
Drake’s voice wouldn’t stop replaying in my head. His face. His bruises. The fear in his eyes.
Later that night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept pacing the room, replaying every word, every look, every silence.
And then I saw it.
Something red on the nightstand... a small folded paper, stained with blood.
My hands trembled as I picked it up.
It was Drake’s handwriting. The one I can recognize any time of the day, even if I'm drunk.
Check Ethan’s father’s files. You’re not who you think you are.
The words blurred as my eyes filled with tears.
Suddenly, flashes of memory began to hit me...the masked men, the scent of whiskey, the sound of my own scream muffled behind silk. A man’s voice whispering, “It’s only business.”
I stumbled backward, my breath catching.
That voice, very deep, cold, and familiar...it wasn’t Ethan’s.
Rougher this time, and older.
And in my nightmare’s haze, the face behind the mask began to form — silver hair glinting beneath the light.
Ethan’s father.
How possible is that, or does it mean I am now hallucinating? Does it mean I can't remember what happened clearly?
My heart pounded violently in my chest as I whispered to the empty room, “Oh my God… what did they do to me?”
The lights flickered, and somewhere in the penthouse, I heard a door creak open.
A man’s voice, low and eerily calm, drifted down the hallway.
“Some ghosts,” it said, “should’ve stayed buried.”
I froze in shock and confusion.
That voice… I’d heard it before.
But Ethan’s father was supposed to be dead.
>>>>>>>>>>
“Who’s there?”
Some ghosts should’ve stayed buried.
I felt the hair on my arms rise. No footsteps followed. Not even a reply. Only silence thick enough to choke on.
“Demilia?”
I spun around so fast I almost slipped. Ethan stood at the entrance of the hallway, his eyes dark, studying me with unnerving stillness.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, voice low — too calm for the panic shaking inside me.
“I… I heard something,” I stammered. “Someone was here. A voice...”
His eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But it sounded like...”
I stopped abruptly. My words felt too insane to say out loud.
He stepped closer. “Like who, Demilia?”
“Like your father.”
The air shifted. Ethan froze. His expression didn’t change, but something in his body stilled, a tension so sharp I could feel it across the room.
“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t ever say that again.”
“I’m not imagining things,” I insisted, my voice trembling. “I heard him.”
“Demilia...”
“I’m not crazy,” I snapped.
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I saw something crack in his facial appearance, a flicker of something like fear. Or maybe guilt.
He reached for my arm. “Come with me.”
“No,” I jerked away. “Not until you explain why your father’s voice is in this house. Why my brother said your family has secrets about me. Why..”
He cut me off sharply. “Enough.”
“No!” I shouted, breathing hard. “I want answers, Ethan. I deserve to know them.”
We stared at each other, breathless, locked in a silent war.
Then...out of nowhere , he grabbed my waist and slammed his lips onto mine.
The breath left my lungs.
His kiss was raw, angry, desperate — like he was fighting everything he couldn't say and pouring it into the heat between us. His hand tangled in my hair, pulling me closer until I gasped against his mouth.
It was the kind of kiss that left me breathless, my whole body betraying me, forcing me to respond, to grab the opportunity and kiss him back, to have a taste of succulent lips. He wasn't just kissing me to shut me up, it was obvious he has anticipated this kids for so long, but never had the chance to kiss me. More like he had been holding back from crossing the line.
“Stop...” I whispered breathlessly. But my heart was pounding restlessly, betraying me in the process.
“Then stop asking questions you’re not ready to survive,” he murmured against my lips.
I shoved him, chest heaving. “You can’t kiss me to shut me up.”
He stared at me, pupils blown wide with desire and danger. “It’s the only way to keep you quiet.”
“That’s pure manipulation.”
“That’s protection.”
“For who?” I demanded. “You? Or me?”
His silence was the answer I feared.
I turned, storming down the hall toward his office.
“Demilia...!”
I ignored him completely. My heart raced with defiance, terror, and something dark I didn’t want to name. The memory of Drake’s bloodstained note flashed behind my eyes:
Check Ethan’s father’s files.
Ethan followed me, his voice sharp. “Don’t you dare open that door.”
I pushed it open anyway.