Shadows That Return

Shadows That Return


Amber stepped out of the car with a smile so wide it barely fit on her face. The moment she entered the mansion’s foyer, she lifted the coral blouse she had bought on the island, waving it as if it were a trophy.
"Look at it, Ethan!" she exclaimed, spinning in front of him. "I swear I’ve never seen such a beautiful color."

Ethan watched her from the couch. He liked how Amber smiled, how genuinely happy she looked; however, his thoughts drifted to the meeting he had with Pamela. He wasn’t afraid of that woman—on the contrary, lately he despised her—but his fears became more fragile whenever he saw how delicate Amber was.

He gave her a small nod.
"It looks good on you," he said in a calm, almost automatic voice.

Amber let out a small laugh.
"You have no idea how happy I am to have it. And look, I brought this for Bryan and Melanie," she added, pulling two small ribbon-wrapped boxes from her bag.

She set them gently on the table, as if they were something sacred.
"I’m dying to go see them, Ethan. I really need to know how they’re doing."

He lifted his gaze, observing her for a few seconds before answering.
"All right. Martín left me a message saying he managed to get a visiting permit. Go tomorrow morning, but don’t go alone. Take Donovan with you." He stood up and adjusted his watch. "I have a few things to take care of at the office. I’ll see you in the afternoon."

Amber looked at him, slightly confused by the distance in his tone, but she didn’t make much of it. Ethan was like that—changeable, guarded, impossible to decipher. And Amber seemed to be getting used to his strange way of treating her. She wanted to enjoy it, at least while it lasted.

"Okay," she said with a soft smile. "I promise I won’t get into trouble."

He nodded, barely curving his lips.
"I hope so."

Amber watched him for a moment, trying to figure out what lay behind that empty stare. But she let it go.

He turned around, grabbed the car keys, and walked out without looking back.

Pamela’s apartment was a complete mess. It reeked of alcohol, and dozens of cigarette butts littered the fine carpets. The dim lighting barely illuminated the living room, where she sat waiting for him, legs crossed with a feigned calm that didn’t match her hollow, sunken eyes.

She wore a black lace set, sheer in all the right places: the bra framed her breasts with a shiny underwire that pushed them up, and the tiny thong barely covered the triangle of her pelvis. The garter-held stockings completed the lingerie, leaving everything that needed to be seen exposed for seduction.

Ethan walked in and shut the door with a hard thud.

"You came faster than I expected," she said, standing with a crooked smile. "That means you’re really eager to talk to me, baby."

"I’m not your baby, Pamela. I gave you three days," he said without hesitation. "What the hell do you want?"

She walked toward him with slow, feline steps.
"Do you really not know?" she whispered, and without warning, grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, pressing herself against his chest.

The scent of her perfume was intense, invasive.
"I miss you, Ethan." Her voice trembled. "I swear I haven’t been able to sleep without you. My body burns for you, and I feel like I’m going insane without your sex, without your domination, without your damn hard hands squeezing my ass." Pamela slid her tongue along Ethan’s cheek, making him gag.

"Cut the crap." He took her by the arms and pushed her away firmly.
"Nothing like that is ever happening between us again."

"‘Things like that’?" she laughed bitterly. "I’m fighting for what’s mine."

"I’m not yours. I haven’t been for a long time," he said in a low, cutting tone—he could barely speak without revealing the anger boiling inside him.

She clung to his neck again.
"Liar. No woman knows you the way I do. Not that little girl you have playing pretend as your wife. You and I… we were always the same." Pamela slid her wicked fingers between his legs, forcing him to take two steps back. "I know it. I know you want me just as much as I want you, Ethan. Don’t deny it." She tightened her fist at the base of his testicles, and he grunted.

Ethan grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her onto the couch.
"Pamela, listen to me. You’re not okay. You need professional help. You’re having a crisis. Tell me—did you take something? Again? I’m sure you did. The psychiatrist told you you couldn’t keep putting that crap in your system."

She laughed—dry, broken.
"Help?" She lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly. "I’m perfectly fine, Ethan. All I need is for you to come back to me. My only drug, my only damn addiction is you—your dick, the way you drag me to hell and bring me back. Get that through your head."

He shook his head, resting his hands on his knees.
"That’s not going to happen."

"Then give me what I want," she snapped, fury flaring in her eyes. "I just want twenty percent of your shares. They’re mine. I want them now, or I swear Amber will find out exactly what kind of man she married."

Ethan clenched his jaw.
"You don’t have anything that can affect me."

Pamela smirked, walked to the coffee table, and picked up a thick envelope.
"Are you sure?" she asked, pulling out a handful of photos.

She spread them across the table. One showed Ethan at his bachelor party—half naked, surrounded by Gold Club women. One licked his neck while another sat on his thigh.

Ethan stared without blinking.
"And what does this prove?" he finally asked. "I don’t care what Amber thinks. It’s a contract marriage."

Pamela laughed, but her voice quivered this time.
"You don’t care…" she repeated, lighting another cigarette. "Then why did you look so happy on the island? I know you, Ethan. You’ve never smiled like that. Not since…"

"Shut up," he ordered. His voice cracked like a whip.

She looked at him with a faint, twisted smile, while a couple of tears slipped down her cheeks.
"You can’t erase it, Ethan. It’ll haunt you forever. If it weren’t for me, you’d be in prison right now. Do you know what that means?"

Ethan stood abruptly, breathing heavily. He walked to the window and pressed his hand against the glass.
"Don’t you dare mention it."

Pamela watched him from the couch, the cigarette trembling between her fingers.
"Why does it hurt you so much to hear it?" she asked softly. "It wasn’t your fault. It was Emily’s fault. That little brat didn’t even know what a ruthless monster you are—heartless, emotionless, only craving rough sex, gags, and whips. But little Emily, poor thing… the game got out of hand. Remember her?"

"Shut up!" he roared, turning sharply. The fury he’d kept repressed exploded in his voice, his eyes shimmering with panic.

Pamela looked at him, almost pitying him.
"It doesn’t matter how much you try to hide it… she’ll find out eventually. And when she learns who you really are, she’ll run from you like everyone else. Amber reminds me so much of Emily. Actually, I’d bet she was a virgin too, because a woman with experience doesn’t let herself get fucked on the beach the way you fucked her."

Ethan inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. He rubbed his face, exhausted.
"I’ll give you the shares." His voice sounded hollow, resigned. "But after that, I want you out of my life, Pamela. Because of you—your damn fault—I’ve become the monster I am now, and that has to change."

Pamela smiled, satisfied, and crushed her cigarette on the table’s edge.
"I knew you’d understand."

He looked at her one last time.
"It’s not for you. It’s because I won’t let you keep using what happened to manipulate me."

Pamela approached slowly, ran a hand across his chest, and murmured:
"You can’t run from me, Ethan. We’re the same. Both of us have blood on our hands."

He stepped back with a tense expression.
"Don’t come looking for me again."

He left the apartment without looking back, leaving Pamela surrounded by cigarette smoke and photos scattered across the floor.

She leaned back on the couch with an empty smile, whispering into the air:
"It doesn’t matter. It’s already done. I don’t care what I have to do, Ethan Rhodes, but you will come back to me. You will, and you’ll beg for mercy like always."

Ethan drove aimlessly through the night. The city slept, and he felt the past chasing him like a shadow.

In his mind, Pamela’s voice kept echoing: “You’d never smiled like that since she died…”

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He couldn’t let Amber find out the truth.

He loved her. And that was the real problem—he had never loved anyone before. And the thought of losing her gnawed at him down to the bone.