Chapter 3: The Man In The Crowd
1515 Words
I couldn't stop staring at the place where the stranger had disappeared.
One second, he had been standing across the ballroom.
The next, he was gone.
“Who was that?”
Ethan didn't answer.
I turned toward him.
“Ethan.”
His jaw tightened.
“Not here.”
“You said someone was watching us.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me who it was.”
His eyes scanned the room again.
“Keep smiling.”
I almost laughed.
“You're seriously worried about someone watching us, and your solution is for me to smile?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It doesn't have to.”
He placed his hand lightly against my back and guided me toward the crowd.
I resisted for a second.
Then I remembered the cameras.
Hundreds of eyes were watching us.
So I forced a smile.
“Better?” I whispered.
“Much.”
“You're annoying.”
“I've been called worse.”
We moved through the ballroom.
People greeted Ethan everywhere we went.
Businessmen.
Politicians.
Socialites.
Everyone seemed to know him.
And everyone seemed interested in me.
I heard whispers as we passed.
“Is that really his girlfriend?”
“Where did he find her?”
“She doesn't look like his usual type.”
I pretended not to hear them.
Ethan didn't seem bothered.
He was completely calm.
Almost too calm.
Then a waiter approached with two glasses.
“Champagne?”
I shook my head.
“No, thank you.”
Ethan took one glass.
The waiter walked away.
I leaned closer.
“You're not going to tell me who that man was?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you don't need to know.”
I stared at him.
“You made me sign a contract that basically dragged me into your life. I think I deserve to know when someone is following me.”
His expression changed.
“You're right.”
That surprised me.
“So tell me.”
“Later.”
I sighed.
“You're impossible.”
“And you're curious.”
“I prefer informed.”
He almost smiled.
Before I could respond, a man approached us.
“Ethan.”
The man looked to be in his fifties, with silver hair and an expensive suit.
Ethan's expression immediately became colder.
“Mr. Black.”
“It's good to see you.”
“You too.”
The man looked at me.
“And this must be the famous girlfriend.”
I smiled politely.
“Mia Carter.”
His expression changed.
Only for a second.
But I noticed.
“Carter?”
“Yes.”
He looked at Ethan.
Ethan gave him a warning glance.
The man quickly recovered.
“Pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
He walked away.
I turned to Ethan.
“What was that?”
“What?”
“He reacted when I said my name.”
“People react to things.”
“That wasn't normal.”
“You're imagining it.”
“I am not.”
He didn't answer.
I folded my arms.
“This is exactly why I don't trust you.”
Ethan looked at me.
“You don't have to trust me.”
“Good.”
“But you do have to stay close to me tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever is watching you may not be interested in me.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“You think they're interested in me?”
“I think it's possible.”
Before I could ask anything else, the lights dimmed.
A microphone crackled.
Everyone turned toward the stage.
The host welcomed the guests and announced the evening's charity auction.
I tried to focus.
But I couldn't.
Something about Ethan's behavior was bothering me.
He kept looking toward the entrance.
Every few seconds.
Like he expected someone to walk through the doors.
Then it happened.
A woman entered.
She wore a long silver dress and carried herself with the confidence of someone who owned the room.
Ethan went completely still.
I looked at him.
“Who is she?”
He didn't answer.
The woman approached us.
“Ethan.”
Her voice was soft.
Almost familiar.
Ethan's expression hardened.
“Clara.”
She smiled.
“I heard you were here.”
Her eyes moved toward me.
Then back to Ethan.
“So this is her.”
I swallowed.
“Hello.”
Clara ignored me.
“You moved on quickly.”
Ethan's jaw tightened.
“We're not having this conversation.”
She laughed quietly.
“You haven't changed.”
Then she looked at me.
“You should be careful.”
I frowned.
“About what?”
Clara's eyes returned to Ethan.
“Ask him about the night your mother disappeared.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Ethan immediately stepped between us.
“Leave.”
Clara's smile faded.
“You can't hide it forever.”
“I said leave.”
She stared at him for several seconds before walking away.
I turned toward Ethan.
“What did she mean?”
He didn't respond.
“Ethan.”
“Not here.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you're surrounded by people who don't need to hear this.”
“I do.”
His eyes met mine.
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
He looked away.
For the first time, I realized something.
He wasn't avoiding the question because he didn't want to answer.
He was avoiding it because he was afraid of the answer.
I lowered my voice.
“What happened to my mother?”
Ethan's fingers tightened around his glass.
“She wasn't supposed to die.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
“She was investigating something.”
“What was she investigating?”
He looked at me.
“Black Enterprises.”
I stared at him.
“My mother was investigating your company?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know everything.”
“You're lying.”
“I know what I've been told.”
“Which is?”
“That your mother discovered financial irregularities involving my family.”
My mind raced.
“My mother wasn't an accountant.”
“She was a journalist.”
“I know.”
“She found documents she wasn't supposed to find.”
I swallowed.
“What documents?”
Ethan opened his mouth.
Then someone shouted.
“Ethan!”
A glass shattered across the room.
Everyone turned.
A waiter stood frozen near the entrance.
Another man was running toward the exit.
Ethan immediately grabbed my hand.
“Stay with me.”
“What happened?”
“Don't move.”
He pushed through the crowd, pulling me behind him.
Security rushed toward the entrance.
The ballroom erupted into confusion.
People started talking.
Some guests moved away.
Others pulled out their phones.
I looked around.
Then I saw it.
A small envelope lying on the floor near our table.
My name was written on it.
MIA CARTER.
My heart started pounding.
I picked it up.
“Mia!”
Ethan's voice was sharp.
I turned.
He was already walking toward me.
“What did you find?”
I held up the envelope.
His face changed.
“Don't open that.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
I stared at him.
“You're not my boss.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“I'm the person trying to keep you alive.”
The words sent a strange chill through me.
“You think this is dangerous?”
“I know it is.”
He reached for the envelope.
I pulled it away.
“What is inside?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
He didn't answer.
I looked at the envelope again.
There was something hard inside.
A photograph, perhaps.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
A single photograph slipped out.
I caught it before it hit the floor.
Then I looked at it.
My entire body went cold.
It was a picture of my mother.
She was standing beside a much younger Ethan.
But that wasn't what frightened me.
In the background was a building I recognized immediately.
My childhood home.
And written across the back of the photograph were six words:
Your mother trusted the wrong Black.
I looked at Ethan.
He had gone pale.
“Where did you get that?”
“I don't know.”
He took the photograph from my hand.
His eyes moved across it.
Then he looked toward the ballroom entrance.
“We're leaving.”
“Why?”
“Now.”
“Ethan, what is happening?”
He grabbed my hand.
“Your mother didn't die because of an accident.”
I stopped walking.
“What?”
He looked directly into my eyes.
“Someone wanted her dead.”
The world seemed to go silent.
“And I think,” he continued, “they know you're here.”
A loud crash came from behind us.
The ballroom doors slammed shut.
And every light in the building went out.
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