Chapter Six-Nightmares
788 Words
“E–Ethan… what are you doing here?”
Amara finally found her voice, though it trembled.
Ethan didn’t answer immediately. His expression was cold, cutting.
“Since you’re already here,” he said, stepping forward, “I guess it’s the perfect time to share the happy news.”
He dropped a file onto the metal table. It slid to a stop in front of Lucas.
“Your true love will rot longer than expected,” Ethan said flatly. “Congratulations. They dug up even more of your mess. Looks like you’ll be staying here longer than anyone planned.”
Amara’s stomach twisted.
She wanted to believe Lucas was innocent — that Ethan was the monster and Lucas the victim.
But a tiny voice inside her kept whispering otherwise.
Lucas only smirked, as if enjoying the show.
Amara straightened her shoulders. “I see nothing wrong with coming here,” she said quietly. “It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t tell him I’m married to you.”
Lucas scoffed, feigning heartbreak.
“Of course,” he spat at Ethan, “You’re thrilled, aren’t you? Sleeping with the love of my life? I’m disgusted at you, Amara.”
Amara forced tears, though they stung for different reasons.
“I can’t love a criminal like you, Lucas,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”
She stood abruptly and walked away.
Behind her, Ethan rubbed a hand over his face, mentally cursing himself.
Why had he even allowed himself to think she missed Lucas?
He followed her outside.
Amara was already by the curb, waving down a cab when Ethan’s car swerved in front of her. He stepped out.
“Get inside,” he said.
She ignored him completely.
“Amara,” he muttered, jaw clenched, “people are watching us.”
Two women nearby whispered loudly:
“Isn’t that the Greek god, Ethan Blackwood?”
“The man is sculpted,” the second replied.
Amara’s lips twitched. “Then let them feast on how my husband has trust issues.”
“Enough,” Ethan snapped, gripping her wrist gently but firmly.
“Let me go,” she said in a low voice.
He didn’t. He led her into the car.
The ride home was silent — heavy, suffocating silence.
When they arrived, Amara walked straight inside and up to the bedroom.
She didn’t even know why she was angry anymore.
At Ethan…
At Lucas…
At herself.
*Was Lucas innocent?*
The question gnawed at her as she undressed and stepped into the shower. The warm water did little to steady her thoughts.
When she came out, dressed in her robe with damp hair clinging to her shoulders… she froze.
Ethan was on the bed, dressed in a dark hoodie and black joggers, his hair still slightly damp. He looked tired, frustrated… and annoyingly handsome.
“Get out,” Amara said, tightening her robe around her body. Her damp hair clung to her shoulders, wild from washing.
Ethan’s voice was deep, but softer than before. “Last I checked, this room belongs to us.”
Amara snorted. “Good to know my husband still remembers the matrimonial bed that terrifies him.”
Ethan chuckled under his breath — which irritated her more.
“Good night, Amara,” he said quietly, turning off his lamp.
He had come into the room intending to apologize—at least try—but the words never made it out. He couldn’t even explain to himself why he was lying on the same bed with her, why his body had moved before his mind caught up.
All he knew was that leaving the room earlier had felt wrong… and staying felt even more confusing.
She huffed, climbed into the bed, switched off her own lamp and turned her back to him.
Hours passed.
Then—
“Dad… Mom… don’t leave…” Ethan mumbled, voice breaking.
Amara’s eyes snapped open.
“Mom… don’t go—”
His body jerked violently. Sweat dampened his shirt. His breathing turned uneven, panicked.
Amara’s heart clenched.
“Ethan,” she whispered, sitting up. “Ethan—wake up.”
He didn’t.
He was caught in a nightmare.
“Ethan!” she called again, touching his shoulder.
He shot awake — and before she could react, his arms wrapped around her tightly, trembling. He pressed his face into her shoulder, clinging to her as if he didn’t know where else to go.
Amara froze… then gently placed a hand on his back. His shirt was soaked. His body trembled.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m here.”
But inside, her chest ached painfully.
*Am I really here?*
…or seeking revenge for someone I’m not even sure is innocent anymore.
- Writer
