BENEATH THE MASK

Guilty Behind Masks

The room was cold, too cold. My body ached from the inside out, every breath sending sharp pain through my ribs and chest. I tried to move, but it was useless. Everything hurt. The sheets felt heavy against my skin, the faint metallic taste of blood still lingering on my lips.

I could barely remember how I had gotten here, but I knew Ethan had been the one to find me. He had been there, holding me, trying to stop the blood—his hands frantic, his breath shaky with panic. The look in his eyes haunted me, that mixture of fear and helplessness. I had never seen him like that before.

He didn’t know. He didn’t understand why this was happening to me.

And I couldn’t let him find out.

I blinked, my vision still blurry, but the faint sound of voices outside my room pulled me from the fog. My father’s voice was low and steady but laced with tension. There was someone else with him. I strained to hear the conversation, but I couldn’t make out the words. I didn’t have the strength.

Moments later, the door opened, and my father stepped into the room. His face was a mask of control, but I could see the flicker of something else—something almost like guilt—beneath the surface. He stood there for a moment, looking down at me, his eyes narrowing as if he were assessing the damage.

For the first time in my life, my father looked afraid.

"You're lucky," he muttered, his voice cold but with a strange softness I wasn’t used to. "You bleed too damn much."

I didn’t respond. I didn’t have the energy to.

He stepped closer, the tension between us thick, but his movements weren’t as sharp as they had been before. I could feel the shift in him—something subtle like he was struggling to keep up the facade of indifference. The same facade he had used when he had beaten me down in his office.

“I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not after everything. You’re all I have left.”

There it was—the crack in the armor. For all his cruelty, for all the ways he had torn me down, there was something in him that was afraid of losing me. Not because I was his child, not because he loved me. But because I was his heir. His empire depended on me.

And I knew that was the only reason he was here, standing at my bedside, trying to cover up his guilt.

“I’ve trained you for too long,” he continued, his voice regaining its strength. “You’ve grown into the one thing I can count on. But this weakness… it can’t go on.”

I clenched my jaw, staring at the ceiling. I wasn’t sure if I could muster the strength to respond, but his words sent a flash of anger through me. Weakness. That’s all I had ever been in his eyes. He had molded me and shaped me into this version of myself, all to fit his perfect image of an heir.

He didn’t care about the blood, about the pain. He cared about control.

“You’re going to take time off,” he said firmly, cutting through my thoughts. “A month. You’re no use to me if you can’t stand. You’ll get well, you’ll fix this, and when you come back, you’ll be stronger.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “What about Ethan?” I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper.

My father’s eyes narrowed, but there was no anger in his expression. Instead, there was something strange, something almost calculating. “Ethan stays.”

I blinked, confusion washing over me. After everything, after the things he had said—about men bleeding, about never showing weakness, about how I would have to marry Lucia—he was still letting Ethan stay?

“You need him,” my father said as if reading my mind. “I’m not blind. I know he’s been good for you. But remember this, Alex. You’ll keep your focus. You’ll recover. And when you’re back on your feet, you’ll remember who you are.”

I stared at him, trying to make sense of his words, of the subtle shift in his tone. It wasn’t like him to be so… reserved. And that’s when I realized.

He was acting.

There was a coldness in his eyes that I knew too well—a calculated edge that meant he wasn’t saying what he felt. He was playing a role, just like I had been my entire life. The harsh homophobic comments, the threats, the insistence on me marrying Lucia—it had all been an act. A disguise to keep the truth hidden from prying eyes.

Because in this house, the walls had ears.

He didn’t care if I wanted to be with Ethan. He didn’t care if I wanted to carve my path. But he needed me to be strong. He needed me to fit the image he had built for me. That was why Lucia was still in the picture. She was easy to control. He had enough leverage over her to ensure she would never betray him.

And in the end, that was all that mattered to him.

Control.

My father leaned over, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’ve worked too hard for this. You’re the only one who can carry this forward. Don’t make me regret all these years, Alex.”

I couldn’t respond. The pain was too much, and my mind was swirling with the weight of his words. But I understood now. This wasn’t just about me. This was about him. About keeping his empire intact.

He straightened, smoothing the wrinkles in his suit. “Take your time. A month. I expect you back stronger.” His voice was cold again, the mask slipping back into place. “And no one finds out. About anything.”

He turned and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his words pressing down on me. No one finds out. About the bleeding. About my condition. About the truth.

No one.

---

It wasn’t long before Nina returned, her expression softer now as she entered the room with a tray of medicine and clean bandages. She had been there since the beginning—since my mother died, suncatcher had forced me into this life. And she had always been the one to keep my secret.

She set the tray down beside the bed, her eyes filled with guilt as she sat beside me. “Your father told me to take care of you,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “But I’m so sorry, Alex. I never wanted this for you. I just… I never had a choice.”

I closed my eyes, the exhaustion settling deep into my bones. I had heard this before—Nina’s apologies, her guilt. But the truth was, I didn’t blame her. She had done what she had to, just like I had. Just like we all had.

She gently began cleaning the dried blood from my face, her hands trembling. “You’ll get better,” she whispered, more to herself than to me. “You always do. You’re stronger than he knows.”

I let her work in silence, too tired to argue, too tired to care. But as she wiped away the blood and wrapped the fresh bandages around my ribs, I couldn’t shake the feeling that things were falling apart faster than I could control them.

I had spent my entire life pretending to be something I wasn’t—something my father had forced me to become. And now, the weight of that lie was crushing me.

---

Later that evening, as the house began to quiet, the door to my room creaked open again. I glanced up, expecting to see Nina or one of the guards.

But it was Ethan.

His eyes were wide, his face pale as he stepped into the room, his gaze locking onto me as if he were afraid of what he might find.

“Alex,” he breathed, his voice shaky. “Jesus… I thought… I thought you were…”

I tried to sit up, but my body protested, and I winced, sinking back into the pillows. “I’m fine,” I muttered, though it was a lie. I wasn’t fine. I was barely holding it together.

Ethan moved closer, his expression filled with a mixture of guilt and fear. “You’re not fine,” he whispered, his hands trembling as he reached for mine. “You’re… I didn’t know it was this bad. I didn’t know you were…”

His voice cracked, and I saw the tears in his eyes, the way his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. He was scared—terrified, even—and I could see the guilt weighing on him like a stone.

He didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know the truth. But that didn’t stop him from feeling responsible, from feeling like he had failed me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Alex. I… I am sorry.."