BENEATH THE MASK

Blood on Her Hands

Morning came, and Ethan was out already.

I woke up to the taste of blood.

At first, it was a strange sensation, a metallic tang on the back of my tongue, faint but unmistakable. I tried to ignore it, tried to pull myself from the haze of sleep, but as soon as I shifted in bed, I felt it—the slow, warm trickle running down my upper lip, the heaviness in my head.

I blinked, the grogginess still clinging to me, and reached up to wipe at my nose. But when I pulled my hand away, my fingers were slick with blood.

Panic surged through me, the fog of sleep vanishing in an instant.

The sheets were already stained, streaks of red trailing down from where my head had been resting, and my heart hammered in my chest as I realized what was happening. My nose was bleeding—badly. And it wasn’t stopping.

I scrambled out of bed, my hands trembling as I tried to stem the flow, but the blood kept coming, faster now, dripping onto the floor as I stumbled toward the bathroom. My mind raced, fear tightening its grip around my throat as the reality of my situation hit me like a freight train.

This wasn’t just a normal nosebleed. This was serious.

I knew this feeling. I had been here before—more times than I cared to admit. It was the price I paid for years of hormone pills, for suppressing my body’s natural cycles, for the addiction I had fought so hard to control but had never truly beaten.

My condition was a ticking time bomb. Every time I took the drugs, every time I pushed my body to its limits, I knew I was playing with fire. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t let go of the one thing that gave me control over my spiraling life.

But now, the consequences were staring me in the face, literally dripping from my hands as I fumbled for the medicine cabinet.

The bleeding wouldn’t stop on its own. I knew that. I had a condition—a side effect of the hormone pills and the years I had spent keeping my body from doing what it was naturally meant to do. My blood didn’t clot properly, and without the right medication, this nosebleed could turn into something far worse.

I yanked open the cabinet, my vision blurring as I rummaged through the shelves for the vial of medicine I kept hidden behind the aspirin. My breath was coming in shallow gasps now, my heart racing as the panic clawed at my throat.

Finally, I found it—the small vial of clotting medication. With shaking hands, I uncapped it, carefully administering the dose I needed. I swallowed hard, waiting for the medicine to take effect, my heart pounding in my chest as I leaned against the sink, trying to steady my breathing.

For a few agonizing moments, nothing happened. The blood kept flowing, my hands slick with it, the taste still sharp on my tongue. But then, slowly, mercifully, the bleeding began to slow.

I let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes as the panic began to subside. I had stopped the bleeding. I was okay. For now.

But as I stood there, my hands still covered in blood, my heart still racing, I couldn’t ignore the truth that was staring me in the face.

I was losing control.

I had been so focused on keeping everything together—on managing the empire, keeping Ethan close, dealing with Marcelo—that I hadn’t realized how much I was falling apart on the inside. My body was breaking down, and the years of hormone pills and drug use were finally catching up to me.

And if I didn’t stop… if I didn’t get it under control… I didn’t know how much longer I could keep going.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, my skin pale, my lips still tinged with red. I looked like a ghost, a shadow of the person I had been pretending to be for so long.

And I hated it.

I hated the weakness, the vulnerability, the way my body was betraying me when I needed it to be strong. I had spent my entire life building walls around myself, keeping everyone at arm’s length, convincing the world that I was untouchable.

But now, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

I wiped at my nose again, wincing as the tender skin stung under the pressure. The bleeding had finally stopped, but the damage was done. I couldn’t hide this forever. Sooner or later, someone would find out. Sooner or later, I’d have to face the truth.

But not today. Not yet.

I cleaned myself up, washing the blood from my hands and scrubbing the sink clean. The sheets would have to be dealt with later—there was no hiding the stains, but I could make up an excuse. No one had to know the truth. Not even Ethan.

Especially not Ethan.

---

Later that day, as I moved through the house, overseeing the latest shipment and checking in with the security team, I could feel the heaviness in my head still lingering, a reminder of what had happened that morning. But I pushed it aside, keeping my focus on the tasks at hand.

Ethan was waiting for me in the garage, his posture tense but his expression softer than it had been the night before. The tension between us hadn’t completely disappeared, but there was something unspoken in the air, a sense that we were both trying to find our way back to each other.

I needed to remind him that I was still here—that I still cared, even if I couldn’t share everything with him.

As I approached, Ethan looked up, his eyes locking onto mine with that familiar intensity that made my heart skip a beat. But today, I was different. Today, I was calm. The drug from earlier had dulled the edges of my thoughts and kept me from overthinking.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I said softly, stepping closer to him. “I didn’t mean to push you away.”

Ethan’s expression softened, but there was still a hint of frustration in his eyes. “I just want to understand what’s going on, Alex. I feel like there’s so much you’re not telling me.”

I swallowed hard, the guilt tightening around my chest. He was right. I wasn’t telling him everything. I couldn’t. But I also couldn’t lose him. Not now.

“I know,” I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. “And I promise, I’m trying. But it’s complicated.”

Ethan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Everything’s always complicated with us, isn’t it?”

I smiled sadly, reaching out to take his hand. “Yeah. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you.”

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine for something—an answer, maybe, or a reassurance that I couldn’t fully give him. But I knew what he needed. He needed to feel close to me, to know that despite everything, we were still connected.

I leaned in, kissing him softly, my hands sliding up his chest, pulling him closer. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and filled with all the emotions. I wasn’t ready to share my secrets, but I could give him this. I could give him what he needed, even if I couldn’t give him all of me.

And as we stood there, wrapped up in each other, the weight of my secrets pressing down on me like a vice, I knew that this moment was fragile—held together by the lies I was telling myself and the ones I was keeping from him.

But for now, it was enough.

For now, I was still in control.