Chapter 9 – Undress the Truth
1893 Words
Ethan’s POV
The moon cast silver light across Isabella’s face as she sat cross-legged in my room, her hair loose for once, cascading over her shoulder in inky waves.
We hadn’t spoken much since sealing the tunnel. Silence had settled between us—not awkward, but thick, heavy, like we were both teetering on the edge of something neither of us could name yet.
She was scrolling through recovered files on her tablet, biting her bottom lip. That damn lip. I’d watched her do it three times already and each time, my thoughts grew increasingly less innocent.
“You know,” I said, my voice low, “you could have at least let me look heroic back there. Just a little?”
She looked up, one brow arched. “You tackled a gunman in a gas-filled tunnel and dragged me out like a lunatic. That was heroic.”
“Yeah, but you keep stealing all the credit with your brooding tech genius act.”
She smirked. “What can I say? I like making boys work for their spotlight.”
I laughed. The tension cracked.
“You really are something,” I murmured.
Her smile faltered. She looked away. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
I crossed the room slowly and sank onto the floor beside her, our knees almost touching. The scent of her shampoo hit me—vanilla and wild jasmine. Tempting. Disarming.
“I mean it,” I said.
She glanced at me. “Even after everything you’ve learned?”
I nodded. “Especially after everything I’ve learned.”
The air shifted between us. She held my gaze. Her lips parted slightly—then she snapped the tablet shut and stood up too quickly.
“Come with me,” she said.
“Where?”
“To the garden. I need air.”
The Lancaster estate was deathly quiet at night. The staff had been dismissed early. Half the cameras were still down.
The garden, tucked behind the west wing, was a maze of trimmed hedges and marble statues, with a rose-covered gazebo at the center.
She led me there without a word.
“Funny,” I said, stepping inside after her. “You don’t strike me as the midnight stroll type.”
“I’m not,” she replied. “But I couldn’t breathe in there. Not with everything... closing in.”
I stepped beside her, not touching, but close enough that our hands might brush if either of us moved wrong—or right.
“You know I remember nothing of that video, right?” I said. “The fire. The screaming. You. I remember flashes. But it’s like someone put my memories through a shredder.”
She nodded. “That’s what they did to you. Rewired you. Conditioned you.”
“I’m not a science project,” I snapped.
Her voice softened. “No, Ethan. You’re the glitch in the experiment. That’s why you survived.”
I looked at her then. Really looked.
And she stepped closer.
“You scare me,” she whispered.
I froze. “Why?”
“Because when I’m with you, I forget to be angry. I forget to fight. And I don’t know if that’s love or programming.”
I reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers brushed her cheek. Her breath caught.
“Then let’s find out together,” I said.
Her eyes flicked to my mouth. I leaned in.
But before our lips could meet—
BANG!
A shot cracked through the air.
We both dropped to the floor of the gazebo.
“What the hell—” I hissed, dragging her behind one of the marble benches.
Isabella pulled out her phone and checked the security feed.
“It’s the perimeter alarm,” she said. “Someone breached the east side.”
“Is it them?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s just one heat signature. Fast. Alone.”
I didn’t wait.
I took her hand, and we ran again.
We reached the east gate in under two minutes. I spotted movement—dark clothes, staggering gait.
“Don’t shoot!” the figure called out. “I’m—I’m not with them!”
The voice stopped me cold.
I stepped closer, cautiously, gun raised.
A man stepped out of the shadows, bruised, bleeding—
“Grant?” Isabella gasped.
My pulse exploded.
Grant Lancaster. Isabella’s cousin.
Dead three years.
Or so we thought.
He collapsed in front of us.
“They know,” he choked out, looking up at me. “They know you’re alive. And they’re coming.”
Grant’s sudden appearance hit me like a freight train.
Isabella’s breath hitched beside me.
His face was bruised, blood crusted around a split lip. But his eyes—those deep Lancaster eyes—burned with a fierce urgency.
“We don’t have much time,” he gasped, clutching my arm like I was the only thing holding him to this world.
“Who’s coming?” I asked, crouching next to him, keeping my voice low.
“The real masterminds. The ones who created D8-94. They’ve been hunting us… hunting you.”
His gaze flicked to Isabella. “And her. You both have to disappear. Now.”
“Disappear?” I scoffed, but the weight in his voice told me he wasn’t bluffing.
Isabella knelt beside him, pulling out a cloth from her pocket. “Let me see.”
She wiped the blood from his lip gently, her touch softer than I’d ever seen. My heart pinched.
“You’re hurt bad,” she said, biting her lip.
He shrugged. “Worse than this.” His eyes locked onto mine. “They want to erase all witnesses. That means you, Ethan. All of you.”
I glanced at Isabella. Her hands trembled ever so slightly. We both knew what ‘erase’ meant.
“Why now?” I asked. “Why after all these years?”
Grant coughed, then whispered, “Because they lost control. The project’s out of their hands. Someone leaked the files. Someone’s trying to expose them.”
Isabella’s eyes narrowed. “Then we’re in more danger than we thought.”
I felt a sudden spark—something fierce, something reckless—igniting inside me.
“I’m not running.”
Grant gave a bitter laugh. “Good luck with that.”
We helped Grant into the house. He needed medical attention—and answers.
Isabella ushered him to the guest room. “I’m going to get supplies.”
I followed her down the hall, heart pounding, the weight of everything settling on my shoulders.
She stopped suddenly.
“Ethan,” she said, voice low, almost breathless.
I looked at her, searching her eyes.
Her fingers brushed a loose thread on my shirt. “You have something.”
I glanced down, confused.
Her hand reached out again—this time to my collarbone.
Her skin grazed mine.
The touch was electric.
My breath hitched.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pulling back.
“No,” I said softly, stepping closer. “Don’t be.”
Our eyes locked—mine dark, hers hesitant but curious.
The moment stretched—thin, fragile.
She smiled—a tiny, vulnerable curve of lips.
“You always make things complicated,” she teased.
I grinned. “Only the good ones.”
Then her expression shifted.
“Grant said someone leaked the files,” she said. “Someone we know.”
I swallowed.
“Like who?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she leaned in and pressed her forehead against mine.
“Whatever happens,” she whispered, “we face it together.”
I closed my eyes.
I wanted to believe her.
The next hours passed in a blur.
Isabella dressed Grant’s wounds with meticulous care, whispering reassurances I couldn’t understand but wanted to believe.
Grant spoke in fragments—names, dates, secrets. Each revelation a dagger twisting deeper into the Lancaster legacy.
And all the while, Isabella and I exchanged glances—sometimes accusing, sometimes tender, always charged.
At one point, she caught me staring.
“Stop,” she said, smirking.
I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because I’m dangerous.”
“Dangerous enough to make me stay.”
Her laugh was soft. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re irresistible.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.
Later, after Grant finally rested, Isabella and I stood in the vast, dimly lit hallway.
“Ethan,” she said, voice low, serious. “We have to decide. Fight or disappear.”
I stepped close.
“Isabella,” I said. “I’m not running from my past. Not from you.”
Her breath hitched.
“I’m staying.”
She smiled—a smile that lit the darkness.
But just as the words left my mouth—
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number:
“They’re closer than you think. Trust no one.”
The screen glowed cold in my palm, the words like a blade slicing through the fragile moment.
“They’re closer than you think. Trust no one.”
I looked up at Isabella. Her face had gone pale, the weight of the message settling between us like a storm cloud.
“Who?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” I said, locking the phone and slipping it into my pocket.
A flicker of fear crossed her eyes. But then—defiance.
“We’ll find out,” she said, steeling herself.
I nodded.
We returned to Grant’s room, where he lay pale but awake.
“Who sent the message?” he croaked.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted.
Grant’s eyes darkened.
“They’re watching us. And they have eyes everywhere.”
Isabella exchanged a grim glance with me.
“We need allies,” she said. “But how can we trust anyone?”
Her words echoed in my mind.
Trust.
I had learned the hard way that trust was a dangerous game.
That night, sleep eluded me.
I lay in my bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, replaying every moment, every glance.
Isabella’s touch. Her smile. The way her eyes searched mine for a truth I wasn’t sure I could give.
My phone buzzed again.
Another message.
“Meet me at the old pier. Midnight. Alone.”
I clenched my jaw.
A trap? A lead?
I knew I couldn’t ignore it.
At midnight, the pier was shrouded in fog, the water lapping softly against the wooden posts.
I waited, every nerve on edge.
Then, a figure stepped out of the mist.
A woman.
Tall, with dark hair and piercing green eyes.
She smiled—a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Ethan Lancaster,” she said, voice silk and steel.
“And you are?” I asked, my hand inching toward my pocket.
“Someone who knows your secrets,” she replied. “Someone who wants to help.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Why should I trust you?”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
“Because I want the same thing you do. Justice.”
Back at the estate, I replayed the encounter in my mind.
Isabella’s face floated before me.
I felt the ache of longing mixed with the fire of determination.
The war was only beginning.
And this time, there would be no substitutes.
- Writer
