Seeing Blood

Ethan's voice softened, carrying a hint of vulnerability. "Lana, have you had dinner yet? I haven't eaten."

No matter how late one of us came home, sometimes even past midnight, we would wait for each other and eat dinner together. It was an unspoken rule we had set many years ago.

Back then, it was almost always me staying out all night. I would stumble through the door, drunk and disoriented, while Ethan waited for me in the living room.

He would clean me up, making sure that I would not choke on my own vomit. I would complain about how annoyingly fussy he was, but he never got mad.

He would just smile and ask, "What if I take care of you like this for the rest of my life?"

His eyes were so bright, like the surface of a lake. In that moment, through the haze of alcohol clouding my mind, I felt a rare trace of fear.

That light was too pure and bright, revealing me for who I was.

The filth churning inside me was something detestable and loathsome. It was so overwhelming that I did not dare to touch it.

After it happened a few times, Ethan developed stomach problems. When I was not paying attention, he would endure the pain silently with his brows tightly furrowed. He was too afraid to let me find out and never told me.

It was not until one morning, after staying up all night to care for me, that he fainted from the pain at his office. That was when I realized just how severe his condition had become.

Looking at him, I suddenly felt as though I no longer recognized him.

Was the man who loved me so deeply, who showered me with unwavering care and affection, just putting on an act?

Perhaps those who fell in love simply abandoned all reason.

I shrugged and replied casually, "I don't feel like eating anything I cooked tonight. I want to go out."

Ethan's hand clenched for a moment, but he relaxed almost immediately. Just as he was about to say something, a sharp ringtone cut through the air.

The moment he answered the call, his expression shifted. Before I could process what was happening, he had already rushed out the door.

'Ethan West, how do you manage to make people hate you so much?' I thought.

My phone vibrated, and a careless voice crackled on the other end. "The girl's in my hands. What do you plan to do?"

Pressing my fingers to my temple, I replied helplessly, "What do you mean, 'do'? We're not the mafia here. Can you speak like a normal person, please?"

"Are you just going to sit back and let this slide? I'm not okay with that."

"I won't let it slide."

I would not do anything reckless, but I would not let Ethan get off easy either. I wanted him to remember my name for the rest of his life.

I wanted it etched into his heart, burned into his skin, a mark so deep that it could never be erased even if he scraped off his flesh.

"Don't hurt her."

The voice on the other end paused in surprise. "What?"

"Don't hurt Tara. I still need her."

I hung up without explaining further. If Ethan was smart enough, he would soon find the clues I left behind.

Once he did, that was when the real show would begin.

Tara was stashed in an abandoned warehouse. When I arrived, Amber Shaw was there loudly hurling insults at her.

She called Tara a homewrecker, a shameless tramp, and worse.

Tara was tied to a chair and her pale face was flushed red. When she saw me enter, she glared daggers at me.

Her eyes were filled with humiliation and rage as she exclaimed, "This is illegal! If you don't want to get arrested, you'd better let me go!"

"Who says we kidnapped you? We invited you over as a guest."

Apparently not used to hearing something so absurd, Tara was rendered speechless.

"You… You're completely insane."

Rich, pampered princesses like her were amusing. Even their insults sounded as if they were whining.

It was no wonder Ethan had fallen so hopelessly for her.

By the time Ethan arrived, what he saw was a picture of Tara and I tied up together by the sea.