Chapter 2: Stairs Don't Leave Fingerprints
Part 2 ⬇️
Ethan didn't move for a long moment.
Then he closed the dressing room door quietly — not with anger, but with the kind of stillness that felt more dangerous than shouting.
"Andrew Vaughn," he said.
Not a question.
A confirmation.
I couldn't answer.
My throat had closed completely.
"How long?"
"Ethan—"
"How long, Ava?"
"Fourteen months."
The words came out smaller than I intended.
He turned away and pressed one hand flat against the wall.
His shoulders rose and fell once, slowly, like a man deciding something he couldn't take back.
"You were going to let him accept that award tonight."
"I didn't have a choice."
"You always had a choice." His voice was low and even.
"You just didn't think anyone would believe you."
That broke something open in me.
Because he was right.
Andrew was beloved.
Decorated.
Trusted by every powerful person in that ballroom.
I had nothing but bruises that could be explained away and a silence I had practiced for over a year.
Then Ethan reached into his jacket pocket and placed his phone on the table between us.
On the screen was a message from three weeks ago — sent to his private security director.
*"Pull everything on Vaughn.
Quietly."*
I stared at it.
"You already knew something was wrong," I whispered.
He looked at me steadily.
"I knew you were afraid of him.
I just didn't know how bad it was."
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Downstairs, the applause grew louder.
Andrew's name was being announced from the stage.
