Chapter 8 - The Shadow of the Scar
My breath hitched in my chest. "Ethan?"
"Ethan didn't just stumble onto your doorstep last night by accident," Jack revealed, his voice darkening. "He’s been working as a low-level courier for Marco’s crew for six months. He was the one who provided Marco with the layout of the Maragold’s staff routines. He told them you were working coffee service."
I sank into the leather chair opposite Jack, my hands trembling violently. "He... he set me up? He knew what was going to happen in that room?"
"He didn't care what happened to you," Jack said grimly. "Marco promised him fifty thousand dollars once the emergency clause took effect."
The weight of the betrayal crushed down on me. I had endured years of Ethan's insults, his financial drain, his constant reminders that I was unattractive, flawed, and useless. I had stayed quiet to protect Leo, to keep a roof over our heads. And all the while, he had been selling pieces of my life to the mob.
I instinctively reached up, pulling the collar of my sweater higher to cover my throat and the faint, jagged white scar running along my collarbone down to my shoulder—a scar Ethan had given me four years ago when he knocked a hot iron off the board during an argument.
Jack noticed the movement immediately.
He stood up, walked around the heavy desk, and leaned against the edge near my chair. "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?" I whispered, looking down at my knees.
"Every time you feel threatened, you cover your neck and shoulder," Jack said gently. "Your ex-husband made you feel like that mark makes you ruined."
"He said it was ugly," I blurted out, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes. "He said no man would ever look at me without feeling disgusted. He told me my body was a burden."
Jack reached out. For a second, I thought he was going to touch the scar, and I instinctively flinched back, trying to cover myself.
He gently stopped my hand, holding my wrist with light, warm fingers.
“Don’t hide,” Jack said quietly.
I looked away, embarrassed by the moisture on my cheeks. “You don’t have to pretend it's beautiful.”
Jack’s expression hardened—not with anger at me, but with a deep, thunderous fury directed at the man who had broken my spirit.
“I’m not pretending,” he said.
He released my wrist, leaning closer. He traced the air just half an inch above the old scar without touching the skin itself, his presence warm and protective.
“Who taught you to hate this?” he asked softly.
My eyes filled with fresh tears, the pain of years of emotional isolation boiling to the surface. Before I could answer, Jack reached onto his desk, picked up another photograph from the folder, and placed it on the table directly in front of me.
May you like
In the photo, Ethan was standing beside a tall, scarred man named Dominick—a notorious enforcer for Marco’s crew.
“He didn’t leave you because you were a burden, Lily,” Jack said, his eyes locking onto mine with absolute truth. “He left because he was afraid you’d remember what really happened the night you got that scar.”
