After the accident, Ethan did not return to the villa. Instead, he went back to his small apartment. As soon as he entered, he closed the door behind him, leaned against it, and took a deep breath. The familiar surroundings brought a strange sense of comfort amidst the chaos.
He moved to the bedroom, where he took off his shirt and lay on the bed bare-chested. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, his mind racing. If the killer were indeed part of the family, they would feel victorious, thinking they had succeeded in killing him. This false sense of success might lead them to make mistakes, revealing themselves in their overconfidence.
But could he ask Nadia to tell him? Could he trust her? The thought gnawed at him. She had always been by his side since he had been there. But what if it was she who had planned the accident? The idea seemed absurd, yet the doubt lingered. He couldn't afford to trust anyone blindly.
Ethan's thoughts were a tangled web of suspicion and fear. He replayed the events of the accident in his mind, trying to piece together any clues he might have missed. He needed to be cautious, to tread carefully. One wrong move, one misplaced trust, and it could cost him his life.
Ethan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and then retrieved all the phones and wallets of his attackers, which he had thrown near the door. He carefully checked each item, his fingers methodical and precise. The wallets yielded nothing of immediate value—some cash, ID cards, and a few personal items. It was the phones that intrigued him the most.
He sat at the small table in the corner of the room and started breaking the locks of the phones effortlessly, his skills honed from years of practice. One by one, the screens unlocked, revealing their contents. He navigated to the call lists, hoping for a clue, a familiar number that might tie the attackers to the family.
But there was nothing. No familiar numbers, no recognizable patterns. Just a series of calls to unknown contacts, likely burner phones or disposable numbers. Frustration gnawed at him as he realized this lead was a dead end. Whoever had sent these attackers had covered their tracks well.
Ethan set the phones aside and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. His mind raced through other possibilities. There had to be something he was missing, some detail he had overlooked. The attackers had been professional, but there had to be a slip-up somewhere, a thread he could pull to unravel the mystery.
He considered the possibility of checking the phones' GPS histories, hoping they might reveal locations that could provide a clue. He picked up the first phone again and began navigating through its settings, searching for the GPS logs.
The GPS logs showed various locations but without a clear pattern. Ethan noted down the addresses, planning to check them out later.
Once done, his lips curled into a smile. The attackers had failed, and now it was his turn to strike back. He would find out who was behind this, and when he did, they would regret ever crossing him.
Once done, he dialed a familiar number.
Ana stood by the window, her fingers tracing the cool glass absentmindedly as she gazed out at the empty street. The world outside seemed so distant, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside her. For the past three days, she had felt like a prisoner in her own home, her mother's stern refusal to let her out leaving her confused and lost.
Her father, usually the first to step up and help Ethan, had done nothing more than his routine trips to the vegetable market with his cart. He would leave early in the morning, returning by midday with fresh produce but no answers. Each time she asked about Ethan, he would evade her questions, his eyes filled with a sadness she couldn't decipher.
Ana's thoughts swirled with worry and frustration. Why hadn't her father gone to help Ethan? What had happened to Ethan? Their last conversation had ended in an argument, and now the silence was unbearable. Was he hurt? Or worse, was he choosing to ignore her?
She bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. The ache in her chest grew with each passing day, a heavy weight that seemed impossible to lift. She missed him, missed their laughter, their shared dreams. The thought that she might never hear his voice again was a dagger to her heart.
Lost in her thoughts, she almost didn't hear the soft ring of her phone. It took a moment for the sound to register, her mind sluggish to react. When she finally glanced down at the screen, her breath caught in her throat. It was Ethan. Her heart leaped, a mix of shock and elation washing over her.
She answered the call with trembling hands, her voice barely a whisper. "Ethan?"
The phone pressed tightly against her ear, and Ana's breath hitched as the familiar voice on the other end spoke. "Ana," Ethan's voice was rough, almost hesitant as if he too was unsure of what to say. She clutched the phone, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Ethan, where are you? Are you okay? Why haven't you called me? What happened? Why didn't you come to the villa?" The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, each question a desperate plea for answers.
On the other end, there was a brief silence, a pause that made her heart race even faster. Then, his voice, steady but with an edge of urgency, broke through. "Ana, come to my house. I need to see you. We need to talk."
The words hit her like a wave, crashing over her with a force that left her breathless. She sank onto the edge of the bed, her fingers trembling so hard that she could barely hold the phone. "I can't," she choked out, the tears she had been holding back now spilling over. "I'm house arrested. My mother won't let me out. I'm trapped here. Please, Ethan, tell me what's going on."
Her sobs were loud, the sound raw and painful, echoing in the small room. The silence on the other end was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken words. She could almost hear Ethan's frustration, his battle against the same helplessness that gripped her.
"Ana, just... just trust me. Please. I need you. Come to me, and we'll figure this out together. I can't do this without you." His voice was a whisper now, barely audible over the noise of her despair.
She buried her face in her hands, the phone slipping from her grasp onto the bed beside her. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing in with the reality of her isolation. The thought of Ethan, alone and scared, was too much to bear.
"I can't," she repeated, her voice a broken whisper. "I can't leave. I'm sorry, Ethan. I'm so sorry." Her words dissolved into sobs, the sound of her heartbreaking louder than anything else in the room.
Through the haze of her tears, she could hear Ethan's voice, distant but filled with a determination that made her heartache. "We'll find a way, Ana. I promise. Just hold on. Please, don't give up on me."
The call ended with a click, the silence that followed louder than any words. Ana lay back on the bed, the phone clutched tightly in her hand, the room filled with the echoes of her cries. She closed her eyes, the weight of the world pressing down on her, and for a moment, all she could do was weep.