61| Seeds of Doubt

Ethan woke up to the sound of his usual alarm. He quickly turned it off so as not to wake Sophie, who was still sleeping peacefully beside him.

For a moment, he just watched her—her soft, steady breathing, the way her messy bed hair framed her face.

Even now, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Looking at her did something to his heart. Something he didn't quite know how to put into words.

Yet, no matter how good things seemed, there was always a quiet dread lurking beneath it all.

A voice in his head whispering that he didn't deserve this—didn't deserve her.

And yet, he wanted to be selfish for once.

That's why he had held her close and made love to her.

Everything about her was mesmerizing, but the way she looked at him—with trust, with warmth, with something deeper than he could comprehend—made him want to finally let go of everything he was holding on to.

To bare his soul to her.

To let her decide if she still wanted him after she saw everything he was too afraid to show.

But not yet.

Not today.

Today was another workday. Another meeting with his father. Another thing to dread.

Ethan held onto Sophie a little longer, breathing her in. Somehow, she always made him feel like he could do anything.

Even the things he was scared to do.

Last night, when they got home, her eyes had been full of unspoken questions. She had wanted to ask him about his meeting with his father.

But he had brushed her curiosity aside—again.

Because he didn't want to disrupt the fragile peace between them with his useless problems.

She wouldn't like that.

She wouldn't like him calling his problems useless.

He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and kissed her cheek. Even in sleep, she gave him a soft smile—one that made his heart beat just a little faster.

Reluctantly, he pulled himself away and got ready for the day.

On mornings like this, when he had to be in early, he had arranged for a driver to take Sophie to work. He didn't want her commuting alone—not after what happened with those loan sharks.

But in the evenings, he always picked her up himself.

He wasn't taking any chances.

His thoughts drifted back to yesterday—his father, standing in his office, saying they needed to talk.

If it were a normal meeting, Ethan wouldn't have given it much thought.

But it didn't feel normal.

There had been something strange in his father's voice. Something that left an uneasy feeling gnawing at his chest.

Lately, the office had been nothing but stress. His father made it that way. And honestly?

Ethan was over it.

But he endured it—for her.

If he kept his head down, worked hard, proved himself, maybe—just maybe—he could get his father off his back.

Even if just for a little while.

He had barely settled at his desk when the office door swung open.

Robert Sinclair strode in unannounced.

His father's expression was cold. Unfeeling.

Ethan recognized that look. He knew it too well.

Slowly, he looked up. "I still have my morning briefs to go over," he said, trying to keep his irritation in check.

Robert ignored him, shutting the door behind him.

"That can wait," he said curtly, his gaze sharp and unwavering. "We need to talk."

Of course.

Everything else could wait when it came to his father.

Ethan sighed, setting his papers aside. "What is it, then?"

Robert's next words were predictable, but they still hit like a dull blade to the chest.

"I'm disappointed in you, Ethan."

Again.

Ethan exhaled slowly. His father was always disappointed in him—so this was nothing new.

But then Robert's gaze darkened, his voice cutting through the room like ice.

"That's not the only thing. Ethan, your face has lost the strength I taught you."

Strength?

Was this a joke?

A bitter, cruel joke?

Growing up, Ethan was always afraid of his father.

But he wasn't the only one.

Everyone feared Robert Sinclair—the man who never smiled, never laughed, never cried.

You would think he was different with his family. He wasn't.

Not once had Ethan's father smiled at him. Not once had he said a kind word.

Until one day.

Ethan had done exceptionally well in school. His father's prestigious academy had recognized his achievements, awarding him special recognition.

And that was when it happened.

Robert Sinclair smiled.

Almost as if he were proud.

He even patted Ethan's back—the closest thing to affection Ethan had ever known.

To a boy who had never seen such a thing before, it was everything.

At that moment, Ethan knew.

He wanted to see his father smile at him again.

So, from that day forward, Ethan worked tirelessly—pushing himself harder, aiming for perfection, always striving to be the best.

He chased his father's approval like a man gasping for air.

But his father only acknowledged new achievements.

What had already been recognized was never praised again.

Ethan could never be less than perfect.

And the relentless longing for his father's proud smile almost drove him insane.

But if that had been the only thing, maybe it would have been easier.

His father didn't just want him to be exceptional. He wanted to shape him.

And so, Ethan was never allowed to make friends.

Any nanny he grew attached to disappeared—replaced before he could form a connection.

At school, his classmates thought he was arrogant, cold—a prude who never had time for them.

But no one ever asked why.

His schedule was packed from morning to night. Tutors, extracurriculars, hobbies he had never once asked for. Piano lessons. Fencing. Advanced mathematics.

A carefully crafted life designed to mold him into a perfect child.

But perfect was just another word for lonely.

And then, there was one memory that stood out.

One he could never forget.

The day his father lost control.

Ethan was used to his father's words—sharp, cutting, cruel.

But he had never imagined they would turn into something physical.

And that day, they did.

He didn't remember what he had done wrong.

He only remembered how fast the blow came—so fast he barely registered it before the pain seared through his face.

The shock of it left him frozen.

But what shook him most wasn't the pain.

It was the way he immediately blamed himself.

Maybe if I had been better... he wouldn't be this angry.

His mother's shattered scream was what finally pulled him back.

He reached up, his fingers coming away wet with blood.

He was bleeding.

The hit must have landed harder than he realized.

Then, his mother—his distant, absent mother, the one who rarely even looked at him—grabbed his hand. Held it tightly.

And before he could process what was happening, they were in the car.

Driving away.

He still remembered the way she gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. The way her hollow eyes stayed fixed on the road, as if she were running from something she could never escape.

For the first time in his life, Ethan felt relief.

It was short-lived.

That relief quickly turned to guilt.

His mother had taken him to her parents' house. He hated it there. Her parents reminded him too much of his father—distant, cold, unyielding.

And it wasn't long before they sent them back.

Back to Robert Sinclair.

His moment of peace was over.

But there was one thing about that brief time away that stayed with him.

His mother—during those nights in that unfamiliar house—had held his hand.

She had hugged him.

She had kissed his forehead when she thought he was asleep.

Ethan lay awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember the last time someone had hugged him.

The last time anyone had kissed him goodnight.

Had it ever happened before?

And then, just like that, they were home.

His father never hit him again.

But he never praised him either.

No matter how much Ethan achieved.

Was it revenge?

Was he angry at him?

Ethan would have apologized. Would have begged.

He would have done anything—anything—just to see his father smile at him again.

And he would have.

Until he met Sophie.

Now, Ethan stood before his father, the familiar war raging inside him—fear and longing, hatred and the desperate need for approval.

He hated that he still wanted to please this man.

This man who had never once treated him like a son.

Was that how terrible he was?

Ethan stayed silent, eyes downcast, swallowing the lump in his throat.

He had always blamed himself.

For his father's anger.

For his mother's distance.

For his own inability to be perfect.

"You're weak as a man," Robert said, his voice laced with disdain. "I made a mistake trusting you with my business."

Ethan braced himself.

This wasn't new.

He was used to this.

He could handle this.

But then, Robert's voice curled with disgust as he sneered, "You've been married for how long, and I haven't heard news of heirs? Instead, you seem to be chasing sunshine and rainbows."

The words sliced into Ethan's chest.

Sunshine and rainbows.

That was how his father saw Sophie.

Nothing more than a childish distraction.

Ethan's fingers curled into fists beneath the desk.

"It's that face of yours," Robert continued, shaking his head. "It just annoys me. Who will respect you? Who will respect my company when you walk around looking so weak?"

Then came the words Ethan had heard all his life—the ones drilled into his mind since he was five years old.

"What did I teach you about emotions?" Robert roared.

And just like that, the memory hit him like a tidal wave.

Emotions are for the weak.

Useless distractions.

A man earns respect through ruthlessness, not sentiment.

Hesitation is failure. Mercy is a mistake.

Power belongs to those who take it, not those who feel.

This was the Sinclair creed.

A legacy of cold-hearted pragmatism.

But Ethan had never been like his father.

Even as a child, he had never understood how to be ruthless.

He had loved rescuing birds with broken wings.

He had loved his dog—his only friend in the house he grew up in.

Until his father shot the dog in front of him to teach him a lesson about strength.

Ethan had never healed from that.

And now, all these years later, his father's voice cut through him like a blade.

"Ethan, come back to your senses. Stop playing house with that girl. I already warned you what happens when you get too emotionally invested."

His stomach churned.

"The wife you marry isn't important," Robert continued indifferently. "I told you this from the beginning."

"Don't speak about Sophie that way."

The words burst from Ethan's throat before he could stop them, his voice echoing through the soundproof office.

Robert laughed.

A cruel, sinister laugh that made Ethan's blood run cold.

"So, I was right," Robert said smoothly. "Why do you think she loves you?"

Ethan felt a sinking feeling in his chest.

"She married you because of her debt. She would have married anyone who offered to save her family."

Stop.

He didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to think about another man having her.

"Why do you think anyone could love you, Ethan?"

The words were quiet. Almost gentle.

And somehow, that made them worse.

They echoed in Ethan's mind like a cruel whisper. Like a truth he didn't want to believe.

Robert tilted his head slightly. "You're completely messed up, aren't you?"

No.

He wasn't messed up.

Since leaving this house, his panic attacks had stopped.

Since Sophie, he had started to breathe again.

But his father just smiled, amused.

"We Sinclairs aren't men who chase foolish things like love. We build empires."

His voice was calm, unwavering.

"Don't be stupid, Ethan. I'm doing this because I know better."

Then his father's expression turned dark, and his voice dropped into something more dangerous.

"What do you think she'll do if she finds out about that thing you did?"

Ethan froze.

His pulse roared in his ears.

No.

God, no.

His stomach twisted violently as his father's words pulled him into memories he had buried deep.

There were times he wished he could be emotionless, like his father.

Especially after he had made Ethan do the one thing he swore he never would.

His breathing turned shallow.

"Stop!"

His own voice sounded foreign to him—raw, desperate.

"You said you would never bring that up."

He never wanted to think about it.

Never wanted to remember.

But his father only smirked.

Ethan recognized that look.

It was the same look he had seen growing up—the look Robert gave when he saw the son he wanted standing before him.

Not Ethan Sinclair, the businessman.

Not Ethan, the husband.

But Ethan, the broken, miserable boy.

"Emotions are for the weak, Ethan. Useless distractions. A man earns respect through ruthlessness, not sentiment. Hesitation is failure. Mercy is a mistake. Remember this—power belongs to those who take it, not those who feel."

His father's voice was eerily calm, like he was reciting poetry.

"Now get ready for the meeting. It starts in an hour."

Then, as if he hadn't just ripped Ethan apart, Robert patted him on the back.

"Yes," he mused, eyes gleaming with something twisted. "That's the expression you need."

Ethan clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white against the desk.

He had fallen for it again.

The trap. The push. The game.

And then, with a sudden, chilling shift, his father spoke the words Ethan had once begged to hear.

"I'm proud of you, son."

Ethan stood frozen.

The words hit harder than any blow.

How long had it been since his father had said that? Ten years? Fifteen?

He couldn't remember.

But somehow, his rare praise felt like mockery.

A bitter, twisted reminder of all the years Ethan had spent chasing something that had never existed.

Why did he have to make him hate himself, too?

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