Chapter 4

Ethan tensed. "This is ridiculous, Izzy. He provoked me. He destroyed..."

But his words were cut short.

The historical society's security guards, reinforced by Senator Hayes's private detail who materialized from the shadows, moved in.

They were professionals, quick and efficient.

Ethan, a highly trained operative, could have resisted, could have created a scene.

But he was outnumbered, and in this setting, resistance would only make things worse, play into their narrative of him being "violent."

He allowed them to take his arms, a grim acceptance settling in.

Izzy stepped closer, her face contorted with anger.

"Your family's legacy is loyalty, Ethan. Loyalty and discipline. Or have you forgotten that in your jealousy?"

She was twisting his heritage, the very honor he cherished, into a weapon against him.

"You've shown none of that tonight. Only brute force and disrespect."

They didn't take him to a police station. That would be too public.

Instead, he was escorted to a back room, stark and utilitarian.

The "punishment" was swift and brutal. Not a formal beating, but a clear message.

Two of the private security men, their faces impassive, delivered it.

Sharp, painful blows to his ribs, his stomach. Not enough to break bones, but enough to leave him breathless, aching for days.

Ethan bit his lip, hard, tasting blood, refusing to cry out.

He would not give them the satisfaction.

He focused on his breathing, on the cold anger that was now a hard knot inside him.

Izzy watched for a moment, her arms crossed.

Then, a flicker of something – hesitation? – crossed her face.

"Stop," she said suddenly. The guards paused.

She looked at Ethan, who was now leaning against a wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Admit you were wrong, Ethan. Apologize to Julian. Say it was your fault, your jealousy. Do that, and this stops."

It was a chance, a sliver of mercy, but laced with the demand for his complete capitulation.

Ethan met her gaze, his own eyes blazing despite the pain.

"I will not apologize for defending my family's honor, or for reacting to a deliberate act of malice."

His voice was raspy but firm. "He destroyed that map on purpose. And you know it."

He would not grovel. Not to her, not for Vance.

Izzy's brief moment of compassion vanished, replaced by renewed fury.

Her eyes hardened. "You are a fool, Ethan. A stubborn, prideful fool."

She nodded to the guards. "Continue. Perhaps more pain will teach him humility."

The blows resumed, harder this time.

Ethan gritted his teeth, the world narrowing to the impacts, the searing pain.

Finally, a blow to his side sent a blinding flash through his vision, and he sagged, darkness encroaching.

He lost consciousness.

He awoke in his own apartment, on his couch.

Mac Johnson, his mentor, was there, his face etched with worry and sorrow.

Mac, a retired Sergeant Major who had served with Ethan' s father, now ran a small veteran support NPO. He was Ethan's confidant, a living link to his family's honorable past.

"Ethan? Son, you with me?" Mac's gruff voice was gentle.

Ethan groaned, every muscle screaming. His ribs felt like they were on fire.

"Mac... what happened?"

"Those Hayes bastards," Mac growled. "They had their thugs work you over. Then they dumped you here. Said you 'had a fall.'"

He helped Ethan sit up, his touch surprisingly gentle for such a tough man.

"Your deployment... son, are you fit for this? You're hurt bad."

Ethan tried to wave a hand dismissively, a sharp pain shooting through his side.

"I'll be... fine, Mac. Just need to... rest a bit."

He knew he wasn't fine. But he wouldn't let this stop him. Escape was paramount.

He saw through Julian' s facade early on, Mac had. He' d warned Ethan about Vance' s manipulative nature, about Izzy' s growing infatuation. Ethan hadn' t listened closely enough.

A sharp knock on the door startled them both.

Mac opened it cautiously.

Isabella Hayes stood there, her expression unreadable.

Ethan felt a surge of cold anger. What did she want now?

Mac stepped partially in front of Ethan, protective.

"Miss Hayes. What do you want? Haven't you done enough?"

He gestured to Ethan. "He's deploying in two days, to a warzone. For this country. Or does that not matter to you people anymore?"

Mac's voice was low, simmering with controlled fury.

Ethan pushed himself up straighter, ignoring the pain.

"It's alright, Mac." He looked directly at Izzy. "What is it, Isabella?"

She stepped into the room, holding a small, ornate box.

"Julian... he felt bad about the map," she said, her voice flat. "And about... the misunderstanding."

She avoided his eyes. "This is a rare herbal balm. Very effective for... bruises and internal injuries. My mother uses it."

She placed it on the coffee table.

"He doesn't want any more trouble, Ethan. He hopes you'll recover quickly. And that you'll understand... it's best if you both move on. No more confrontations."

It wasn't an apology. It was a warning, wrapped in a conditional gift.

Protecting Julian, making sure Ethan wouldn't retaliate further.

She turned to leave, pausing at the door.

"I hope your deployment goes... well," she said, a strange note in her voice. Then she was gone.

The air in the room felt heavy.

Ethan stared at the ornate box.

Her true motive was clear: ensure he was patched up enough not to cause a scandal before he left, and to ensure Julian was safe from any further repercussions.

The finality of their separation, of her choice, settled into his bones, cold and hard.

He had no fight left for her, no emotion beyond a weary disgust.

He picked up the box, then handed it to Mac. "You know more about these things than I do. See if it's any good."

He needed to focus. Two days.

The next evening, a sleek envelope was delivered by a courier.

An invitation. From Julian Vance.

"Isabella and I would be delighted if you would join us for a small, informal gathering tomorrow night. A farewell, of sorts, before your commendable service overseas. Izzy insists."

The "Izzy insists" was the hook, the use of her authority to compel his attendance.

It was another power play, another chance for Julian to gloat, for Izzy to display her new allegiance.

Ethan felt a surge of defiance. He wouldn't go.

But Mac, who had stayed to help him pack and tend to his injuries, counseled caution.

"Son, right now, they hold the cards in this town. Don't give them another excuse. Go, be seen, be polite, then get on that plane."

Reluctantly, Ethan knew Mac was right. He was forced to attend.

The gathering was at a trendy, exclusive lounge Julian favored.

Izzy looked surprised, then vaguely displeased, to see him. Clearly, the "Izzy insists" was Julian's invention.

Julian, however, oozed charm. "Ethan! So glad you could make it! A drink, to your bravery!"

He feigned camaraderie, his eyes glinting with triumph.

Izzy, after a whispered word from Julian, raised her glass.

"To Julian," she announced, her voice carrying across the small, intimate crowd of Vance' s admirers. "My rock, my inspiration. The man I will marry."

Her gaze swept past Ethan, dismissive. A public declaration of exclusive devotion.

Ethan kept his face impassive, lifting his glass in a minimal acknowledgment.

He was a ghost at their feast.

Izzy and Julian then engaged in overt displays of affection.

Her hand on his arm, his arm around her waist, whispered words and shared laughter.

It was a performance, designed to highlight their bond, and, Ethan suspected, to further humiliate him.

He watched, feeling nothing but a profound weariness.

He was an ornament to their triumph, a symbol of what Izzy had "overcome."

Quietly, Ethan made his excuses and tried to leave.

He was almost at the door when two of Julian's associates, large men with blank eyes, blocked his path.

"Mr. Vance and Miss Hayes would like another word, Captain."

He was forcibly escorted back to where Izzy and Julian stood, a new, harder glint in Izzy's eyes.

"Ethan," Izzy said, her voice cold. "There's been an incident. A supposed 'attack' on my car as I was arriving. My driver was momentarily distracted."

She paused, letting the accusation hang in the air. "Julian thinks... he thinks you might have orchestrated it. A foolish attempt to stage a rescue, to make yourself look like a hero again in my eyes."

Ethan stared at her, dumbfounded. Framed. Again.