He Remembers My Touch Not My Face
The day he got his sight back, I vanished.
The next time we met, I was on one side of a press conference, and he was on the other. I was a nobody, an intern with a press pass. He was Ethan Prescott, back at the helm of his familys empire.
A seasoned journalist from the Times was asking the question on everyones mind. "Mr. Prescott, it's been said that during your recovery, your fiance, Ms. Sutton, was your rock. We hear wedding bells are in your future?"
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. He lifted his hand, flashing a simple ring on his finger. "Yes. Olivia and I are getting engaged."
But his eyes, through the designer lenses of his glasses, drifted past the rows of eager reporters and landed, for just a moment, in the shadowed corner where I was standing.
1
The conference room buzzed with gossip before he arrived.
"The guy we're interviewing today? He's the one who really runs the Prescott Group now."
"I heard five years ago he went blind, got kicked out of the family and everything. If it wasn't for his fiance sticking by him, he probably would've ended it all."
"Shh, keep it down"
I sat on the folding chair at the back, forcing a smile onto my face. My nails dug so deep into my palms I was surprised they didn't draw blood.
Suddenly, Mark, the senior reporter I was shadowing, turned to me. "Leah, be a doll and grab me a bottle of water, will you? My throats sandpaper."
I had just reached the water cooler by the main doors when they swung open.
The familiar silhouette filled the doorway, and my brain went completely blank.
Three years had done more than just change Ethan Prescott; they had forged him into someone new. The slender frame of the boy I knew was gone, replaced by the broad shoulders of a man. The lines of his face were sharper, harder. And his eyesthe eyes that were once lost in a beautiful, milky haze were now clear, cold, and cutting.
"Excuse me."
His voice was low and detached. His gaze swept over me through his glasses, the way youd look at a coat rack or a piece of furniture. A complete stranger. There was no flicker of recognition, not a single pause.
Flanked by a security detail, he moved toward the stage. As he passed, a cool, woody scentsandalwood and something else I couldn't nametrailed in his wake.
I stood frozen for a few seconds before the reality of it hit me.
Of course he didn't recognize me. The two years I spent with him were the lowest point of his life. Hed been exiled from his family, his sight stolen in a car crash. He had no idea what I looked like.
It was better this way.
By the time I returned with the water, the interview was underway. Ethan sat on stage, fingers steepled under his chin, commanding the room with an unnerving calm. He was fielding questions about market projections and corporate restructuring.
Suddenly, a side door opened.
Olivia Sutton swept in, a practiced smile on her face as she addressed Ethan.
"Sorry I'm late, darling," she cooed. "Things on set were just frantic."
She gathered the hem of her magnificent champagne-colored dress and took the seat reserved for her beside him.
The room, silent for a beat, erupted in a flurry of camera flashes and excited murmurs. The atmosphere turned electric, intimate.
Mark took a sip of water and glanced from the stage to me, his eyes widening in discovery. "You know, Leah," he whispered, "you and Olivia Sutton look kind of alike."
I pressed my lips into a thin line, managing a weak laugh. "She's a movie star, Mark. You're flattering me."
Of course we looked alike.
She was my sister.
2
"It's said that during your illness, Ms. Sutton here was by your side through it all. Is it true that you two are close to tying the knot?"
The air in my lungs turned to stone. I watched Ethan on the stage.
He let that small, controlled smile grace his lips again. He raised his left hand, the ring on his fourth finger catching the light.
It was a simple silver band. Plain. Unadorned.
It was the one Id bought him. The one I worked two part-time jobs to afford, just to see him smile.
On the finger of the heir to the Prescott fortune, a ring that cheap was a paradox. A riddle.
He didn't seem to notice. His thumb stroked the worn metal, a gesture so familiar it made my chest ache.
"Yes," he said. "She and I are getting engaged."
As he spoke, his gaze swept the audience once more. It was a calculated, sweeping glance, but it paused, for a fraction of a second, on me. In my corner.
Then it was gone.
The microphone was passed to Olivia. "Ms. Sutton, we hear you're currently filming Director Hayes's new picture. He rarely casts newcomers. Did Mr. Prescotts influence play a part in that?"
She smiled, a portrait of gracious honesty. "Of course."
"I've always been confident in my own abilities," she continued, "but I won't deny that Ethan has opened so many doors for me. I believe I've earned that kind of devotion."
Her candor won a ripple of appreciative murmurs.
Someone else called out, "Could you tell us a story from that time? About how you supported each other when he was at his lowest?"
The radiant smile on Olivias face froze.
In the strange, suspended silence that followed, time seemed to slow down.
After a long moment, it was Ethan who broke the tension with a soft laugh. He took the microphone. "Theres not much to tell."
His voice was smooth, dismissive. "The memories she and I share theyre ours. Thats all that matters."
A sudden, hot sting filled my eyes. I gripped my pen, my head ducking down in a panic.
If I closed my eyes, I was right back there.
Ethan, in his youth, had been arrogant and reckless, making enemies easily. After his fall from grace, some of them came looking for trouble, showing up at our small apartment to torment him.
I'd thrown myself in front of him, and they'd shoved me down a short flight of stairs. I landed hard, my body a canvas of scrapes and blood.
The sight of it scared them off. They scrambled away, shouting insults over their shoulders.
I gritted my teeth, pulled myself up, and tried to pretend nothing had happened. I walked back to him. "Let's go. We're going home."
But Ethan's hand shot out and grabbed mine. "You're hurt. We have to go to the hospital."
"I'm not"
"I can smell it! I smell blood!"
His voice cracked, rising in panic. A tear escaped from one of his clouded eyes and rolled down his cheek, like a star coated in ash. His arms, still the lean arms of a boy, wrapped around me in a desperate, tight embrace.
And when he spoke, the name he whispered was my sister's. "Olivia."
"When I get better," he vowed, his voice thick with emotion, "I'm going to give you the biggest wedding the world has ever seen."
3
After the interview, the sky had turned a bruised purple. A fine, misty rain was falling outside the convention center. Mark patted his pockets. "Damn. Leah, I left the memory card inside. Can you run back and get it?"
I ran, my shoes slapping against the wet pavement.
The elevator chimed, the number 1 lighting up.
The doors slid open.
And I came face-to-face with the two of them.
Olivia had her head tilted, chattering away to Ethan about some trivial drama from her movie set. He wore a mask of indifference, but he was listening. Patiently.
The posture of intimacy was unmistakable.
When she saw me, Olivias expression soured into a look of pure disgust.
"Sorry," I mumbled, turning to take the stairs instead.
"Wait." Ethans voice stopped me.
I froze, my back to him.
"You needed the elevator, didn't you? Go ahead."
I turned back slowly, deliberately lowering my voice to a mumble. "Thank you, Mr. Prescott."
He told me to go ahead, but he didn't move. He and Olivia blocked the entrance, his eyes fixed on me.
"You were at the press conference today? One of the reporters?" he asked. "I don't recall you asking a question."
I kept my eyes down. "I just graduated, Mr. Prescott. I'm an intern. I don't have questioning privileges yet."
"I see."
He said it softly, his tone unreadable.
Beside him, Olivia shot me a venomous look before tugging on his arm. "Ethan, let's go. We have that dinner with Director Hayes tonight."
Ethans gaze finally left me. "Right."
4
I stood alone in the ascending elevator, my mind a million miles away.
After my parents divorced, my father took Olivia and married into the wealthy Sutton family. From my earliest memories, Id never even met her.
Then, five years ago, she found me.
"I'll give you a hundred thousand dollars," she'd said. "You take my place. You go take care of someone for me."
My mom had just passed away from a long illness, leaving behind a mountain of medical debt. I had no other choice. I agreed.
It was only after I said yes that I learned who I was supposed to care for: Ethan Prescott, the heir to the Prescott fortune.
And her fianc, whod had a terrible accident shortly after their engagement was announced.
"He's a blind cripple," she'd sneered, her face twisted with revulsion. "A washed-up reject from a rich family. Who would want to waste their time on that? If it weren't for my reputation, I would've broken off the engagement months ago."
At the time, Olivias acting career was just taking off. Shed landed a breakout role and was on the verge of stardom. The last thing she needed was a reputation for being cruel and faithless.
So she outsourced the burden to me.
Ethan had lived eighteen years as a prince. The sudden, brutal change had shattered him. His temper was a weapon, and in those first few months, I was his primary target. I was pelted with a constant barrage of sarcasm and cold fury.
But I was being paid to do a job, so I never talked back.
Until one day. Id gone to the cemetery to visit my mother's grave and got back a little late.
He launched into his usual tirade. "Olivia, stop the act! Don't think I don't know how much you hate this, how disgusted you are with me! Youre only here because you're afraid of what people will"
He never finished the sentence.
Because I lunged forward, grabbed his shirt, and kissed him.
It was my first kiss. I had no idea what I was doing. It wasn't gentle or romantic; it was fueled by weeks of frustration and a flicker of anger, more like a bite than a kiss.
Ethan went completely still. Silent.
The tips of his ears turned a shade of deep crimson.
"You!"
Fueled by a spark of malice, I bit his lip, just a little.
Then I pulled back, my hands braced on his shoulders, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "Did you feel that?" I whispered, my voice shaking. "Do you still think I'm disgusted by you?"
5
I found Mark downstairs with the memory card.
"Attagirl, Leah," he said, pleased. "You're a hard worker. Listen, there's a dinner tonight, some industry people. You should come, meet some contacts. Networking is half the job in this business."
I thanked him, my stomach twisting into a nervous knot.
When our cab pulled up to the restaurant, my heart stopped.
Parked out front was a familiar black Rolls-Royce.
I froze. "Mark are the Prescotts here tonight?"
He turned and gave me a sly wink. "The dinner is with Mr. Prescott. Don't underestimate your old pal Mark's connections."
It was too late to back out. I had to plaster on a smile and follow him inside.
Thankfully, the private dining room was enormous. We were at a table of junior reporters and media assistants, a world away from the main table where Ethan sat with industry titans.
Mark was true to his word, introducing me to a dozen different editors and producers. "This is Leah Dawson, our newest intern. Sharp as a tack, this one. Leah, say hello."
As the rookie, I couldn't escape the ritual of toasting each new acquaintance.
By the end of it, my head was spinning. I barely managed to excuse myself before bolting to the restroom, my hand clamped over my mouth.
I retched until my stomach was empty.
After rinsing my mouth and splashing cold water on my face, I walked out.
The hallway lighting was dim and yellow. In the shadows by a large window stood a familiar figure.
My heart hammered against my ribs. My first instinct was to pretend I hadn't seen him, to just walk away.
I took one step, and his voice came from the darkness behind me. Each syllable was deliberate, weighted with a thousand unspoken emotions.
"Leah. Dawson."
My feet were glued to the floor. I swallowed hard, listening to the slow, measured sound of his footsteps approaching.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
The footsteps stopped right in front of me. His presence was a physical thing, the scent of himthat cool, woody fragrancefilling the air between us.
I opened my eyes. He was looking down at me, his own eyes as deep and dark as the ocean.
"Mr. Prescott." My throat was tight with anxiety. "How did you know my name?"
He didn't answer right away, just studied my face for a long moment before straightening up.
"Your colleague," he said, his voice flat. "He's been introducing you to the entire room. Loudly."
Thinking of Mark's booming voice, I felt a hot blush creep up my neck. "Oh. I'm sorry about that. He's very supportive of the interns, maybe a little too enthusiastic. If we disturbed you, I apologize."
I was rambling, trying to smooth things over, terrified I'd somehow gotten Mark into trouble.
Ethan went quiet again.
Under the warm, yellow light, he narrowed his eyes slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "In your eyes, Ms. Dawson, do I seem like a man who gets easily disturbed?"
I looked down at my shoes. "That's not what I meant."
The next thing I knew, a gold-embossed business card was being held out in front of me.
"You're still an intern, correct?" he asked.
"There's an opportunity. Are you interested?"
6
I was still dizzy when I got back to the table. Mark immediately grabbed my arm. "You okay, Leah?"
I rubbed my throbbing temples. "Sorry, Mark. I had stomach surgery a while back. I can't really hold my liquor."
He frowned, about to say something, but his gaze fell to the business card in my hand.
His eyes widened in disbelief. "Is that is that Mr. Prescott's personal card?"
I nodded, my mind replaying the bizarre encounter.
That card was the stuff of legends in our industry, a direct line to the man himself, something money couldn't buy.
There's no such thing as a free lunch.
I looked up at him in the hallway, careful to keep my voice even, professional. "This is a very generous offer, Mr. Prescott. Why would you give it to an unknown intern like me?"
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Let's just say I have a good feeling about you."
It was an arrogant, infuriatingly Ethan-like answer.
The Ethan I knew, after we'd grown closer, would show flashes of that same reckless petulance.
Especially in certain moments.
I would grit my teeth, swallowing the soft sounds threatening to escape my lips as my fingers tangled in his hair. "You can't see, so stop moving around so much."
In the dim light of our small apartment.
The boy would tilt his head back. Soft bangs would fall across his unfocused eyes.
Hed lick his lips, and his fingers would press lightly against the pulse in my neck.
"Other parts of me work just fine," he'd whisper.
"So you need to be louder."
"Let me hear you."
I snapped back to the present, muttered some excuse to Mark, and tried to act normal for the rest of the night.
The next day at the office, my boss called me in.
His smile was unusually warm. "Leah, you know that hit reality talk show, Heart of the Matter? They're doing a live special. Pack your bags. You're going to be on the panel as a special guest contributor."
It was only after I started the prep work that I realized.
The guests for the next episode were Olivia Sutton and Ethan Prescott.
After the press conference, the news of their engagement had exploded online. It was the perfect pre-show publicity.
The comment sections were a frenzy of adoration.
"They went through hell together and now they're at the top of the world. This is a real-life fairy tale."
"I heard the Sutton family's company was about to go under, but Prescott's group bailed them out and now they're thriving again."
"Power couple goals. If you don't ship them, you have no soul."
I scrolled past it all, my finger hitting the close button.
The show's host, a charismatic woman named Dahlia, was going over the script with me. "If we can just get a few juicy details about those two years," she mused, "the ratings will go through the roof."
""
I gripped my pen, my voice barely a whisper. "Got it."
Every single detail of those two years
I knew them better than anyone.
And I couldn't say a word.
7
Leveraging the Prescott name and resources, Olivia Sutton was now one of the biggest stars in the country. The moment the show went live, millions of viewers tuned in.
Under the hot glare of the studio lights, I heard Dahlia begin. "So, Ethan, Olivia you're on the verge of marriage. Can you share a little bit of that journey with us?"
Olivia turned to him, her smile soft and radiant. "All those terrible rumors about him back then," she began, her voice full of emotion, "I never believed a single one. To me, Ethan was always, and will always be, the man I love."
She gazed at him, her eyes practically overflowing with adoration.
Ethan, however, was looking down, a strange, wry smile on his lips. "Liar."
The studio went silent.
"You've forgotten, haven't you?" he continued, his voice dangerously soft. "How you couldn't stand the sight of me right after I lost my vision?"
Olivia froze. Her eyes darted toward me, in the contributor's chair, for a split second. A flash of pure hatred crossed her face before being replaced by her practiced smile. "Oh, darling, I barely remember that. I suppose our love has grown so much, all I can recall are the sweet moments."
I glanced at the monitor showing the live social media feed. The screen was flooded with comments like "So cute!" and "Aww, he's teasing her!"
I put down my script, picked up my microphone, and addressed my question to Ethan. "It sounds like you two have differing perspectives on that time. Perhaps there's more to the story? Could you tell us how you worked through those initial challenges?"
I expected him to deflect. To retreat behind his wall of corporate poise.
But after a moment of silence, he spoke.
"When my eyes first went, I was lost. I hated the world, and I took it out on her. I didn't like her very much back then."
"She was busy, working all the time, and still had to find moments to take care of me. One day, she was completely exhausted. She had fish stewing on the stove, ran downstairs to buy salt, and forgot to turn off the burner."
"By the time she got back, the kitchen was on fire."
My throat closed up.
In the haze of memory, I could feel the searing heat on my skin again.
The air was thick with smoke and the smell of burnt wood.
Id dragged Ethan out of his room, grabbed the front of his shirt, and slapped him across the face, my voice raw and shaking. "Do you want to die?"
My whole body was trembling.
He didn't fight back this time, didn't meet my anger with his own. He was just silent. For a long, long time.
Then he asked, his voice hoarse, "Wouldn't that be better? For you? Wouldn't it be a relief?"
And in that moment, I saw it.
The high and mighty Prince Prescott was gone. All that was left was a broken boy, bluffing and snarling to hide how terrified he was. A lost puppy.
So I shoved him back into his smoke-stained room. The walls were black with soot.
I started unbuttoning his shirt, one button at a time. My voice was low, rough. "I didn't get any dinner tonight. I guess you'll have to do."
He seemed to realize what I was doing. "Are you sure"
I silenced him with a kiss, hard and desperate, swallowing his words.
"Ethan," I whispered against his lips. "I never thought you were a burden."
That night, the world fell away, leaving just the two of us in a chaotic, tangled mess.
And now, here he was, telling that story to the world.
But the woman sitting beside him, the fiance he shared this intimate memory with, was Olivia.
Everyone in this room, everyone watching at home, believed that memory belonged to them.
A bitter, suffocating feeling rose in my chest. From where I sat, so close to the stage, the faint, familiar scent of him wrapped around me like a shroud.
Pervasive. Overwhelming.
And no longer mine.
He paused, letting the story hang in the air before the studio audience broke into applause. Then he delivered the final line.
"I will never forget the moonlight that night. She said it was so bright, it lit up everything."
"I couldn't see it," he finished, his voice soft, "but I listened to her describe it all night long."
My hand tightened on my pen, my head bowing low. My eyes burned.
9
My impromptu question, which veered off-script, had unearthed details no one had ever heard before. The interview was a massive success.
By the end of the show, viewership had broken ten million. For the first time, the public got a glimpse into the private history of the enigmatic head of the Prescott Group.
Everyone was buzzing.
Backstage, Dahlia clapped me on the shoulder. "That's a reporter's instinct right there! That question was so sharp, he had no choice but to answer. Brilliant, Leah!"
Just then, she saw Ethan and Olivia approaching and her praise died in her throat.
Ethans gaze, cool and unreadable, landed on me. "You wrote that question?"
I nodded.
Olivias voice was laced with venom, disguised as a friendly warning. "You have a real knack for hitting where it hurts, Ms. Dawson. But let me give you a piece of advice. Stick to your professional ethics. Don't start wanting things you could never possibly deserve."
I didn't say anything. I just looked at Ethan.
His expression was grim. "Ms. Dawson is clearly very capable," he said, his voice flat. "From now on, she will be the primary media liaison for our company."
Olivia whipped her head around to stare at me. In her eyes, for a split second, I saw a flash of undisguised terror and hatred.
She cornered me later, when no one else was around. Her voice was a low, vicious hiss. "You're a greedy little bitch, Leah Dawson."
"You took my money. What the hell are you doing back here?"
I looked at her calmly. "I graduated. I came back to work."
It was a simple, honest statement.
"Work? Do you think I'm an idiot?" She suddenly snapped, throwing her handbag at me. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. "Get out of my sight. Go tell him you're turning down the job. If you don't, I'll make your life a living hell."
Her Herms bag lay on the ground, its contents spilled across the floor.
I ignored it and walked away.
Olivia Sutton was a woman of her word.
Suddenly, my life became a series of closed doors. Two major assignments that were supposed to be mine were given to other interns at the last minute.
Then, one evening just before I was about to leave the office, my boss called me into his office.
"Next month is the Prescott Group's annual development conference," he said, beaming. "It's one of the biggest media events of the year. I want you to host it."
I was stunned into silence.
"It was Mr. Prescott himself," he added. "He specifically asked for you."
After work, I walked outside.
Parked across the street was that all-too-familiar Rolls-Royce.
The window rolled down, revealing Ethans impassive face. "Ms. Dawson. Since you're so curious about my past, why not come and ask me about it directly?"
I lowered my head. "I have no interest in your private life, Mr. Prescott. It was purely for work."
"Even for work, I gave you my personal card. You could have called."
I bit my lip. "It didn't seem necessary."
Because in that moment, I was struck by the reality of it all. This was three years later. He was the powerful CEO of the Prescott Group. He wasn't that broken, angry boy who, after I'd disciplined him, would cling to me, pitifully begging for kisses and comfort.
The Sutton family was a shadow of its former self. Without Ethans tacit permission, Olivia would never have dared to target me so openly.
Maybe maybe that past was a source of shame for him. A time of weakness he didn't want to be reminded of.
I started to walk away.
"Stop."
He opened the car door, his long legs unfolding as he stepped out, blocking my path.
"Ms. Dawson," he said. "Can we talk?"
I clutched my bag to my chest, my voice hoarse. "What is there to talk about, Mr. Prescott?"
A faint smile touched his lips. His eyes, for the first time, held a trace of something other than coldness. Something that looked almost like exasperation.
"About work," he said. "Can we talk about work?"
10
Over the next few weeks, Ethan sought me out twice more. We went over the key announcements for the conference, meticulously checking facts and figures.
At the end of our last meeting, as if it were an afterthought, he handed me a file. "This is a new large-scale tourism project we're launching in partnership with the state. It hasn't been announced yet. You can break the news at the conference. Consider it an exclusive."
I hesitated for a moment, then took the file. "Thank you."
When Mark found out, he was ecstatic. "Leah, I think the big boss really likes you! Maybe you should subtly mention how Olivia Sutton has been making your life difficult?"
I was editing my host's script, and I offered a small, sad smile. "No, it's fine."
"Why would he stand up for a stranger against his own fiance?"
The day of the conference arrived. The hall was packed to capacity.
The seat in the center of the stage, reserved for Ethan, was empty.
Under the flashing glare of a hundred cameras, I began announcing the Prescott Group's upcoming major partnerships.
Suddenly, a reporter I didn't recognize shot to his feet, his voice booming across the hall. "Where did you get this information? This is confidential! Did you steal it?"
My face hardened. "My collaboration with the Prescott Group has been conducted through entirely official and professional channels."
"Professional? A woman who sleeps her way to the top has the audacity to talk about professionalism?" he yelled. "I have proof!"
Someone else was walking onto the stage.
It was Olivia.
She stared at me, her expression a mask of pity. "Leah, I know it's natural for a young reporter like you to be drawn to a man like Ethan. I wanted to spare you this embarrassment, but you've left me no choice."
Behind me, the giant screen flickered, the corporate PowerPoint replaced by a series of lurid, intimate photographs.
The woman in the photos was me.
"You sent him these pictures," Olivia announced, her voice ringing with false sorrow. "You showed up at his hotel room in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a slip. And here is the security footage of you checking into a hotel with your boss."
The screen changed again. A grainy video showed me and my boss walking into a hotel lobby side-by-side.
"You're a predator, a"
An uproar swept through the audience. Just then, the main doors of the hall were thrown open.
Ethan Prescott strode in, impeccably dressed, his eyes sweeping across the room with a razor's edge. His gaze passed over my face without a flicker of emotion, as if I wasn't there.
My heart sank into a cold, dark abyss.
The stage lights felt like an interrogation lamp, pinning me in place for a public execution.
The room was filled with angry murmurs.
"She's a disgrace to our profession."
"Disgusting. Absolutely pathetic."
"Fire her. Blacklist her from the industry."
I didn't look at anyone. My eyes were fixed on Ethan. I watched as he approached Olivia, his voice dangerously quiet. "What did you just say?"
Olivia's eyes instantly filled with tears, her voice trembling. "Ethan, she fooled you. She used the pretense of an interview to get close to you, to steal corporate secrets and damage the company. She even slept her way into hosting this conference!"
Ethan was silent for a moment. Then he looked at me. "Do you have anything to say?"
11
Anything to say?
I saw the hatred and triumph in Olivias eyes and was struck by the sheer, soul-crushing absurdity of it all.
She was only two years older than me. We had the same mother, the same father. After our mom died, we should have been the only family the other had left in the world.
A bitter, mocking smile twisted my lips.
I gripped the microphone. "I have this to say"
My voice was clear and steady, amplified throughout the silent hall. "Mr. Prescott, your fiance is a pathological liar who is actively committing slander. If you intend to stand here and watch her fabricate this story simply because you love her, then I will be forced to report that fact in my press release today. The public has eyes. I doubt they will trust their investments in projects led by a man with such a flagrant disregard for the truth."
Threatening the old, reckless Ethan would have been a gamble. Threatening the new, ruthless Ethan should have been suicide. A man like that, challenged so publicly, was supposed to react with fury.
But he didn't.
He simply walked up the steps and onto the stage. He came to a stop a few feet away, standing at my level, our reflections mirrored in the polished floor.
He said my name, his voice impossibly soft.
"Leah Dawson."
A sudden, sharp wave of grief washed over me. I couldn't bear to hear him defend her.
I turned my head away, my words clipped and precise. "All of the accusations made against me are baseless lies. My interactions with Ms. Sutton's fianc, Mr. Prescott, have been strictly professional. We have had no private contact"
"No contact?"
Ethan's voice cut through mine.
"You gave me a ring," he said, his voice rising just enough to carry. "And now you're not going to take responsibility for me?"
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