Forbidden Freedom

Chapter 12

Nowadays

England

"You decided to take a trip down memory lane and remember about France?" I snort.

My psyche turns on a defensive reaction, and I can't help but sass to Ethan. His smug grin, slightly trembling hands from his last outburst, and eyes sparking with madness beneath narrowed lids drive me crazy.

I want to grab his hair at the nape, clench my fingers, yank sharply, and then smash his face into the wooden table...

I try to push the violent thoughts out of my head. I don't like who I become around Ethan. Near him, I turn bitter, vain, envious, and insecure.

Selina, on the other hand, makes me softer and more compliant. Yes, I can be rough with her, but I can't fight my own nature. Selina makes me better. She's like warm sunshine. I mustn't forget that part of myself. I can't sink to the bottom under Ethan's pressure.

"Mon cheri, I never forgot France, unlike you," he shakes his head in disappointment. "You forgot everything we had as soon as you crossed the threshold of our asylum and left me forever. You left me there alone."

His accusations that I left him to suffer alone in the loony bin are so ridiculous that I allow myself to laugh out loud.

"I didn't leave you," I lower my voice. "I was running away from you."

Ethan's jaw clenches until his teeth grind, and he closes his eyes. His fingers stroke the cool blade of the letter opener, which teeters slightly in the crack of the table.

My breath becomes ragged as Ethan opens his eyes again. I've only seen them this dark a few times, and each time it led to pain. Just like under the tree, after the game he's forcing me to play now.

"Stop stalling and ask the damn question," Ethan snarls, slamming his fist on the table.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat from rising panic. My bravado is gone. I've cornered the beast again, and he's ready to attack. My dad was right when he said my sharp tongue would get me into trouble.

I should have listened to him more. Then I'd never have met Ethan, and I wouldn't be standing here now on shaking legs.

But history doesn't like the subjunctive mood. We have what we have, and that means we can only act based on the current situation.

So, Ethan wants to play a game. Fine. Let him have his game. It's a perfect opportunity for me to uncover the facts I'm interested in.

"Alright," I say calmly, gripping the shelf tightly. "Finding out where I am was easy, considering I didn't hide my choice of university. I'm sure it was the first place you checked." The gleam in his eyes and the slight curve of his lips tell me my words hit the mark. "What did you do to get accepted as a professor here?"

Ethan smiles condescendingly and makes a simple motion with his hand.

"My clever girl, you'd make an excellent spy for MI6," he sighs, leaning back in his chair, feigning complete relaxation. But I know better. Beneath that facade are taut muscles, ready to pounce at any moment. But I'm no fool. "As for my position... Well, you know how it works when you have connections, especially in high places. A few calls to the right people, and voila. You're a professor, there are articles about you online, and the most prestigious university in the country welcomes you with open arms."

"Alright, then tell me..."

Ethan cuts me off with a wave of his hand and presses a finger to his lips, calling for silence.

"It seems the little lady hasn't played this game in a while and has forgotten that after a truthful answer to her question comes my wish."

I purse my lips, hiding my frustration at not being able to distract him with my questions.

"Make your stupid wish."

"Oh, it's not stupid at all. You're going to like it," Ethan smiles. "Get on your knees between my legs."

I want to scoff and say, "what else do you want?" but I comply. And, unfortunately, not just because I want to extract as much information as possible from Ethan. I still have that irritating, lonely butterfly fluttering its wings at the base of my stomach, filling it with a warm heaviness.

Under Ethan's watchful gaze, I prudently grab a decorative pillow from the leather couch. I approach the chair, unceremoniously pushing his legs apart with my knee, causing his brow to arch questioningly, and fulfill his wish, placing the pillow between my delicate skin and the hard floor.

"I never doubted you," he says with satisfaction. "Ask your next question."

I press my arms against my sides to avoid accidentally touching Ethan and think for a moment. I need to choose my questions carefully—I remind myself—knowing how cunning Ethan can be.

"How did you get out of the asylum?"

I flinch involuntarily as Ethan reaches towards me. His condescending chuckle is a response to my heightened sense of self-preservation. He gently tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, his hand brushing my cheek, and then returns his hand to its place. My stomach churns unpleasantly, and I feel my panties dampen.

With him, it's always like this—walking the line between hatred and desire. Maybe that's why our sex was always too passionate, leaving bruises all over my body. Even when I agreed, initiated, or just didn't resist...

"I followed your example. Day by day, I started to imitate my miraculous recovery, thanks to the pleasant Alpine climate, the care of the nurses, and a handful of pills every day," he lowers his voice to a whisper. "Of course, I didn't take them," Ethan gives a malicious laugh. "Even my parents, after two years, finally decided to visit me to see how I'd 'improved.' They didn't believe the nurses and didn't want to take me back. But they had to when they saw me. The doctors practically shoved me into their hands," Ethan laughs again. "Honestly, I caused quite a commotion after you left. A few doctors went completely gray."

In the last six months of my stay at the asylum, Ethan's behavior changed completely. Before, he was considered quiet and withdrawn, but a few months after we met, he entered a manic phase. He constantly tormented the staff and scared the patients, including me. I can't even imagine what he did after I left.

"I wasn't pretending," I snap, looking up at him. I might not be in the best position right now, but I'll never let him slander me. I'm proud that I realized I needed sobriety and understood what my father was trying to tell me and why he was so worried about me.

Our relationship didn't improve much because of that. I'm still angry at him for seducing my best friend, marrying her, and abandoning my mother. But now, at least, I understand that he was right about my substance abuse.

"Believe what's convenient for you," Ethan smirks. "Now for my wish: take off all your clothes but leave your underwear on."

"That's against the rules!" I protest.

Ethan stretches lazily, raising his arms.

"It's within the rules. One wish, not several."

Damn! He outmaneuvered me again. Well, I'll get my revenge in the next round.

I angrily strip off my white T-shirt and dark blue pleated skirt, leaving only my black lace panties and sneakers. He didn't say anything about the shoes.

"Happy now?" I snap back.

"More than," Ethan purrs, running his finger over my hardened nipple.

I suppress the urge to cover myself with my hands. I won't show him any weakness. Never! Besides, I have nothing to be ashamed of—Ethan has seen me naked several times.

"Now..." I begin, ready to ask my next question, but Ethan cuts me off mid-sentence.

"Now the rules change, and you speak only the truth," he says, his voice falsely gentle as he leans closer to me.