Love Admits Deceit

Silent Battles

Ethan reclined in one of the plush leather chairs of his villa, his eyes drifting lazily toward the large windows overlooking the sprawling estate. His mind replayed the scene from earlier that day—Emma standing there, drenched in soda, her small hands clenched into fists. The memory of her reaction made him chuckle. He could still see the way her face had scrunched up, trying to look angry, like she was glaring at him, but instead of intimidation, all he saw was the adorable roundness of her cheeks, her wide eyes, and those plum lips pressed together in frustration.

It was almost laughable how she thought she could hide her emotions from him. Every time she squeezed her face into that cute little scowl, it only made her look more endearing, more like a harmless kitten. That’s what she was to him—a kitten trying to act like a lion. The more she fought back with her glares and stiff posture, the more amusing it became.

"She really is something," Ethan muttered to himself, a smirk spreading across his lips as he leaned back further into the chair, enjoying the memory.

He couldn’t wait to see her again, to push her buttons, to see how she would react the next time he found a way to humiliate her. There was something thrilling about watching the emotions flicker across her face—anger, embarrassment, and that stubborn determination she always carried. It made everything more fun. And no matter how hard she tried to be tough, she couldn’t hide that cute vulnerability, that softness he found almost irresistible. She was like a little kitty cat, hissing and scratching, but too small to do any real damage.

Ethan’s smile widened as he thought about it. Torturing her had become a kind of sport for him, a game he played to see just how far he could push her before she broke—or at least, until she finally realized she couldn’t win against him. He loved the control, the way she had no choice but to take it, just like today. He’d never tire of seeing her cute, furious face, and he was already thinking of what he’d do next to keep the game going.

After the humiliation at school, Emma’s thoughts were consumed by Ethan. His smirk haunted her, replaying in her mind like a bad dream she couldn’t escape. As she scrubbed the floor at the diner, her hands moved furiously, the anger from earlier fueling her. She could see his face, that smug expression he always wore, and it made her blood boil. She wished she could crush him, wipe that arrogant look off his face for good.

She scrubbed harder, her knuckles white from the effort. At one point, she found herself rubbing a particular spot on the floor over and over, as if by scrubbing it clean she could erase his smirk from her memory. Her mind was fixated on that moment, on the way he had looked down on her, mocking her as if she were nothing. The thought of it made her want to scream.

“Emma?” Her mother’s voice cut through her thoughts, startling her. Emma froze, her hand still on the scrub brush. She looked up to see her mother standing nearby, her brow furrowed with concern. “You’ve been scrubbing that spot for a while now. Are you okay?”

Emma blinked, realizing what she had been doing. She quickly forced a smile, trying to mask the frustration and hurt bubbling just beneath the surface. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she lied, pushing the anger down. “Just trying to get this stubborn stain out.”

Her mother didn’t seem convinced but didn’t press the issue. She simply nodded, looking tired after the long day, and Emma was relieved to not have to explain. The last thing she wanted was to talk about Ethan or what had happened at school. She didn’t want to relive that moment any more than she already had.

After they finished cleaning the diner and locked up for the night, Emma walked home with her mother in silence. The night was cool, but the quiet between them felt heavy. As they approached their small, run-down apartment, Emma found herself silently praying. Please, let Dad be out tonight. The thought of facing him after the day she’d had filled her with dread. She hoped he would be gone, maybe at a bar or with friends—anywhere but home.

But as they opened the door and stepped inside, Emma’s heart sank.

There, on the sofa, sat her father, a beer in hand, and beside him was a woman Emma had never seen before. The woman laughed loudly at something he said, her hand resting casually on his arm. Emma’s stomach twisted. She exchanged a quick glance with her mother, who looked equally unsettled but said nothing. Neither of them wanted to face whatever was happening in that living room.

Without a word, they both retreated to their small shared room. Emma quietly locked the door behind them, the click of the lock sounding louder in the silence. They didn’t speak as they got ready for bed, each lost in their own thoughts, trying to ignore the muffled voices and laughter coming from the living room. Emma’s heart ached with a mix of anger and exhaustion, not just from the day’s humiliation but from the reality of her home life, which always seemed to weigh her down.

As she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the image of Ethan’s smirk flashed in her mind again. She clenched her fists under the blanket, the rage building once more. But there was nothing she could do—about Ethan, about her father, about any of it. All she could do was try to survive another day.