Beneath the Bully's Gaze

Blood Ties

The cold, sterile atmosphere of the private meeting room in the Carter family estate felt heavier than usual. Ethan Carter, the handsome CEO of the Carter Corporation, sat across from his father, Charles Carter, whose features were as familiar to Ethan as his own. The resemblance was undeniable—both men had the same sharp jawline, intense eyes, and dark hair. Their faces, chiseled by years of experience and hidden pain, reflected the weight of years spent building and maintaining their empire.

Charles leaned forward, his fingers interlocked, the tension of the conversation clearly evident in his posture.

"Ethan," he began, his voice low but resolute, "we need to discuss the future of the company. The merger's getting complicated, and you know the investors have their eyes on us."

Ethan nodded, his mind elsewhere. His gaze wandered to the window, but his focus remained sharp, listening intently to his father's words. Despite his stoic exterior, the thoughts swirling in his head were far from the boardroom.

He had more pressing matters on his mind—an issue he had buried deep in the recesses of his thoughts for years.

After a few moments of discussing strategies and business plans, Charles shifted the conversation. "There's something else we need to talk about, Ethan. It's about your mother."

Ethan stiffened in his seat. The name was like a trigger—one that brought up images of loss and rage. His mother, the woman who had loved him unconditionally, whose life had been tragically cut short in a car accident years ago.

Ethan's pulse quickened. He had buried his grief for so long that it was almost a foreign sensation to feel it again.

Charles' voice grew more solemn. "I've finally found the man who caused her death. After all these years of investigation, we've discovered who he is." He paused, letting the weight of the words sink in.

Ethan clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. He had always wondered who was responsible for the accident, but the mystery had never been solved. His mother's death had remained an open wound, festering in the back of his mind, unanswered. He could hardly breathe as the suspense built.

"Who?" Ethan's voice cracked, though he fought to keep it steady.

Charles looked at his son, his eyes narrowing slightly. "His name is Henry Winters."

The words hit Ethan like a punch to the gut. His breath caught, and his heart skipped a beat. The name echoed in his mind like a distant, ominous whisper. "Henry Winters..." he repeated, almost in disbelief. Winters.

For a brief moment, Ethan felt the room tilt beneath him. His mind raced, and he quickly shook off the thought that surfaced, too improbable, too dark. "That can't be... Mira's last name. Mira Winters..." Ethan muttered under his breath, but his father didn't hear him.

Charles continued, unaware of his son's mounting horror. "The driver's identity was hidden for years. The plate number was fake, and we couldn't track him down. But after all this time, we've got the man who did it."

Ethan's eyes widened. He wanted to deny it, to push the thought aside, but he couldn't. The idea that Mira—of all people—could be involved, was too much to accept. She had always been just a fragile girl to him, someone he tortured because of his own unresolved anger, not someone capable of such a connection to his mother's death.

His chest tightened, and a wave of anger mixed with confusion surged within him. He tried to shake the thought away, but it wouldn't leave him.

"No," he whispered to himself. "This doesn't make sense.

It can't be her family. Both her parents are dead..." His mind stumbled as it tried to rationalize the impossible situation.

---

The following day, Ethan found himself standing at the cold, grim visitor room of the prison, facing the man who had caused his mother's death. Henry Winters, the man whose name haunted his every thought now, sat behind the glass partition, his weary eyes fixed on Ethan's gaze.

The feeling in Ethan's chest was raw, like a wound freshly opened. He could barely suppress the desire to reach through the glass, to grab Henry by the throat, and make him feel the years of torment and rage that had built inside of him since that fateful night. His mother's death was not just a tragic accident—it was the catalyst for everything that had gone wrong in Ethan's life.

"You're Henry Winters," Ethan said, his voice controlled, but his fists clenched tight. "You're the one who killed my mother."

Henry's face was lined with years of guilt and regret, but there was something cold about him. He didn't show remorse. His eyes never wavered from Ethan's, but there was an unmistakable glint of something else—fear.

"It wasn't intentional," Henry said quickly, his voice cracking. "I was drunk that night. I... I didn't know what I was doing."

Ethan's heart thudded in his chest, but his mind could barely process the words. He wanted to rip Henry apart, to hear him beg for mercy, but the steel of control kept him still. "Drunk? You killed my mother, and you're telling me it was an accident?"

Henry lowered his head, looking away. "It was an accident. I swear to you, I didn't mean for it to happen."

The words felt hollow. Ethan could tell there was something missing, a truth Henry wasn't telling. But he couldn't push too hard—he needed answers, but his time with Henry was limited.

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Tell me, Winters," he said, barely able to contain his fury, "are you Mira's father?"

Henry's gaze snapped back to Ethan. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, then a flicker of recognition. His lips parted as though he was about to speak, but the words faltered. "What does she have to do with this?"

Ethan leaned in closer to the glass, his voice low and venomous. "I know everything. You're Mira's father, aren't you?"

Henry's eyes flashed with something Ethan couldn't place—fear, regret, perhaps both. But he didn't answer. Ethan wasn't going to wait any longer.

"I'm done here," Ethan said, his voice cold and unforgiving. He turned and walked away, his mind still reeling with what he had just learned. The world around him seemed to shift. The idea that Mira could be tied to the man who had killed his mother was too much to bear.

Could it really be a coincidence? The similarities in their last names? Was Mira involved in this accident? Could she even know the truth?

---

Back in the solitude of his car, Ethan couldn't shake the thoughts swirling in his mind. The icy air inside the vehicle didn't help him focus—it only seemed to intensify the overwhelming sense of dread gnawing at him. He couldn't get the image of Henry Winters' face out of his mind, nor could he rid himself of the strange and undeniable feeling that Mira's life was far more entangled in his than he had ever realized.

His mind raced as he made his way home, but nothing made sense. He clenched the steering wheel tighter, the events of the day a dark cloud hanging over him.

He couldn't ignore the truth for much longer. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together—slowly, cruelly. And Ethan knew that this was just the beginning of a much larger and far more twisted story.

As the car sped toward his mansion, Ethan glanced once more at the rearview mirror. In his reflection, he saw not just the anger and determination that defined him but something else: the unmistakable reflection of his own dark past. It was a reminder that sometimes, the answers we seek are buried deep within the shadows of the people we least expect.