Beneath the Bully's Gaze

Shattered Truths

The air in the office was stifling, though the temperature was perfectly regulated. Mira Winters sat at her desk, sorting through an endless stack of documents Ethan Carter had piled on her the previous day. Her hands trembled slightly; not from the paperwork, but from the memory of what had transpired the night before. She still felt the phantom sensation of his harsh touch, the bruising force of his grip, and the venom in his words. 

Mira's thoughts were interrupted by the sharp buzz of the office phone. It was Ethan's assistant calling, summoning her to his office. The tone carried no warmth, just cold professionalism. Mira swallowed hard, forcing herself to rise. She straightened her blazer, adjusted the necklace she always wore—a simple pendant her mother had given her before she died—and took a deep breath. 

As she stepped into Ethan's office, she was immediately struck by the oppressive atmosphere. Ethan sat at his desk, his gaze piercing. His face, chiseled and cold, was a mask of restrained fury. 

"Sit down," he ordered, his voice low and sharp. 

Mira obeyed, sitting on the edge of the chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She felt like a prisoner on trial, the weight of his scrutiny unbearable. 

"I have a question," he began, his tone devoid of emotion. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, his hands clasped together. "Tell me about your father." 

Mira blinked, taken aback. "My father?" she echoed. "I don't know anything about him. He died when I was a baby." 

Ethan's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "Don't lie to me," he hissed. 

"I'm not lying," Mira said, her voice trembling but firm. "I never knew him. I can't even remember his face." 

Suddenly, Ethan stood, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. He rounded the desk in a few swift strides, looming over her. "You expect me to believe that?" His voice was rising, his composure slipping. 

"I'm telling the truth," Mira said, standing as well, though she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. "Why are you even asking about him? What does this have to do with anything?" 

Ethan's response was a blur of fury. Before she could react, his hand lashed out, striking her cheek with enough force to send her stumbling back into the chair. She gasped, her hand flying to her face, her eyes wide with shock. 

"You're lying to me!" Ethan roared, grabbing her by the throat. His grip wasn't tight enough to cut off her air completely, but it was firm enough to terrify her. "You think I don't know who your father is? You think I don't know what you're hiding?" 

Mira choked, tears springing to her eyes. "I-I don't know what you're talking about!" 

Ethan's face was inches from hers now, his voice a venomous whisper. "Your father is Henry Winters, the man who killed my mother. And you—" his eyes blazed with hatred—"you've been playing innocent this whole time. But I know the truth. You and your father had an agenda to ruin my family." 

Mira's mind was spinning. The words didn't make sense. "That's not true!" she cried, her voice cracking. "I didn't even know he was alive!" 

Ethan released her abruptly, and she collapsed into the chair, gasping for air. He paced the room like a caged animal, his hands running through his hair in frustration. "He's in prison now," he said, his tone bitter. "He admitted to the accident. But the story doesn't add up. And somehow, you're involved in all of this." 

Mira shook her head vehemently. "I didn't even know he was alive!" she repeated, her voice rising. "Why would I have anything to do with your mother's death?" 

Ethan stopped pacing, turning to face her. His expression was unreadable, a dangerous mix of anger and something else she couldn't identify. "If you're so innocent," he said coldly, "then prove it. Go see him. Ask him yourself." 

---

The prison loomed ahead of her, its gray walls and barbed wire casting long shadows in the afternoon sun. Mira clutched her bag tightly, her knuckles white. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, confusion, anger. She didn't want to believe Ethan, but the gnawing seed of doubt had taken root. 

Inside, she sat in the visitor's room, her heart pounding as she waited. Then the door on the other side of the glass partition opened, and a man she had never seen before walked in. His hair was graying, his face lined with age and weariness. He sat down across from her, picking up the phone with a shaky hand. 

"Long time no see," the man said, his voice rough but steady. 

Mira's breath caught in her throat. "Are you... my father?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. 

The man's eyes softened, and he nodded. "Yes, Mira. I'm Henry Winters. Your father." 

Mira's chest tightened. "Prove it," she demanded. "I don't remember you. You could be anyone." 

Henry reached into the pocket of his prison uniform, pulling out a tattered photograph. He pressed it to the glass. It was a picture of a younger version of himself, a woman Mira instantly recognized as her mother, and a baby she assumed was herself. 

Mira's heart sank. The proof was undeniable. This man was her father. 

"I don't understand," Mira said, her voice trembling. "Why... why are you here? Why did you kill Ethan's mother?" 

Henry's expression darkened, and he looked away. "It wasn't supposed to happen that way," he said, his voice thick with regret. 

"What do you mean?" Mira pressed, leaning closer to the glass. "What are you saying?" 

Henry hesitated, then met her gaze. "I wasn't trying to kill her," he admitted. "I was trying to kill you." 

The words hit Mira like a physical blow. She recoiled, her hand flying to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. "W-what?" she stammered, unable to comprehend what she was hearing. 

Henry's expression was cold now, devoid of the softness it had held moments before. "You were a mistake, Mira. Your mother used me, then left me for another man. You were the reminder of her betrayal, the living proof of how she ruined my life. I couldn't bear it." 

Mira shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "No," she whispered. "That's not true. You're lying." 

"I wish I were," Henry said, his tone bitter. "But it's the truth. That night, I saw you on the road. I didn't care what happened to me—I just wanted you gone. But... I missed. I hit her instead." 

Mira's world crumbled around her. The father she had never known, the man she had hoped might bring her some sense of belonging, had just admitted he had wanted her dead. 

She stood abruptly, her chair screeching against the floor. "I can't... I can't do this," she said, her voice breaking. She turned and fled, leaving Henry behind, his expression unreadable. 

---

Outside the prison, Mira collapsed onto a bench, her head in her hands. She couldn't stop shaking. Her father had tried to kill her. And in his attempt, he had destroyed Ethan's family instead. 

The weight of it all was unbearable. And now, she had to return to the man whose life her father had shattered. The man who hated her more than anything. The man who held her future in his hands. 

The storm inside her was just beginning.