It was Ethan, smiling, maybe ten years younger. But the woman beside him wasn't Mia. She was tall, elegant, with sharp features and jet-black hair. And Mia knew that face. She hadn't seen it in years, but she could never forget it.
Veronica.
Her hands shook as she sat down in Ethan's chair. Her pulse roared in her ears. Veronica—Luca's sister. Luca, the man Mia had loved once, before everything fell apart. Before tragedy and betrayal had shattered their world.
Veronica had vanished not long after Luca's accident. Some said she moved abroad. Others whispered rumors about debt, about trouble she couldn't escape. Mia had never gotten the full story.
And now, here she was, in a photo with Ethan. Smiling. Familiar.
Mia stared at the image, her mind trying to stitch together fragments of memories, snatches of conversations from the past. Luca had mentioned Veronica had gotten into something complicated, but he'd never said much more. And Ethan… Ethan had never mentioned knowing her.
She sifted through the papers with growing dread. Letters. Emails printed out. Transactions. Photos of places she didn't recognize. One letter caught her attention—it was handwritten, dated six years ago. Before she and Ethan had met.
"I told you this would catch up to us eventually. I've done what I can to stay hidden, but
Mia's getting close to the truth now, and I can't protect you if she finds out everything. You should have told her."
Mia's heart pounded so hard she thought she might faint. Her name—her name—in Veronica's handwriting. What truth? What connection?
Flipping through another folder, she found something that chilled her to the bone—a police report. Luca's accident. But the details had been highlighted. Notes in the margin.
"Skid marks—deliberate?"
"Who saw him last?"
Her vision blurred. She remembered that night like it was carved into her skin. The call. The way Luca's car had gone o the road. Everyone had said it was an accident. A tragic,
meaningless accident.
But had Ethan known something? Had he been there?
The front door clicked.
Mia froze.
Footsteps.
She stuffed the papers back into the drawer, closed it, locked it, and replaced the key just as Ethan called out, "I'm back!"
She barely made it out of the study, heart racing, face pale.
"There was a line at the store," Ethan said, walking into the kitchen with a paper bag. "Sorry it took so long."
Mia gave him a faint smile, her body on autopilot.
She watched him move, watched the way he avoided her eyes. Everything felt foreign now. Alien. She needed answers—but more than that, she needed to know who the man she loved really was.
That night, lying beside him in the dark, she couldn't sleep. Every breath he took felt like a secret. Every memory they had shared seemed tinted with a new, bitter shade of doubt.
Who was Ethan? And why had he hidden this part of his life from her?
One thing was clear: the past hadn't stayed buried.
And whatever secrets he kept—Mia had just opened the door to them.