Chapter 6 - The Unspoken Letters
Ethan stared at his father, his chest heaving under his charcoal suit jacket as seven years of built-up pain and newfound confusion warred inside him.
"Why?" Ethan demanded, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his emotion. "Why are you doing this, Father? You knew how much her leaving destroyed me seven years ago! You watched me rebuild my life, you supported my engagement to Victoria, and now you bring her back into our private family dinner?"
Richard stood tall, his posture unyielding as he kept a protective hand on Noah’s shoulder. His gaze turned cool and calculating as he looked at Ethan.
"Did Emma tell you about the letters?" Richard asked quietly.
The sentence was simple, but its effect on the room was immediate and violent.
Ethan’s face changed completely. The anger in his eyes vanished, replaced by sheer, unadulterated bewilderment.
"What letters?" Ethan asked, his voice barely a whisper as he looked between his father and Emma. "What are you talking about?"
At the mention of the letters, Emma’s face went pale. She looked directly at Richard, her body trembling slightly as if a dark, long-buried vault had suddenly been unlocked in front of her.
"Richard, please..." Emma whispered, her voice filled with a desperate plea.
Beside Ethan, Victoria slowly stepped backward another inch. Her breathing was fast and shallow, her hand trembling violently against her red dress. The haughty, condescending posture she had worn moments ago was completely gone, replaced by a raw, naked terror as she stared at Richard Blackwood, praying he wouldn't say another word.
Richard ignored Victoria entirely, keeping his steel-gray eyes fixed on his son’s confused face.
"Seven years ago, Ethan," Richard said, his voice slow, heavy, and dripping with grave significance, "certain truths were hidden from you. Letters were written. Letters were intercepted. And choices were made by people in this room to ensure you and Emma would never speak again."
"Father, what letters?!" Ethan demanded, stepping around the dark wood table, his eyes wide with frantic desperation. "Who wrote letters? What was in them?"
Richard did not answer the question. Instead, he reached into the inner breast pocket of his dark luxury suit jacket and pulled out a thick, sealed parchment envelope—yellowed slightly around the edges with age, but bearing the heavy wax seal of the Blackwood estate.
May you like
He didn't hand it to Ethan. He simply held it in his hand, letting the warm chandelier light catch the crest stamped into the wax.
"Everything you believe about the last seven years, Ethan," Richard stated calmly, "is a lie."
