A Witness in the Shadows

Jonathan's voice was like a whip, cold and commanding.

"Go to your room and never repeat that mistake."

Ethan struggled to rise, his arms trembling as he pushed against the floor. Pain seared through his body like fire, every muscle screaming in protest. But his strength betrayed him. His limbs gave out, and he collapsed back onto the cold marble, his breath ragged.

Jonathan's eyes bore into him, unfeeling, unwavering. "Take this cur away."

The servants moved without hesitation, their faces devoid of sympathy. Their hands gripped Ethan's arms, lifting him with the same indifference one might show a broken piece of furniture. The absence of malice in their actions made it all the more cruel. They didn't hate him. They simply didn't care Outside, hidden within the embrace of darkness, Oliver watched, frozen. His heartbeat roared in his ears, drowning out the world. His breath came in short gasps, as if he too had been struck, as if he too had been cast to the floor.

He wanted to look away, to pretend he hadn't seen the brutal punishment. But his feet refused to move. This wasn't just an act of discipline—this was annihilation.

A shudder ran through him. If Jonathan could do this to Ethan, his own flesh and blood, then what would he do to a mere assistant?

He barely managed to slip away unnoticed.

Or so he thought.

"Master, Ethan's assistant saw everything," a servant murmured.

Jonathan's expression didn't change. Instead, a slow, chilling smile spread across his lips. "He won't speak a word. But keep an eye on him."

The Weight of Silence

That night, Oliver lay awake, staring at the ceiling. His hands were clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ethan's broken body hitting the floor, saw the lifeless way the servants had carried him away.

Why didn't he fight back? Why didn't he say anything?

The helplessness in Ethan's eyes haunted him. He had seen his boss act strong, collected—untouchable. But tonight, he had been just a man, beaten and alone.

Oliver rolled onto his side, exhaling shakily. "What should I do?"

The answer didn't come. The only thing that did was exhaustion.

The Mask of Strength

The next morning, Oliver arrived at the office, his stomach twisted in knots. Would Ethan even show up? Would he even be able to stand?

His heart nearly stopped when he saw him—sitting at his desk, perfectly dressed, scanning through paperwork as if nothing had happened.

Oliver hesitated before approaching, his voice unsure. "Boss… after last night… did you manage to rest?"

Ethan didn't even glance up. "Yes. Now get back to work."

The words were sharp, dismissive. A barrier slammed down between them.

But Oliver wasn't fooled. His eyes flicked over Ethan's stiff movements, the way he shifted in his seat with barely concealed pain. He was suffering.

The weight of unspoken agony filled the office. Each keystroke, each rustle of paper was a reminder of the silence between them.

"It must have been a nightmare," Oliver whispered to himself. "It couldn't have been real."

But the bruises peeking from beneath Ethan's collar said otherwise.

By the end of the day, Oliver couldn't stand it anymore. Without a second thought, he dashed to the nearest pharmacy, grabbing painkillers, ointments, anything that might help. When he returned, he placed them gently on Ethan's desk.

Ethan's gaze snapped to the small bag. "What's all this?"

Oliver met his eyes, unwavering. "These are for you, Boss. I thought you might be in pain."

A heavy silence followed.

Ethan didn't respond, didn't even thank him. But as Oliver turned to leave, Ethan's fingers curled around the medicine, his grip tightening. A silent acknowledgment.

As night fell, Ethan sat alone in his office, the dim glow of his lamp casting long shadows across his face. The pain in his body was nothing compared to the turmoil in his mind.

"This pain is temporary," he reminded himself, swallowing the pills one by one. "But giving up... giving up would be eternal."

He forced himself to focus, his eyes scanning numbers and words that blurred together. If he stopped working, the memories would come. The humiliation, the blows, the weight of his father's wrath.

He wouldn't let them win. He wouldn't let Jonathan break him.

He clenched his fists. "I will survive. No matter what."