Chapter 5
528words
I read him the news, discussed financial markets, and occasionally updated him on Pamela's misfortunes.
Whenever I mentioned Pamela's troubles, the cardiac monitor would register several quick, light beats.
I knew he was listening.
That afternoon, I was reading him a book on artificial intelligence when, midway through a chapter, I felt pressure on my hand.
I stopped reading and looked down.
Ethan's hand had closed around mine, gripping it firmly.
His grip wasn't powerful, but it was unmistakably deliberate.
My heart raced as I looked up at his face.
His eyelashes fluttered slightly.
I held my breath, afraid to even blink.
Seconds later, those eyes that had remained closed for ten long years slowly opened before me.
His eyes were the deepest black—like a midnight sky hiding stars—and after a moment of disorientation, they focused directly on my face.
His lips moved slightly as if trying to speak, but after years of silence, he could only produce faint, indistinct sounds.
I leaned down, bringing my ear close to his lips.
I heard him summon all his strength to whisper my name with perfect clarity.
"Zoe."
His voice was hoarse yet gentle as a whisper.
Tears sprang to my eyes without warning.
Ethan Hawkins had awakened.
The news exploded like a bombshell, sending shockwaves through the Hawkins family and the entire business world.
Old Mr. Hawkins wept with joy as the entire Hawkins estate erupted in celebration, as if they'd survived the apocalypse.
A team of specialists arrived immediately to conduct comprehensive examinations on Ethan.
The results were remarkably encouraging—apart from muscle atrophy from prolonged bed rest requiring rehabilitation, his brain and cognitive functions were completely intact.
He remembered everything—the fire from ten years ago and everything he'd heard during his decade of immobility, like a conscious mind trapped in an unresponsive shell.
After waking, he refused to let anyone near him except me.
Old Mr. Hawkins tried to speak with him, but Ethan just looked at me, his eyes filled with absolute trust and dependence.
I had no choice but to remain by his side, holding his hand—only then would he cooperate with the medical team.
That evening, after everyone had gone, we were alone again.
He gazed at me, his dark eyes swimming with emotions—the joy of returning to life, gratitude buried for ten long years, and guilt so profound it seemed impenetrable.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice still hoarse but stronger than before, "for making you wait ten years."
I shook my head and smiled. "Not so long—just enough time for me to grow up."
He smiled too, a hint of color warming his pale face.
"That fire—I remember it," he said. "I remember you dragging me out, the wooden beam crashing onto your back, you leaning close to my ear, crying while humming a tune I'd never heard before."
"You whispered, 'Don't be afraid. I'll get you out of here.'"
His gaze burned into me as he enunciated each word clearly: "And I remember you telling me your name—Zoe Gray."
So he had known all along.
Pamela's lies had never fooled him for a second.
