Page 89 of Held-

“Before this goes any further, I want to make something abundantly clear, Reverend. The last person you need to worryabout hurting your daughter is me. I would rather carve out my own heart than ever lay a hand on her or cause her pain,” Brayden interjects.

My father's face shifts at Brayden's words, surprise briefly overtaking his anger. He clearly wasn't expecting such a direct declaration, especially not from the tattooed biker he's already decided is the villain in this story.

“Pretty words,” my father says after a moment, “but actions speak louder.”

“Like showing up unannounced at someone’s home to make accusations?” I can’t keep the edge from my tone. “Or did you mean Ethan’s actions? Because those spoke pretty loudly too.”

Dad’s jaw clenches, his gaze flicking between my face and my wrists. The conflict is plain. The urge to protect his daughter fighting against the possibility that he might’ve been wrong about Ethan.

“I need to understand what happened,” he finally says, his words softer now. “Mrs. Holloway said you looked frightened. That this man—” he gestures at Brayden “—was dragging you out the back door.”

“He wasn’t dragging me anywhere,” I correct him. “He was getting me away from Ethan before things got worse.”

“And what exactly happened with Ethan?” my father asks, his tone tight, carefully measured.

“Ethan saw us at Tony’s together. He came to our table and tried to pick a fight. When he didn’t get what he wanted…” I take a deep breath, feeling Brayden's thigh press reassuringly against mine. “He took matters into his own hands while Brayden was paying our bill. He followed me to the bathroom. He cornered me, grabbed my wrists, and was trying to force himself on me when Brayden walked in.”

My father's face turns ashen. “Force himself on you?” he repeats. “You're saying Ethan tried to...”

He can't even say the word. The mighty Reverend Thomas Montgomery, who's preached against every sin imaginable from his pulpit, can't bring himself to name what almost happened to his own daughter.

“Yes,” I say firmly. “And if Brayden hadn't shown up when he did?—”

“He would have…assaulted you,” my father finishes.

“Yes,” I affirm. “He would have raped me in that bathroom to prove a point. “

“What point?”

“I’m not sure you want to hear this part, Dad. It’s enough that Brayden wants to kill him. I don’t need you to forsake the sixth commandment, too.”

“You let him go?”

“Yes, but only because Cece asked me to let him go,” Brayden admits. “Part of me hopes she changes her mind.”

The blunt honesty makes my father flinch, but I'm grateful for it. No more lies, no more pretending. This is who we are now.

“Dad, you need to understand something,” I say, leaning forward. “Ethan isn't who you think he is. He never was. The perfect Christian husband was always an act.”

“An act?” My father shakes his head like he's trying to dislodge my words. “Cece, I've known that boy since he was sixteen years old. He's been nothing but?—”

“A liar,” I cut in. “A manipulator. You need to take him off the pedestal you still have him on, Dad.” I peer over at Brayden as he reaches out, taking my hand in my lap, reassuring me.

My father’s eyes track Brayden’s hand over mine, his expression shifting. I can see him wrestling with what I’ve just told him, the foundations of his beliefs starting to give way.

“What exactly are you saying, Cece?” he finally asks, strain tightening his words. “That Ethan… deceived us all? That the man who sat in my study every Sunday for years, who led ouryouth group, who prayed with me over dinner…was some kind of monster?”

“I’m saying he showed you what you wanted to see,” I reply, the truth bitter on my tongue. “He knew exactly how to play the part in public. But behind closed doors? He was cruel. Controlling. And when I finally stopped being the obedient wife he wanted, he made sure I paid for it.”

My father sinks slowly onto the armchair across from us, looking suddenly older than his sixty-seven years. The Bible he’s been clutching slips from his grasp onto the coffee table.

“Dad?” I say softly, watching him seem to collapse in on himself.

Before he can answer, the unmistakable sound of sirens cuts through the morning air. Brayden’s head snaps up, his whole body tensing as he moves to the window.

“What the hell?” he mutters, pushing the curtain aside.

“What is it?” I ask, my pulse spiking.