Chapter 7: The Name He Buried

I barely slept.

The photograph of the crashed car kept appearing in my mind.

The black wolf symbol.

Blackwood Road.

The mysterious accident.

And Ethan.

Somehow, they were all connected.

But I still had one question I couldn't answer.

Who exactly was Ethan Carter?

The next morning, I waited until he left before opening my laptop again.

I returned to the article about the accident.

I read it carefully.

The names of the people involved had never been released.

That was strange.

Three years had passed.

Why would something that serious have so little information?

I searched for other reports.

Nothing.

Then I tried a different approach.

I searched for Ethan Carter San Francisco.

Again, nothing useful.

I changed the search date.

Three years ago.

Still nothing.

I leaned back.

Then I remembered something.

The marriage contract.

I opened the drawer beside my bed and pulled it out.

I stared at Ethan's signature.

Ethan Carter.

It looked normal.

But suddenly, I wondered whether the signature was even real.

I searched for information about legal name changes in California.

Then I searched for public records.

I couldn't access most of them without paying, but one website allowed me to search basic information.

I entered his name.

Ethan Carter.

The result appeared.

I stared at the screen.

No record found.

I tried again.

Still nothing.

I checked the spelling.

Everything was correct.

No record.

I felt a strange chill.

Maybe the website was simply incomplete.

I searched for myself.

My information appeared.

I searched for my mother.

Her information appeared too.

But Ethan Carter?

Nothing.

I closed the page.

Maybe I was overthinking everything.

Then I remembered something from the first day we met.

He had told me he had done his research on me.

He knew my name.

He knew about my family.

He knew about my mother's medical bills.

He knew where I studied.

He knew almost everything about me.

But how much did I actually know about him?

Almost nothing.

I opened my notes again.

Under his name, I typed:

No obvious records.

Then I added:

Possible false identity.

I stared at those words.

My heart was pounding.

I didn't want to believe them.

But the evidence was beginning to pile up.

I searched for the Blackwood family again.

This time, I looked at old photographs.

There were dozens.

Family gatherings.

Charity events.

Business meetings.

Weddings.

Funerals.

I studied every face.

Then I found a photograph from six years ago.

The Blackwood family stood outside a large mansion.

Ethan's father was there.

His mother was there.

Several other family members were there.

But there was one empty space between two people.

Someone had been cropped out of the photograph.

I zoomed in.

The editing was obvious.

Someone had deliberately removed a person.

I checked the article.

The caption read:

The Blackwood family celebrates a private family occasion.

Private.

That word appeared often whenever I searched them.

I opened another photograph.

This one was from five years ago.

Again, someone had been removed.

Another photograph.

Same thing.

Another.

Same thing.

My heart began racing.

Someone wasn't simply hiding Ethan.

Someone had been erasing him.

I quickly saved the photographs.

Then I noticed a comment beneath one of the articles.

It was from an anonymous account.

The comment was only three words.

He should stay buried.

I stared at it.

My fingers went cold.

Buried.

Why would someone say that about a living person?

I clicked on the account.

It no longer existed.

I tried searching the username.

Nothing.

I closed the page.

I needed to talk to someone.

But who?

I couldn't tell my friends.

I couldn't tell my family.

And I certainly couldn't tell Ethan.

So I did the only thing I could think of.

I went to a small café near campus.

I sat in the corner with my laptop and continued searching.

Hours passed.

Then I found something.

An old business registration document.

The company name was different from Blackwood Group.

It was a smaller company.

Registered in California.

The document listed one of the directors.

I stared at the name.

It wasn't Ethan Carter.

But the initials matched.

E.C.

I opened another document.

Different company.

Same initials.

Another.

Same initials.

My heart started pounding.

Whoever E.C. was, he had been involved with several businesses connected to the Blackwood family.

I searched the initials.

Nothing.

Then I noticed a date.

The earliest document was registered almost seven years ago.

That was before I had ever met Ethan.

Before the contract.

Before California had become my home.

Before any of this.

I sat back.

Maybe Ethan hadn't simply lied about his name.

Maybe he had built an entire identity around a name that wasn't his.

I closed my laptop.

I needed to see him.

Not because I wanted answers.

Because I wanted to see whether he would lie to my face.

When I returned home that evening, Ethan was in the living room.

He looked up when I entered.

"Where were you?"

"Out."

"Where?"

I dropped my bag onto the chair.

"Why?"

"Because I asked."

I looked at him.

Then smiled.

"Just around."

He studied me.

"You've been acting differently."

"Have I?"

"Yes."

I walked past him.

"Maybe I'm just getting used to being married."

He didn't smile.

"Jasmine."

I stopped.

"Yes?"

"Is there something you want to ask me?"

My heart jumped.

I turned around.

"Actually, there is."

He waited.

I looked directly into his eyes.

"How long have you been Ethan Carter?"

The silence that followed was immediate.

His expression changed.

Not much.

But enough.

I had hit something.

"What kind of question is that?"

"A simple one."

"Why would you ask me that?"

"Because I've been thinking."

I stepped closer.

"You knew everything about me before we got married."

He said nothing.

"But I know almost nothing about you."

His jaw tightened.

"I told you what you needed to know."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me something."

I held his gaze.

"Where were you three years ago?"

He froze.

For one second, I saw something in his eyes.

Fear.

Then it disappeared.

"Why?"

"Just answer."

"I don't remember."

I almost laughed.

"You don't remember where you were three years ago?"

"No."

"Interesting."

He stared at me.

I picked up my bag.

"Goodnight, Ethan."

I walked toward the stairs.

"Jasmine."

I stopped.

His voice was quiet.

"Don't dig into things you don't understand."

I turned around.

"Why?"

He looked at me.

"Because sometimes the truth is more dangerous than the lie."

I stood there silently.

Then I went upstairs.

I entered my bedroom and locked the door.

I opened my laptop again.

The folder was still there.

I looked at the name written across the top.

ETHAN CARTER.

Then I deleted the name.

I replaced it with something else.

WHO IS HE?

I stared at the screen.

Then I opened the business records one more time.

The initials E.C. were still there.

But beneath one of the documents was a line I hadn't noticed before.

A previous company name.

I read it once.

Then again.

My blood ran cold.

Because the company had been registered under a completely different surname.

Not Carter.

Not even close.

I whispered the name to myself.

And suddenly, I understood.

Ethan Carter wasn't the name he was born with.