Chapter 163 The Final Card
Author's POV:
Olivia didn't know that her new phone had been fitted with a surveillance chip.
The moment Emily hung up with her, Ethan's programmer extracted the recording. He listened to it once in his office, rain drumming against the windows. His knuckles went white against the desk edge.
"Get me Justin," he said into his phone.
His assistant appeared within two minutes.
"Contact Ella," Ethan said, his voice dangerously calm. "I want everything on Emily Sullivan. The male actors she's slept with. The ones she coerced. Recordings, videos, photos—high resolution, undeniable. Release it all to the entertainment press within seventy-two hours."
Justin's fingers paused over his tablet. "Sir, Matthew Sullivan is still under federal investigation. If we move against his daughter now, it could compromise—"
"I don't give a fuck about the investigation." Ethan's eyes were ice. "Emily crossed a line."
Justin understood immediately. This was about Olivia.
"I'll coordinate with Ella," he said. "What else?"
"Contact the victims. Have PR draft identical statements for them to post. Make it unified. Make it impossible to ignore." Ethan stood, pacing to the window. "And find someone to short Starshine Media stock within five days."
"Consider it done." Justin hesitated. "Sir, should we... perhaps send Miss Reed abroad temporarily? Just until this blows over. She's finished her semester anyway—"
"No." The word was final. "I don't trust anyone else to keep her safe."
Justin nodded.
---
At Oakwood Estate, Olivia moved through the days like a ghost.
She didn't fight this time. Didn't scream or cry or demand her freedom. She ate when Sarah brought her meals. Smiled when Ethan came home at night. Let him pull her into bed and do whatever he wanted without protest.
She'd learned her lesson. Fighting only made things worse.
But during the day, while Ethan was at work, she used Sarah's phone to text Sofia Rodriguez.
I need your help, she'd written that first day. I want to apply to schools in the Netherlands. Fashion design.
Sofia's response had been immediate: I'll send you everything you need.
Over the next few weeks, Sofia became Olivia's lifeline. She researched programs, sent links to universities, helped Olivia draft personal statements. Every morning after Ethan left, Olivia locked herself in the study and worked on her applications with an intensity that bordered on obsession.
---
Christmas came.
Ethan left for the Bennett estate on Christmas Eve, as he always did.
Olivia and Sarah ate takeout in the kitchen, paper plates and plastic forks, no ceremony.
At 11:47 PM, she heard the front door open.
She'd already gone to bed, exhausted from a day of forced cheerfulness. When she heard footsteps on the stairs, she closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, feigning sleep.
The bedroom door opened. Closed.
She felt the mattress dip as Ethan sat on the edge of the bed. His hand touched her hair, smoothing it back from her face.
Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek—gentle, almost reverent.
Olivia's chest tightened. She kept her eyes closed, kept her breathing even.
After a moment, Ethan stood and went into the bathroom.
When he finally got out of the shower, he toweled off and pulled on sleep pants. Then, restless, he grabbed his phone and headed to the study next door. He needed to review a contract that had arrived earlier that week—something about a supplier in Bangkok.
He opened the bottom drawer of his desk, rifling through folders.
That's when he found it.
Tucked in the back corner, behind a stack of old tax documents: a manila folder, its edges worn and bent from repeated handling.
He pulled it out.
Inside were printed university brochures. Application forms. Personal statements covered in red pen marks and crossed-out sentences.
Ethan stared at the papers, his jaw clenching.
She was planning to leave.
For a long moment, he just sat there, the folder open on his lap. Anger surged through him—hot and vicious—but he forced it down.
Then he carefully put everything back exactly as he'd found it.
---
The next day, Ethan left early. By evening, he still hadn't come home. When Olivia called, Harry answered. "He's tied up with business, Miss Reed. He said not to wait up."
"Where is he?"
"At the Bennett estate, ma'am. Family obligations."
In reality, Ethan was in a Beverly Hills hospital getting stitches in his arm.
Ethan didn't come home until New Year's Day.
---
After the holidays, Ethan's schedule became brutal.
He left before dawn, came home past midnight. Some nights, he didn't come home at all.
Olivia stopped asking where he'd been.
But one evening, when he came home early for once, she decided to take a chance.
They'd just finished dinner. She pulled him outside to the garden, slipping her hand into his.
"Walk with me?" she asked.
He nodded.
They walked in silence for a while, the winter air cold against their faces. Then Olivia stopped and turned to him, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him.
He responded immediately, his hands sliding to her waist.
When she pulled back, she looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
"Ethan," she said softly. "I know you're trying to protect me. But I can't stay locked up forever. Please. I just... I need to get out. Even just for a few hours."
His expression hardened. "Where do you want to go?"
"A movie. That's all. Just one movie. I'll come right back, I promise."
He studied her for a long moment. Then: "When?"
She told him the date—the same day she had her passport appointment scheduled.
His eyes gleamed. "I'll take you."
Her smile faltered. "You don't have to—"
"I'll take you," he repeated.
---
On the appointed day, Ethan drove her downtown himself.
Olivia sat in the passenger seat, her hands clenched in her lap. She kept her eyes on the window, watching the city blur past.
When he pulled up in front of the federal building, her heart stopped.
Ethan put the car in park.
Then he reached into the center console and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it on. Off. On. Off.
He hadn't smoked since Christmas night. Hadn't touched alcohol either.
Ever since he'd found that folder tucked behind his law books, he'd been trying. Trying to be better. Cleaner. Healthier.
Because he'd run out of options.
He'd tried control. Tried surveillance. Tried locking her up, threatening her, manipulating her. And still she was slipping away.
Now there was only one card left to play.
Get her pregnant.
A baby would tie her to him in a way nothing else could. She wouldn't leave if she was carrying his child. Couldn't leave. Not Olivia, with her fierce protectiveness and her bone-deep sense of responsibility.
"So," he said softly. "Which movie did you want to see?"
Olivia's throat went dry.
"Ethan—"
She stared at him, her pulse pounding in her ears.
When she didn't answer, he turned to look at her. His eyes were dark. Unreadable.
Finally, she whispered: "The Netherlands. I want to study fashion design."
He smiled—cold and humorless.
"Is that all?" he asked. "Or do you want to leave me too?"