Chapter 178 Rush Hour Guardian
Olivia's POV:
The next morning, I was pulling Jack toward the door when the elevator chimed.
The doors slid open.
Ethan stood inside.
Jack's face lit up immediately. "Good morning, Mr. Bennett!"
Ethan crouched down.
"Morning, buddy."
Then he straightened. Reached into his pocket. Pulled out two small squares wrapped in gold foil.
"Got something for you guys." He held one out to Jack, one to me. "Try this. Your favorite flavor."
My stomach dropped.
I knew those wrappers. Belgian chocolate. The kind I'd devoured an entire box of during our trip to Brussels—piece after piece, sugar-drunk and laughing, until Ethan had physically taken the box away.
"Liv, you'll make yourself sick."
"But they're so good!"
The next morning I'd woken up and reached for more. He'd let me have two, then cut me off. By lunch I was begging. He'd kissed my sugar-stained lips and laughed.
"No. You're cut off. And two sodas a month from now on. That's it."
He'd controlled everything. What I ate. What I drank. Where I went.
But at night—at night he didn't treat me like a baby at all.
I blinked. Forced the memory back.
"I'm good," I said. My voice came out flat. "Thanks."
Ethan's mouth curved.
He handed both chocolates to Jack. "Guess you get extra, little man."
Jack's eyes went wide. "Really?"
I opened my mouth to object, but Ethan cut in smoothly. "Your mom's right, though. Just one now, okay? Too much sugar's not good for kids. Save the other for after dinner."
Jack nodded seriously. "Okay!"
The elevator dinged. Ground floor.
I grabbed Jack's hand and walked out fast.
"Mommy," Jack said. "We're not taking Mr. Bennett's car?"
"No, baby. We have our own car. We can't always depend on other people. Okay?"
"Okay, Mommy."
---
In the parking garage, I buckled Jack into his car seat. Checked the straps twice. Kissed his forehead.
Three spots over, a massive black Maybach gleamed under the fluorescent lights. License plate: 4EV707.
I slid into the driver's seat. Gripped the wheel.
I hated driving in rush hour.
Last March, I'd been delivering costume adjustments to a suburban shoot—some streaming series Sophie was styling. I'd hit evening rush hour. At an intersection, a bicycle swerved out from my blind spot. Middle-aged man with a kid strapped to the back.
I'd slammed the brakes. My seatbelt locked. The bike wobbled, steadied. The man yelled something and pedaled away.
But I'd sat there. Hands shaking. Cars honking behind me.
I could've killed them.
Since then, I avoided rush hour whenever possible.
But today I didn't have a choice.
I started the engine. Pulled out slowly. My shoulders were already tight.
Traffic was building. I merged onto the main road, hands at ten and two, spine straight, eyes forward.
A horn blared behind me.
I checked the rearview. Gray Toyota. Middle-aged guy, face red, waving his arms.
"Move it, lady! Jesus Christ! You driving or sleeping?"
I ignored him. Maintained my speed. Safe. Controlled.
Another honk. Longer this time.
"Fuck's sake! Some of us have jobs to get to!"
Then—headlights. The Maybach slid beside me, smooth as water.
Ethan. One hand on the wheel. Casual. Relaxed.
He glanced over. Smiled.
Not arrogance. Just reassurance.
Then he dropped back, that massive black car blocking the Toyota behind me.
The angry driver went pale. Switched lanes. Sped off.
I exhaled.
We drove like that all the way to the preschool—Ethan beside me or behind me, a silent wall. No one honked. No one cut me off.
At the school, Jack waved at the Maybach. "Bye, Mr. Bennett!"
I didn't look at him. Just took Jack inside, kissed him goodbye, and returned to my car.
I slid into the driver's seat. Started the engine.
Ethan was still there.
He followed me to the office building.
---
Around noon, another bouquet arrived at my desk.
Sophie leaned over. "Oh my God, Liv. Who's your secret admirer?"
I shook my head. But I knew.
I'd planned to wait for him. To tell him to stop. Face to face. But he never showed up.
By three, I was done. I grabbed my bag and headed down to the garage.
And there he was.
Ethan Bennett. Leaning against his car. Different suit now—black instead of gray. White shirt, silver tie. His hair was slicked back, freshly styled.
He was smoking. Three cigarette butts already on the ground near his feet.
He'd been waiting a while.
I walked toward my car. Didn't look at him.
"Heading home?"
"Obviously."
"Rush hour." He pushed off the car. "Let me drive you."
"I'll manage."
My phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Reed? This is Anna from Little Sprouts Preschool."
My heart lurched.
"There's been a small incident," she continued, voice tight. Professional. "Jack had a little fall. He hit his head. We've taken him to Children's Hospital as a precaution. You should come right away."
"Is he—how bad—"
"He's awake and alert. Just shaken. The doctor's examining him now."
"I'm on my way."
I hung up. My hands were shaking.
Ethan was right there. "What's wrong?"
"Jack." My voice cracked. "He fell. Hit his head. They took him to the hospital."
I turned to him. Didn't think. Just reacted.
"Please. Drive me. I can't—I need to get there now."
Ethan just opened the passenger door.
I slid in.
"Which hospital?"
"Children's. On Sunset."
---
Jack sat on an examination table in a small room. White bandage wrapped around his forehead. His eyes were red. Face blotchy.
When he saw me, his face crumpled.
"Mommy!"
I grabbed him. Pulled him into my arms.
"I'm here, baby. I'm here."
He sobbed into my shoulder. "It—it hurt."
"I know. You're so brave." I kissed his hair. Rubbed his back. "Mommy's here now."
I pulled back. Wiped his tears gently. Then stood and looked at Anna.
She smiled tightly. "As I said on the phone, he's fine. Just a bump. Kids roughhouse, you know? These things happen. Of course, we could've been more vigilant. We'll be more careful next time."
I kept my voice level. "How exactly did it happen?"
"Oh, just playing. One of the other kids pushed him while they were running. Completely accidental."
"Which kid?"
She hesitated. "I don't think—"
"Which kid pushed my son?"
Her smile faltered. "Ms. Reed, I really don't think it's necessary to—"
"Do you have security cameras in the play area?"
Silence.
"Excuse me?"
"Security footage. I want to see it."
"Ms. Reed, that's really not—there's no need for that. It was just an accident—"
"Then the footage will show that. Won't it?"
Her face went tight. "I'm afraid I can't just hand over—"
"Then I'll file a formal complaint with the state licensing board. And I'll contact a lawyer."
"Ms. Reed, I understand you're upset, but children roughhouse all the time. It's completely normal—"
"Bullshit."
A voice from the doorway. Deep. Cold.
Ethan stepped into the room. Phone to his ear.
"Dr. Harris? Yeah, it's Ethan Bennett. I need you to pull security footage from Little Sprouts Preschool. Immediately."
His gaze shifted to me. Softened.
"Don't worry. I've got this."