Chapter 184 No Love, No Hate
Back home, I stood by the window after putting Jack to bed, thinking about the stranger. Finally, I pulled out my phone and called Jackson.
He picked up on the third ring.
"Someone was watching Jack today," I said. "At the playground. Jack noticed him himself."
"Relax, Liv." His voice came through lazy and amused. "It's just my mom's guy. She wanted to see her grandson."
"Your mom." My voice came out flat.
"Yeah." He laughed. "Kid's got good instincts though. Sharp. Not bad for a four-year-old. Gotta say, I'm a little proud."
I closed my eyes. Proud. Jesus Christ.
"Did you tell your family?" The words came out sharper than I intended.
"Fuck no." He sounded genuinely offended. "That wasn't me, Liv. It was Ethan."
My stomach dropped. "Ethan?"
"Yeah. Apparently his mom found out he met up with you when you were back in LA. Don't know how—you know how those society bitches are, they've got fucking radar for this shit." He paused, and I heard ice clinking in a glass. "Anyway, word got around that you had a kid. They assumed it was Ethan's, naturally. So they investigated."
Of course they did.
"And when they found out the kid was mine..." Jackson continued. "Well. Ethan's mom told my mom. They do that—trade information like it's goddamn currency at their book club meetings."
"What does your family want?" I asked, my voice steady even as my heart hammered. "Are they going to try to take Jack? Or do they want me to leave?"
"The latter, probably." He said it so casually. "Ethan's got your back on this. Nobody's gonna fuck with you as long as he's around."
The line went dead.
I stood there, phone pressed to my ear, listening to nothing. Then I sank onto the couch and buried my face against my knees.
Four years overseas. Four years in tiny apartments, counting down the days until I could come home. Every Christmas, every New Year—I'd watched other people's celebrations through social media, feeling that hollow ache of homesickness.
I loved my country. Missed California, the American voices, the Bay Area light. Coming back had felt like finally being able to breathe again.
And now what? Leave again because some old-money families couldn't handle an illegitimate grandchild?
Or worse—go back to Ethan? Trade my freedom for his protection, just like five years ago when Grandpa needed treatment?
Those three years with Ethan. A fever dream of luxury and control, of pleasure that bordered on pain.
---
Morning came too soon. I hadn't slept—just drifted in that gray space where memories played on loop and anxiety gnawed at my chest.
When I finally got up to wake Jack, I caught my reflection and winced. Swollen eyelids. Bloodshot eyes. I looked like I'd spent the night crying.
Maybe I had.
I splashed cold water on my face. Nothing helped much.
Jack was his usual cheerful self at breakfast, chattering about school, asking for pizza later. I smiled and nodded, but my mind was elsewhere.
The drive to preschool felt longer than usual. Jack sang along to the radio, oblivious to the weight pressing down on my chest.
Ethan's Maybach was already there when we pulled up.
He climbed out as I unbuckled Jack, his eyes tracking my movements with that intensity he'd never quite managed to hide.
"Morning," he said, his voice warm. Then he saw my face, and everything in his expression shifted. "Olivia. What happened?"
I turned my head away, busying myself with Jack's backpack. My throat felt tight, like someone had wrapped their hands around it and squeezed.
"Nothing," I managed.
"Liv—"
"It's nothing." I straightened up, hoisting the backpack over one shoulder. "Come on, baby. Let's get you inside."
After I walked Jack to the entrance, I turned and walked toward Ethan's car.
He was leaning against the driver's side door, arms crossed, that same concerned expression still etched across his features. When he saw me approaching, something shifted in his eyes—hope, maybe. Or anticipation.
"Ethan."
His name felt strange in my mouth. Formal. Final.
His lips curved into a small smile. "You came to talk to me."
"Yeah." I stopped a few feet away, maintaining distance. "I came to talk to you."
The smile widened. God, he looked pleased. Like I'd just given him a gift.
"Let me go," I said quietly. "Please. Just... let me go."
The smile froze.
"I'm really scared of you," I continued, my voice steady despite the way my hands were shaking. "And I hate you. I hate what you did to me, what you turned me into. I hate that you're here, in my city, in my life again. So please—just leave me alone."
"Olivia—"
"I mean it." My voice was gentle now. Soft. It would've been kinder to scream. "Those three years with you were a nightmare. It took me five years to recover from what you did to me. Five years to feel like myself again. And now you're back, circling me like some kind of ghost, some kind of demon that won't let me rest."
His jaw clenched. I watched the muscle jump beneath his skin, watched his lips press into a thin, bloodless line.
"So I'm begging you," I whispered. "Please. Let me go."
Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blared. A dog barked. The world kept moving while we stood frozen in this moment.
"Okay," Ethan said finally.
His voice sounded wrong—raw and hoarse, like someone had taken a blowtorch to his vocal cords.
"Okay," he said again.
I nodded once. Then I turned to leave.
"Olivia."
My name stopped me. I didn't turn around—just stood there with my back to him.
"Those three years," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Did you ever love me? Even for a moment? Even—"
"No."
"I never loved you, Ethan. Not once. Not even a little bit." I forced myself to keep my voice cold, empty. "Every time I said it—every 'I love you' you forced out of me—that was a lie. You made me say those words. You threatened me, manipulated me, trapped me until I'd say whatever you wanted to hear."
I finally turned around. Looked him right in the eyes.
"I don't love you," I said clearly. "I hated you then. And now..." I smiled. It felt like my face was cracking. "Now I don't feel anything at all. No love. No hate. You're just... someone I used to know. A stranger I happened to cross paths with once."
Something flickered across his face.
"Right." His lips curved into something that might've been a smile if it had reached his eyes. "Right. Of course. Well, you don't have to worry, Olivia. I'm not so desperate for female attention that I need to—"
He stopped. Shook his head.
"Never mind." His voice had gone flat. "You should go. Your job, right? Don't want to be late."
I turned away. Started walking toward my car.