Chapter 185 A Lifetime Investment
Author's POV:
Ethan watched Olivia's retreating figure, his tongue pressing hard against the inside of his cheek. His head lowered, and a laugh escaped—low, bitter. The sound grew, filling the empty space between them until it died in his throat.
A single drop of water fell onto his tailored slacks.
His phone rang. He didn't check the caller ID. Just answered, his voice a bark: "What?"
On the other end, Vincent cleared his throat nervously. "Ethan, we found him. The one who set us up last time—looks like it was Emily Sullivan."
"Looks like?" Ethan's voice turned sharp as a blade. "Either it is or it isn't. There's no 'looks like.'"
Vincent hesitated. "We haven't confirmed it face-to-face yet, but all the evidence points to her. After you... after you took down her company years ago and forced her out of LA, she spent most of her time in Southeast Asia. Now she's living as the mistress of Raze Parker, the second son of the Parker family."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Keep tabs on her. I'm coming over."
Vincent sounded surprised. "Aren't you in the middle of—"
"You want to go undercover in the Parker family instead?"
---
Olivia meant what she said to Ethan.
She really didn't want anything to do with him anymore.
First, those three years—his control over her had created psychological scars she was still dealing with. Just thinking about that kind of suffocation made her chest tighten. She couldn't go back to that.
Second, the Bennett family background was too deep, too tangled with power she couldn't touch. She was just an ordinary person trying to live a simple life. The smart move was to keep her distance.
When she got involved with Ethan back then, it wasn't by choice. She'd been eighteen, overwhelmed by his presence, and desperate to save Grandpa. She didn't know how to say no to someone like him.
Later, when she tried to leave? Impossible. Like trying to escape a prison with invisible walls.
It took getting stabbed for him—bleeding out on that warehouse floor—to finally earn her freedom.
She couldn't go back to that cage. That kind of life exhausted her. Suffocated her.
And the Bennett family... God, she knew how much they despised her.
Why would she willingly walk back into a place where everyone wanted her gone?
---
Back at the office, Olivia poured herself coffee and threw herself into work.
At three p.m., she sent the initial design drafts to Frank. He forwarded them to Ethan.
Nothing.
No response.
The next day, Frank sent them again, adding a cautious message:
[Mr. Bennett, please review at your convenience.]
Still nothing.
Day three. Frank tried again.
Silence.
By day four, Frank stopped sending the files.
Instead, he called Olivia into his office. Poured her coffee himself—something he never did.
"Thank you, Frank." Olivia sat down, spine straight, hands folded in her lap.
Frank lifted his coffee, set it down, lifted it again. Finally, he let out a long sigh.
Even if Olivia was terrible at reading people, she could tell he wanted something from her.
"Frank, is there a problem?" She kept her voice gentle, concerned. "If there's anything I can help with, please let me know. I'm part of this company—I want to contribute however I can."
The words came out stiff. She wasn't good at this kind of corporate flattery. To compensate, she made her expression as serious as possible. Like she was about to take an oath of office.
Frank smiled despite himself. "It's not that serious. The company's still standing. But this project..." He trailed off, frowning. "I'm worried it might fall through."
Olivia played dumb. Waited.
"I've sent the designs to Mr. Bennett three times now," Frank continued. "No response. I don't know if he's too busy to look, or if he's... dissatisfied with our work."
"Maybe he's just busy," Olivia offered.
Frank's smile turned wry. "Maybe. But here's the thing—I think it might be better if you reached out to him directly. You two can communicate without the middleman. If there are issues, you'll know right away."
"Frank, you've been sending the files and he hasn't responded. If I send them..." Olivia forced a smile. "He'll definitely ignore me."
Frank set down his coffee and pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers without lighting it. His smile was casual, but his eyes were calculating.
"Try it," he said smoothly. "You don't know until you try, right? And if he doesn't respond... well, then we'll just consider this project dead."
He'd backed her into a corner so neatly she had no choice but to nod.
"I'll try."
Frank immediately forwarded Ethan's contact, grinning.
"Olivia," he said warmly, "the company's entire second-half revenue is riding on you now. Land this project, and I'll triple your year-end bonus."
---
The architecture was a blend of European and Southeast Asian influences—white lattice fencing, broad-leafed tropical plants crowding the courtyard. Banana trees formed a dense, green canopy over the garden.
Two men sat beneath them.
One wore a white crew-neck shirt and a beige sarong. A cigar smoldered between his fingers.
The other was dressed in black—black shirt, black slacks. His right hand rested on the back of a white peacock, long fingers stroking its feathers in slow, deliberate motions.
The bird stood perfectly still, tolerating the touch.
The man in white exhaled smoke, his smile warm but edged with something dangerous.
"Mr. Bennett," he said in smooth, accented English. "You really are a force to be reckoned with. Even my most vicious peacock behaves for you."
Ethan's lips curved slightly. "You flatter me, Mr. Parker. If he's calm, it's because you trained him well."
The man in white—Dante Parker, third son of the Parker family—chuckled. "Dante. Please."
Ethan inclined his head. "Dante, then."
Dante and his half-brother Raze shared a father but different mothers. The Parker family patriarch had three sons: the eldest was paralyzed and functionally a figurehead, while Raze held real power. Dante's mother had died in a car accident when he was ten—rumors swirled that Raze's mother had orchestrated it to secure her position.
Six years ago, Dante lost a power struggle and retreated to Pattaya, living the life of an exiled prince.
But anyone who knew him understood: Dante's defeat was temporary. He would strike back.
Dante leaned back, smoke curling around his face. "The project you're proposing is... ambitious. But I'm just a man living off family money. I don't have the resources to take on something this big."
Ethan's smile didn't waver. "If you can't handle it, Dante, then no one can."
His phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen. A friend request notification.
The name made his chest tighten, his pulse surge.
Dante raised an eyebrow. "Another billion-dollar deal?"
Ethan's expression softened. "Yeah. A lifetime investment."
Dante laughed. "Congratulations. Sounds like I'll be attending a wedding soon."
Ethan's smile widened. "When that day comes, you'll have a seat at the head table."
Dante's gaze turned curious. "Which family's heiress managed to catch your eye?"