Chapter 191 They Are So Fucking Broken
Olivia sat in the back of the police car, staring out the window.
Ethan sat next to her. Blake was in the front passenger seat. A young cop drove, eyes occasionally flicking to the rearview mirror. The man with the knife was in another patrol car up ahead, red and blue lights reflecting off the wet pavement.
This has happened before.
The thought hit Olivia hard.
Five years ago. Bangkok. Another car ride just like this one. Ethan beside her. Blake in front. Except that time it had been Harry driving.
Blake had been twenty-one then. Still young. Still reckless. Ethan had been twenty-nine—already cold, already dangerous in ways she hadn't understood yet.
They'd fought in the car that night. Voices rising. Words cutting. Blake pushing back against Ethan's control. And Ethan... Ethan had pulled out a gun and shot him.
She'd begged Ethan to stop.
He'd made her pay for it later.
Five years.
She'd left him five years ago. Cut him out of her life like a tumor. Moved across the ocean, changed everything, built a new existence where he didn't exist.
But here she was again. Trapped between them. Caught in the center of whatever sick game these two played.
The ringing started in her ears. High-pitched. Relentless. Like someone had cranked up the volume on silence until it screamed.
Olivia pressed her palms against her ears, trying to block it out. Her chest constricted. Each breath came too shallow, too fast.
"Olivia."
Ethan touched her shoulder.
She screamed.
The sound ripped out of her throat—sharp, broken, terrified. She shoved him away hard, her back slamming against the car door. Her hands came up instinctively, shaking.
"Don't—" Her voice cracked. "Don't touch me."
Something fractured in Ethan's expression.
His hand dropped.
"Okay." The word came out hoarse. Wrecked. "I won't. I won't touch you."
He raised both hands, palms out.
Olivia's heart hammered against her ribs so hard it hurt. She couldn't look at him. Couldn't breathe properly. The ringing grew louder, drowning everything else out.
Blake turned around in his seat.
"Liv."
She didn't respond. Couldn't. The panic was rising like water, filling her lungs.
Blake's face twisted with something ugly.
If he hadn't dragged her to the Bennett estate eight years ago, none of this would've happened. She never would've met Ethan. Never would've spent three years in that golden cage. Never would've become this broken thing that screams when people touch her.
But what was the point of "what ifs"? The past was done. Written in stone. Unchangeable.
Blake opened his mouth like he wanted to say something—maybe "sorry."
He closed it again.
The patrol car pulled up to the station. Harsh fluorescent lights spilled out from the building. The cop parked, got out, opened Blake's door.
Ethan didn't move. He sat there, dark eyes fixed on Olivia.
"Olivia."
He said her name like a prayer. Like an apology he couldn't voice.
"After tonight... I won't see you again."
She blinked. The ringing faded slightly.
"I won't see you anymore." His voice was steady now. Controlled. "Never. I promise I'll stay away."
\He reached for her hand. She flinched, but he was gentle. He lifted her hand to his lips. Pressed a soft kiss to the back of it.
Then he did something she never thought she'd see.
He bent forward. Spine curving. Forehead lowering until it rested against her knee.
In that cramped police car, Ethan Bennett knelt before her.
"Forget me," he whispered against her leg. His breath was warm. Broken. "Just... forget. Pretend those three years were a dream. A nightmare. Whatever."
Olivia's throat closed.
"Olivia." His voice cracked. "Wake up. The dream's over."
He straightened. Opened the car door. Stepped out into the night without looking back.
---
Olivia gave her statement to a detective with tired eyes and a too-tight wedding ring. He asked questions. She answered.
She didn't see Ethan. Didn't look for him.
But Blake was there. Leaning against the wall near the exit, arms crossed, watching her.
When she finished, he pushed off and walked over.
"Let me drive you home."
"No. Thank you."
"Liv—"
"I said no, Blake."
He studied her. Then nodded slowly.
"You're still the same," he said quietly.
Olivia walked past him without responding. Out into the night air.
But she heard his footsteps behind her.
"Do you know why I liked you?"
She stopped. Didn't turn around.
"No," she said flatly. "And I don't want to know. Don't tell me."
Her taxi pulled up—she'd called it while giving her statement.
She got in.
---
Blake watched the taillights fade into the distance. His throat tightened.
Nine years ago. Christmas Eve.
He'd been nineteen. Fresh off a brutal fight with his father. He'd stormed out, refused to go home, spent Christmas Eve alone on UCLA's empty campus.
The basketball court. Shooting hoops in the dark, trying to burn off the rage.
Then the pain hit—stomach cramping sharp and vicious. He'd collapsed on the cold concrete, arms wrapped around his middle, gasping.
Stress-induced ulcers.
"Hey. You okay?"
A girl's voice. Soft. Concerned.
Blake had looked up. She was seventeen, maybe eighteen. High ponytail. Clear eyes. Wearing an oversized UCLA sweatshirt.
"Here." She held out a cup. Steam rose from it. "Hot milk. I saw you clutching your stomach. This might help."
He'd taken it. The warmth had seeped into his frozen fingers.
She'd sat down next to him.
Blake had sipped the milk. It was sweet. "What's your name?"
"Olivia Reed. Freshman. Art major—fashion design. You?"
"Blake Bennett. Sophomore. Business."
Her eyes had lit up. "Oh. You're the guy everyone talks about."
"Yeah?" He'd managed a smile despite the pain. "What do they say?"
She'd shrugged, grinning. "That you're the campus heartthrob who's too pretty for his own good."
He'd laughed. Actually laughed. "And what do you think?"
"I think you look like shit right now."
"Brutal honesty. I like it."
---
Blake had pursued her after that. Hard. Publicly.
At first, it had been genuine. That moment under the stars—the way she'd made him laugh when everything hurt—it had felt like salvation.
But Olivia didn't fall at his feet like every other girl.
It drove him insane. His pride kicked in—the need to win. He'd pushed harder, used his family name, made threats about scholarships. Turned pursuit into pressure.
She'd finally said yes.
But it had been a hollow victory. Because even when she was his girlfriend, she'd never really been his.
Then Ethan had seen her.
And everything went to hell.
When he'd found out she'd gotten hurt—that she'd lost Ethan's baby, that she'd been bleeding and broken—Blake had gone after Ethan. Actually threw punches at his uncle.
Ethan had beaten him unconscious.
After Olivia left, Blake had tried to move on. Dated other women. Threw himself into work. Traveled everywhere except the Netherlands.
But nothing worked. He'd never forgotten that girl on the basketball court—the one who'd offered warmth when he was cold.
Nine years spent trying to recapture that feeling.
---
He stood alone in the parking lot.
"Olivia!"
"I'm not as bad as you think!"
His voice echoed. No one answered.