Chapter 194 Gone
Justin took the phone from Sophie's hand, glancing at the screen with an unreadable expression. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Sophie shifted uncomfortably. "Justin, I think Liv was just upset when she said that. She didn't really mean it."
"Don't worry about it," he said, his voice carrying a hint of dark amusement. "Ethan's moved on."
Sophie frowned, her fingers tightening around her wine glass.
"Maybe it's for the best," Sophie murmured, more to herself than to Justin. "You can't force feelings. Maybe someday... when the timing's right..."
Justin said nothing. He just stared out at the city, his jaw tight.
---
Three thousand miles away, Olivia lay awake in her New York apartment, staring at the ceiling.
She hadn't been able to sleep. Not since she'd sent that message to Sophie. I never loved him.
The lie sat heavy in her chest.
Her mind kept drifting back—back to moments she'd tried so hard to bury. Ethan carrying her down the Muir Woods, his breath warm against her neck. Standing on his shoulders under the Northern Lights in Iceland, his hands steady on her calves. Walking along the Seine at sunset while he told her stories about the Renaissance, his voice low and rich with knowledge.
Every memory was a knife.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn't help. The images kept coming. His face. His hands. The way he'd looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.
Stop.
She sat up abruptly, reaching for her phone. Maybe a video would distract her. Something mindless. Something that didn't remind her of—
Her screen lit up with a news notification.
BREAKING: Commercial Flight from New York to Helsinki Reports Emergency. Three American Passengers Feared Dead.
Her heart stopped.
Before she could process it, another notification buzzed. A message from Jackson.
She opened it with shaking hands.
Jackson had forwarded the news article. Below it, a single line: Ethan was on that flight.
The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor.
---
She didn't remember picking it up. Didn't remember dialing. But suddenly Jackson's voice was in her ear, rough and strained.
"Is it true?" Her voice cracked. "Jackson, tell me it's not true."
"I don't know." He sounded exhausted. Defeated. "Harry called me. He said Ethan was supposed to be on that flight. But we can't confirm—"
"Why the hell wasn't Harry with him?" Olivia's voice rose, panic clawing at her throat. "He never goes anywhere without Harry!"
"Ethan told him to stay behind. Said he wanted to go alone." Jackson paused. "He wanted to go to Finland. To see the snow."
Olivia's breath caught.
Finland. Snow. She'd told him once—years ago, when they were still good—that she wanted to spend every winter in Finland. Watching the snow fall over frozen lakes. She'd been nineteen. Stupid. In love.
And now he'd gone. Alone.
"Have you called him?" Her voice was barely a whisper now.
"Harry tried. Phone's off. We all tried. Nothing."
The line went silent for a moment. Then Jackson's voice softened. "Liv... I'm sorry."
She couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Her vision blurred as tears spilled down her cheeks.
"I have to go," she choked out, and hung up.
---
The rest of the night blurred together. Olivia sat on the floor of her apartment, laptop open, refreshing news sites over and over. Searching for passenger lists. For updates. For anything.
But there was nothing. Just vague reports. Conflicting information. Three American casualties. No names released.
She kept scrolling. Kept searching. Her hands shook. Her chest ached.
Every memory she'd tried to suppress came flooding back. The way he'd held her in Iceland. The way he'd kissed her in Paris. The way he'd looked at her that last night in LA before everything fell apart.
I never loved him.
The lie echoed in her head, mocking her.
She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
---
Across the country, chaos unfolded.
Jackson sat at a corner table in Horizon Club, his phone pressed to his ear. Jonathan paced nearby, chain-smoking, his face ashen. Alexander stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out at the city.
"Still nothing?" Jonathan asked, his voice hoarse.
Jackson shook his head. "Vincent says he hasn't heard from him either. He's in Myanmar. Said Ethan was supposed to check in two days ago but never did."
Over the past two years, Ethan and Vincent had partnered on multiple business ventures in Southeast Asia. Their relationship had grown tight.
"Fuck." Jonathan crushed his cigarette into an ashtray. "This can't be real. This can't be—"
"It's real," Alexander said quietly. He didn't turn around. "The flight went down. Three Americans confirmed dead. We just don't know if—"
"Don't say it." Jonathan's voice cracked. "Don't you fucking say it."
The room fell silent.
Jackson stared at his phone. At the last message Ethan had sent him. Take care of her.
He closed his eyes.
---
Three days later, the news broke.
Ethan Bennett, CEO of Bennett Enterprises, former Marine, son of one of California's most powerful families—missing. Presumed dead.
The city reeled.
Richard Bennett, Ethan's father, aged overnight. When the call came, he'd been in a meeting with the governor. He'd walked out mid-sentence, his face white, his hands trembling. By the time he reached home, he could barely stand.
Ashley Bennett collapsed in the hospital. When she woke, she screamed for her son until the nurses sedated her.
Jonathan handled the arrangements. Funeral. Memorial. Press statements. He moved like a machine, hollow and numb. The company wouldn't fall apart—Ethan had made sure of that years ago. Every position filled with people he trusted. Every contingency planned.
But Jonathan didn't care about the company.
He cared that his cousin—his brother in every way that mattered—was gone.
The funeral was set for December 21st. Two days before Christmas.
---
Olivia stood on set in New York, staring at her phone.
Jackson's message was short. Blunt.
Ethan's funeral is the day after tomorrow. December 23st. You coming?