Chapter 195 I Forgive You
A single line of text. Less than thirty words. But Olivia felt as though it took half a lifetime to read them.
Suddenly, a snowflake drifted down, landing on her phone screen. It melted quickly into water, blurring the words beneath.
Then a droplet fell. Then another. Snow and tears mingled on the glass, obscuring everything.
She couldn't see the message anymore. She couldn't see anything at all.
"Liv?" Amy's voice cut through the static in her head. "Are you okay?"
Olivia wiped the screen with trembling fingers, then brushed roughly at her face. When she looked up, she forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just—just watched something sad earlier."
Amy's shoulders sagged with relief. "Jesus. You scared me. I thought someone—" She stopped herself, glancing at Jack playing nearby. "Never mind. You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah." Olivia's voice came out steady this time. "Sophie, I need to take some time off. A few days."
Sophie frowned. "Where are you going?"
Olivia swallowed hard, her throat tight. "Los Angeles."
---
The next morning, Olivia boarded an 8 a.m. flight. By 10:30, she was standing in LAX, staring at the arrivals hall like she'd stepped into a memory she'd tried to bury.
Jackson had sent someone to pick her up.
Before booking the ticket, she'd made one thing clear: Don't tell anyone I'm coming. Especially not the Bennetts.
Jackson had agreed immediately. "Of course. No one will know."
But the second he hung up, he turned to Jonathan. "Olivia's flying in tomorrow."
Jonathan's expression hardened. "What the hell for? Ethan's gone."
"I know." Jackson's voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it. "I still thought you should know."
Jonathan let out a bitter laugh. "You think she gives a shit? She left him, Jackson. She told Sophie she never even loved him."
"Ethan said no one touches her." Jackson met his gaze evenly. "That order still stands."
"Ethan's dead." Jonathan's voice cracked on the last word. He turned away, jaw clenched. "Those rules died with him."
"Bullshit." Jackson's tone sharpened. "You really think he'd want you taking this out on her? She didn't kill him, Jonathan."
"Didn't she?" Jonathan spun back around, his face flushed with anger. "If she hadn't rejected him—if she hadn't walked away—he wouldn't have left. He wouldn't have gotten on that fucking plane."
Jackson exhaled slowly. "She rejected him because of how we treated her. How he treated her. You know that."
Alexander, who'd been leaning against the wall in silence, finally spoke. "Jonathan, listen to yourself. She was nineteen years old when this started. Nineteen. Caught between Ethan and Blake, trapped in a family that hated her, manipulated at every turn. And now you're blaming her for his death?"
Jonathan said nothing. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
Alexander pushed off the wall and stepped closer. "Ethan loved her. Maybe too much. And she's coming to his funeral. That should be enough."
The silence stretched. Finally, Jonathan looked away. "Fine. She can come. But I don't want to see her."
Jackson nodded. "Fair enough."
---
Outside, the snow was falling harder now. Fat, heavy flakes that blanketed the streets in white.
Olivia stood at the corner of Wilshire and Figueroa, her black coat pulled tight around her, the hood drawn low over her face. She'd positioned herself where no one would notice her—just another figure in the cold.
The funeral procession moved slowly down the street.
First came the hearse. Black and sleek, its front adorned with yellow chrysanthemums. Inside, behind the glass, sat a photograph of Ethan Bennett.
Olivia's breath caught.
It felt like someone had taken a knife and driven it straight into her chest. Deeper than bone. Deeper than breath. The pain was so sharp she doubled over, pressing a gloved hand to her ribs.
He's really gone.
Behind the hearse was the main car—a black Lincoln limousine carrying Ethan's immediate family. Richard Bennett sat stiff and pale in the back. Ashley's face was hidden behind a veil, but her shoulders shook.
Seven more black sedans followed.
Nine cars in total. A procession fit for a man who'd never married, never had children, but whose life had touched so many.
The convoy circled downtown Los Angeles three times before heading toward the crematorium.
Olivia blended into the crowd at the funeral home. She stayed far back, half-hidden behind a row of cypress trees, watching as they carried his casket—no, not a casket. There was no body. Just the clothes he'd worn. The suits he'd favored. The white shirts she used to iron for him.
They burned those instead.
She watched the flames through the small window of the cremation chamber. Watched the fabric curl and blacken. Watched smoke rise and disappear.
Her vision blurred. The tears came fast and silent, soaking into her mask.
How could this happen?
How could he be gone?
Her chest heaved. She couldn't breathe. She ripped off the mask, gasping for air, but it didn't help. Every breath felt like drowning.
She sank down onto her knees in the snow, her body shaking with sobs.
The snow kept falling. It covered her hair, her shoulders, turned her black coat white.
"I forgive you," she whispered.
Her voice was so quiet it barely stirred the air.
"For everything you did."
Her throat tightened. Tears streamed down her face again.
"I hope—" She stopped, swallowed. "I hope wherever you are, you find peace. I hope you find someone who can love you the way you deserved to be loved. Someone who can give you the warmth and safety I couldn't."
She pressed her forehead to the marble. Her shoulders shook.
"And if there's a next life… I hope we never meet again."
She stayed there for a long time. Long enough for the snow outside to thicken, for the sky to darken.
Finally, she straightened, wiped her face, and turned away.
---
The city was blanketed in white now. The streets were slick with ice. Olivia walked aimlessly, her breath misting in the cold air.
She didn't know where she was going. Didn't know where she belonged anymore.
This city had once been her prison. Her gilded cage. Now it felt like a graveyard.
She found herself on a bus—one that took her, by some cruel twist of fate, past Westwood.
The apartment complex where she'd lived with Ethan.
She got off the bus and stood at the corner, staring up at the building.
Through the falling snow, she could almost see them. A younger version of herself and a younger version of him. Walking hand in hand through the courtyard. Him pulling her close, kissing her forehead. Her laughing, trying to push him away.
They looked so happy.
A car horn blared, jolting her back to the present. The memory dissolved. There was only snow. Only cold.