Chapter 77 Can I Escape Him?
"I've lived nearly thirty years," he said, his voice low and intimate. "And I've never felt this way about anyone. Only you make me willing to set everything aside."
He studied my eyes with an intensity that made my breath catch. "I want your heart. Not because I'm forcing you, but because you want to give it to me."
"Hearts can't be ordered around," I replied softly, finding a moment of courage. "But if you really want it, you could win it yourself."
A smile curved his lips. He leaned forward, catching my bottom lip between his teeth for a brief moment. "I'll be leaving early tomorrow morning," he said, his smile deepening. "Be good and wait for me to return."
I nodded, my voice barely audible. "Okay."
---
The faint glow of dawn was just beginning to filter through the curtains when I felt Ethan stir beside me. My eyes fluttered open briefly to catch him slipping out of bed, his movements careful and measured to avoid waking me fully. Through half-closed lids, I watched him move around the suite, the powerful lines of his back illuminated by the soft light as he dressed.
I must have drifted off again because the next thing I felt was his lips pressing against my forehead, a gentle goodbye kiss.
When I finally woke hours later, the memory of the previous night flooded my consciousness. After returning from the Grand Place, Ethan had been both forceful and gentle, claiming me in the bathroom, then on the couch, and finally in bed before sleep claimed us.
The pink fox tail I'd discovered earlier now made perfect sense. Ethan had wanted me to wear it, but when the silicone tip touched me, I'd panicked, clinging to his neck, crying and protesting until he finally relented.
Though he'd spared me that particular experience, I could tell from the look in his eyes that it was only a temporary reprieve. He wanted it—wanted to possess every part of me in every way possible.
I'd fallen asleep immediately after our third encounter, too exhausted to note the time. It must have been well past eleven when he'd initiated the final round, and knowing Ethan's stamina, it wouldn't have lasted less than an hour.
We'd been so thoroughly spent that I'd slept until nearly eleven this morning. Rising from bed, I took a glass of water, casually tied my hair back, and headed to the bathroom to wash up.
---
A knock at the suite door startled me as I emerged from the bathroom. Wrapping myself in a hotel robe, I cautiously approached the door and peered through the peephole.
A man in a crisp black suit stood in the hallway, holding what appeared to be a breakfast tray. I recognized him as one of Ethan's security team.
"Ms. Reed?" he called through the door. "Mr. Bennett asked me to bring you breakfast."
I opened the door, and he stepped inside, setting an elegant tray on the coffee table. It contained Belgian waffles with fresh berries, a selection of fruits, and hand-pressed coffee.
"Mr. Bennett said you should eat something to tide you over," he explained with professional courtesy. "He's arranged for us to go out for lunch in about an hour."
I accepted the tray with a gentle smile. "Thank you." Then, curious, I asked, "Did you just arrive, or have you been standing out there?"
He answered honestly, "I arrived five minutes ago." He added, "Mr. Bennett said you'd wake up by eleven at the latest."
I felt a twinge of surprise that Ethan knew my biological clock so thoroughly, predicting almost to the minute when I'd wake up.
"Ms. Sofia Rodriguez will meet us at noon," he continued. "She'll be your guide and translator for your stay in Brussels."
---
The hotel lobby bustled with people at noon. He led me to a corner where a woman waited.
Sofia Rodriguez looked to be in her thirties, with dark wavy hair and an elegant outfit that spoke of quiet confidence.
"Ms. Reed," she greeted me with a smile, extending her hand. "I speak five languages. Philippe thought you'd appreciate someone who knows Brussels well while Mr. Bennett handles business."
"Five languages? Wow."
She shrugged. "It's helpful around here. Lunch? I've reserved a table downstairs."
"Sounds great," I replied, liking her easy manner. "Please call me Olivia, or Liv."
"Only if you call me Sofia," she answered with a smile.
---
The hotel restaurant offered panoramic views of Brussels, the medieval spires and modern buildings creating a fascinating contrast outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Sofia ordered for both of us in flawless French, then turned her attention back to me.
"So, Liv," she began, "is this your first time in Brussels?"
As our conversation flowed, Sofia shared pieces of her background. She was the fourth child in a traditional family from Mexico City, with two favored brothers above her and one similarly overlooked sisters below.
"My brothers could do no wrong," she explained, swirling her water glass thoughtfully. "My sisters and I were expected to serve, to be quiet, to marry well—preferably to men of my father's choosing."
I nodded, recognizing elements of the story even across cultural differences.
"I won a scholarship to Cornell," she continued. "Later, I got my MBA from Wharton. Each achievement was met with my father's begrudging acknowledgment rather than pride. It took me years to earn even a fraction of the respect he automatically granted my brothers."
After lunch, Sofia took me around Brussels. We visited the iconic Atomium and St. Michael's Cathedral, where she pointed out details I would've completely missed on my own.
At the Royal Museums, Sofia impressed me with her knowledge of Flemish art as we browsed works by famous painters.
"For dinner," she suggested as we left, "let's try La Maison du Cygne on Grand Place. The food is decent, but the revolutionary history makes it special."
The restaurant had a perfect view of the Grand Place, now bathed in golden evening light.
Sofia ordered wine, and as our glasses emptied and were refilled, our conversation deepened. She shared more of her life story—how she'd refused an arranged marriage her father had planned, how she'd fought workplace discrimination in her early career.
My heart pounded against my ribs. Looking at Sofia, I felt a mixture of admiration and sorrow. I didn't want to be a songbird with clipped wings. I wanted to be like this woman across from me—free, self-assured, brilliant.
In that moment, an overwhelming urge to leave Ethan surged through me. Blake's text messages suddenly flashed through my mind. My breathing quickened, my face flushing with heat.
Could I really leave? And if I failed... what then?
---
Back in the hotel suite, I couldn't sleep.
Just as I was turning over for the hundredth time, contemplating my future, the suite's landline phone rang sharply.
The sudden sound made my heart leap painfully in my chest.