Chapter 108 Tears Under Fireworks
I wanted to slap myself. Hard. What the hell was wrong with my mouth?
I knew Ethan wanted me to have his child. I'd known it for months. So why on earth would I ask if he was concerned about birth defects from his smoking and drinking? It was like digging my own grave and then jumping in headfirst.
"I didn't mean it that way," I said, unable to meet his gaze as I turned my head away. "I was just asking. Random question."
Ethan's cold laugh sent a chill down my spine. "If you don't want kids, don't ask. Mind your own business."
"Okay, I understand. I won't mention it again." My answer came quickly, without hesitation, my voice soft and compliant.
But my easy acquiescence only seemed to irritate him more. I could feel his dark mood intensifying, like storm clouds gathering before a downpour. The tension in the room thickened until I could barely breathe.
I risked a glance at Ethan and immediately regretted it. His eyes were like a bottomless abyss—cold, dark, and dangerously sharp. I felt a tremble ripple through me, starting at my heart and spreading outward. Nervously, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and hurried to the bookshelf, pretending to be fascinated by his collection.
I picked up one book, then another, making a show of examining each cover. Look how busy I am. Totally not scared of you right now. Not at all.
Behind me, I heard Ethan take a deep drag from his cigarette, followed by a series of harsh coughs. He'd inhaled too quickly, the smoke catching in his throat.
I turned around instinctively, and the sight of Ethan Bennett—the powerful, intimidating man who terrified half of Los Angeles—hunched over and coughing like a teenager with his first cigarette was so unexpectedly human that a small laugh escaped before I could stop it.
I immediately pressed my lips together, but it was too late.
"Come here," he commanded, his voice low and cold.
I approached with small, cautious steps, about to ask if he needed water, but before I could open my mouth, his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me against him with possessive force. His lips claimed mine in a kiss that was pure domination.
When he finally released me, we were both breathing heavily. I glanced at his lips, now smeared with my crimson lipstick, and knew without looking that my carefully applied makeup was ruined.
"You're impossible!" I glared at him, genuinely annoyed.
His expression transformed, the brooding darkness giving way to a devilish grin that was equal parts charming and wicked. "You're just figuring that out now?"
I ground my teeth in frustration and turned toward the bedroom, muttering under my breath, "Asshole Ethan Bennett. I hope your health falls apart soon."
"What are you mumbling about, Olivia?" His voice sharpened with suspicion.
I quickened my pace and slipped into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind me. Sitting at the vanity, I carefully reapplied my lipstick and touched up my foundation where his stubble had rubbed it away.
By the time we left, twilight had settled over the city. The sky was painted in breathtaking shades of pink and orange, the clouds gilded by the setting sun.
"I wonder if tomorrow will be nice weather," I said, smiling at the beautiful sunset.
Ethan, seemingly infected by my brighter mood, smiled back. "What counts as 'nice weather' to you?"
"Sunny, of course," I replied without hesitation.
He leaned closer, his smile softening into something almost tender. "Rain has its advantages too."
I wrinkled my nose. "How? I hate rainy days. They're gloomy and damp and uncomfortable."
Ethan kissed the furrow between my brows, his deep voice rich with suggestion. "Rainy days mean staying in bed... finding ways to keep each other warm."
My cheeks heated instantly. "You're always so inappropriate," I said, gently pushing him away.
His laugh vibrated through the air, lazy and seductive.
His security detail drove us to a well-reviewed restaurant serving Thai cuisine. I avoided the salads and most of the curry dishes—curry fish cakes were definitely not my thing—but I happily devoured the curry crab and absolutely loved the coconut chicken soup. The dessert, durian crepes, was heavenly; I'd always had a weakness for anything durian-flavored.
After dinner, Ethan took me to the rooftop of the tallest building downtown to see the night view. Standing on the observation deck, I gazed at the glittering carpet of lights stretching to the horizon. Something tightened in my chest—a bittersweet ache I couldn't quite name.
This feeling mirrored what it was like being with Ethan: standing in rarified air, surrounded by privilege and power, yet always one misstep away from disaster.
Suddenly, the night sky erupted with color. Fireworks bloomed against the darkness—red, gold, blue, green—opening like exotic flowers.
Ethan's arms encircled me from behind, his chin resting against my neck. "I thought you could use something beautiful after being startled earlier," he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. "Fireworks to ease your mind."
I didn't speak. Couldn't speak. The heat in my chest expanded, spreading to my eyes until they burned with unshed tears that finally spilled over, tracking silently down my cheeks and dripping onto Ethan's hands.
He gently wiped away my tears, pressing his lips to the corner of my eye. "Don't cry. You'll ruin your makeup again."
I laughed through my tears and playfully swatted at him. "You're terrible."
Ethan turned me to face the sky again as the display intensified. What I'd thought were standard fireworks transformed into an elaborate drone light show that set the entire Bangkok skyline ablaze with coordinated patterns and cascading lights.
For the next hour, we stood mesmerized as the sky became a canvas for technological artistry. I later learned that several topics related to the event were trending on social media back home.
I tilted my face upward, the lights reflecting in my eyes like captured stars. When I glanced at Ethan, I found him watching me instead of the spectacle above.
"Ethan," I said, my voice softer than I intended, my eyes holding his with unusual warmth. "Thank you."
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, the tip of his tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth. In one fluid motion, he pulled me against his chest.
I buried my face against him, listening to the steady, powerful rhythm of his heartbeat. A smile curved my lips, and I turned my head slightly, pressing my mouth against his chest through his shirt, giving him the gentlest of bites.
His throat moved again, several quick swallows in succession, and his hand came up to cup the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair with restrained tenderness.
"Olivia." He lowered his head to kiss the crown of mine, his voice a magnetic rumble against my ear. "I want to hear you say 'I love you.' Say it for me, please?"