Chapter 109 One Good Arm Is Enough
Another firework exploded in the sky with a resounding boom, and the drone light show transformed into a bouquet of red roses. The holographic flowers bloomed against the night canvas, their crimson petals unfurling in perfect synchronization.
I turned to look at Ethan, and what I saw stole my breath. In his usually cold, dark eyes, there was something I'd rarely seen—a warmth that made them glow like embers in the darkness. The lights from the drones reflected in his pupils, making them appear as if a thousand tiny flowers were blooming inside.
"Say 'I love you,'" Ethan murmured, his fingertips caressing my cheek. His deep eyes focused on mine with an intensity that made my heart race. "Olivia, say it for me."
I felt my mouth go dry. Those three words had been dancing on the tip of my tongue for weeks, yet I'd been too afraid to release them. I hesitated, then nodded, opening my mouth to speak.
Suddenly, Ethan's expression changed. His brow furrowed, eyes darkening from a rare warm gray to lethal steel in a split second. Before I could process what was happening, he wrapped his arms around me and pivoted sharply, turning his back to whatever had caught his attention.
A sound pierced the air—the unmistakable thud of something tearing through flesh. Ethan's body jerked slightly against mine, followed by a low, pained grunt that rumbled from his throat.
My mind froze in terror. The acrid smell of gunpowder mingled with something metallic and warm. Blood. Ethan's blood.
"Ethan!" I gasped, my heart seizing painfully in my chest. My fingers clutched desperately at his arm. "You—you've been shot, haven't you?"
Ethan's uninjured arm tightened around me, pulling me closer to his chest. "I'm fine," he said, his voice low and controlled despite the pain I knew he must be feeling.
I remained rigid with fear as he guided me away from the observation deck. We moved swiftly through the building, Ethan's body language betraying nothing of his injury to casual observers. Only the slight dampness seeping through his shirt where my fingers pressed against his shoulder told the truth.
As we stepped out of the private room, Harry—Ethan's head of security—rushed toward us with several men in tow.
"Sir, the shooter has been identified. He works for Eric. We're certain of it."
Ethan nodded, unsurprised.
Harry looked momentarily taken aback. "You already knew?"
"He's been Zaw's puppet from the beginning," Ethan replied, his voice glacial. "Eric only reached his current position because Zaw pulled strings behind the scenes. If Zaw dies, Eric's career as a general ends with him."
"But then why did you come out tonight..." Harry began, then abruptly stopped himself, seeming to realize his question crossed a line.
Once we were safely inside the car, I turned to Ethan, my heart still racing with fear. "How bad is it? Should we be going to a hospital?"
Ethan pulled me against his side, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head. "Don't worry. It's just a bullet—not enough to kill me."
I bit my lip, eyes darting to the bloodstain on his shirt that continued to grow. "Ethan, let's go back. This place is dangerous."
He squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. "Don't be afraid. I'll be fine." His voice softened slightly as he continued, "Danger and opportunity go hand in hand. You can't have your cake and eat it too. Besides, dangerous jobs need someone to do them."
I buried my face against his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist. My voice came out muffled and small: "I just want you to be safe. I don't want anything to happen to you."
He stroked my back soothingly. "Don't worry. Nothing will happen to me."
I lifted my head, a sudden thought occurring. "Wait, this Eric person you mentioned... is he Blake's uncle by marriage? The military general?"
If Blake's uncle was working with Zaw, a notorious drug lord... what about Blake? Had he been involved in drugs too?
Ethan seemed to read my thoughts. His lips curved into a cold smile, eyes flashing with dangerous intent. "He wouldn't dare. If he ever touched that stuff, I'd destroy him myself."
"But does Blake know? About his uncle working with a drug lord?" I asked, unable to hide my shock.
"He likely does," Ethan replied matter-of-factly.
"What?" My eyes widened. "If he knows, then why would he come here to stay with his uncle?"
Ethan's laugh was sharp and humorless. "That's exactly why the little bastard deliberately provoked me."
The realization dawned on me. "So... he knew his uncle was working with Zaw, and he also knew you were coming here. He intentionally made you angry so you'd take him away. You basically rescued him from Eric without him having to openly defy his uncle."
"I wouldn't call it a rescue," Ethan clarified. "Eric wasn't restricting his freedom. Blake just didn't want to offend Eric, so he used me to leave. If he ever needs something from Eric in the future, he can still go back."
I stared at Ethan in disbelief. "..."
So yesterday in the car, Blake's seemingly insane provocations were actually calculated to make Ethan angry enough to remove him from Eric's influence.
"If the age gap between you two wasn't so small, I'd wonder if Blake was actually your son," I muttered.
Ethan narrowed his eyes dangerously.
I quickly turned my face away. "I just think Blake is very similar to you."
"You think I'm that stupid?" Ethan's voice was dry with disbelief.
I fell silent, afraid that anything else I said would only dig me deeper into trouble.
When we returned to the hotel villa, Ethan's private doctor was already waiting. I retired to our bedroom while Ethan went to an adjacent room to have the bullet removed.
I showered and changed into comfortable loungewear, then headed toward the door, intending to check on Ethan. Just as I reached for the handle, the door swung open, and Ethan stood there, his expression unreadable.
"How are you? Did they take care of the wound?" I asked anxiously.
Instead of answering, Ethan wrapped his good arm around my waist and guided me to the bed. He pressed me down onto the mattress, his body following mine as he supported his weight on his uninjured arm. His face hovered inches from mine as he murmured, "Those three words. You still haven't said them to me."
I placed my hands against his chest, pushing gently. "You're injured. You should rest."
Ethan nipped at my lower lip, his voice dropping to a husky demand. "Either say it, or I'll make you say it another way. Your choice."
My eyes widened. "You're injured! How could you possibly...?"
"I only hurt one arm," he countered, a wicked gleam entering his eyes. "Everything else works perfectly fine."
I blinked in surprise. "I was talking about your arm! How can you support yourself with just one—"
A dangerous, sensual smile spread across Ethan's face. "You can be on top."