Chapter 168 Will She Mind?
That kid couldn't be Ethan's, could he?" Jonathan's words dropped like a bomb.
The room fell dead silent.
They all knew about Olivia taking a knife for Ethan five years ago.
They also knew about her miscarriage. But no one dared mention it in front of Ethan—not a single word.
Justin was the first to snap out of it. He scrolled rapidly through his phone. "Are there photos of the kid?"
Jackson, who hadn't finished reading, said uncertainly, "Should be."
Justin's finger stopped. He found photos of the child, then looked up at Jackson.
Jackson felt his spine crawl under that stare. "Why are you looking at me again?"
"Look at the kid's photo yourself," Justin said. "And the mother."
Jonathan hurried to Justin's side. "Let me see."
Justin handed over his phone. Alexander and Vincent flanked Jonathan on either side, three grown men crowding around the small screen.
Since they saw the child's photo first, Vincent couldn't help but swear when he got a clear look at the boy's face. "Fuck!"
The little boy in the photo was Jackson's spitting image—a perfect copy.
Jonathan quickly scrolled down to see the birth mother. He let out a breath of relief.
The truth became clear.
The child's birth mother was named Eva Reed—same last name as Olivia.
That's why Olivia had quickly befriended Eva after arriving in the Netherlands.
Before Eva died, she'd entrusted the child to Olivia.
Last September, Olivia had returned to the States with the boy, settling in New York.
Vincent sat back on the sofa, looking at Jackson. "This kid is yours, right?"
Jackson leaned back. "What's he got to do with me? You can't just throw accusations around like that!"
Vincent pressed on. "If he's not yours, why does he look exactly like you?"
Jackson defended himself. "He's only about seventy, eighty percent similar—not exactly the same. And just because a kid looks like me means he's mine? Kids who look like certain celebrities—does that make them all that celebrity's illegitimate children?"
Justin cut them off. "Enough. Stop arguing. What do we do now? Do we tell Ethan?"
Jackson shot back, "You guys tell him, then he'll know we investigated Olivia."
Jonathan crossed his legs and flicked ash from his cigarette. "You're the one who did the investigating, not us."
Jackson grabbed a die and threw it at Jonathan. "Fuck you, trying to frame me?"
Justin stepped between them. "Gentlemen, please. Let's focus on the real issue."
"The real issue is nobody says shit," Jackson declared, lighting a cigarette and lounging against the sofa with calculated nonchalance. "If Ethan really wants to know, he's got ways. But I'll tell you what—you're all worked up over his business. Classic case of being more Catholic than the Pope."
Vincent's expression darkened. "Jackson, you might not care—you don't work under Ethan, and you've got no business dealings with him. But we're not in the same position, are we, Justin?"
Justin nodded grimly. "Ever since Olivia left, these past five years I've been walking on eggshells every goddamn day."
Vincent continued, "I'm in charge of the Southeast Asia market. That region's a mess—easy for things to go wrong. I'm constantly worried I'll end up dead over there."
He paused, then smiled bitterly. "Funny thing is, last year I acquired a company. Didn't pay much attention to it—left everything to my people. Then at this charity gala, I happened to meet Frank Miller, CEO of Atelier Rose."
"Later, looking through his proposal, I saw the designer's name. Thought it was a coincidence, but I had someone check anyway. Turns out it really was Olivia."
Vincent sighed heavily. "My fault. I set things up to bring Olivia to LA, hoping to reunite her with Ethan. Never expected there'd be a child involved."
Alexander, who'd been silent until now, suddenly spoke up. "I've got an idea. We can let Ethan know the kid isn't Olivia's illegitimate child and avoid any connection to us investigating her."
Jackson leaned forward. "Stop being mysterious. Spill it."
---
Ethan sat beneath the oak tree, staring at the yellowing leaves for hours.
He'd been there since returning from the airport, sitting until sunset painted the sky orange and purple.
"If you still love her, why not go find her?"
Why not?
He couldn't. He'd promised her freedom.
He needed Olivia to know that the promises he made—he kept them. Until death.
These five years, he'd never looked for her. Never even set foot in the Netherlands again.
But New York—he went there often. Waiting.
His phone chimed.
Justin: [@Jonathan, something Vincent sent me. Look at this kid with Olivia. Doesn't he look like Jackson?]
Justin: [Could this kid be... Shit, sent to wrong person.]
Ethan: [Stop pretending.]
Justin: [I swear, I really meant to send it to Jonathan. Accidentally sent to you instead.]
Justin: [Vincent saw this on Frank's social media. When I saw the kid Olivia's holding—looks so much like Jackson—I wanted to send it to Jonathan to see.]
After reading the message, Ethan shot to his feet and started running toward the house. But halfway there, he stopped, turned back, went inside to shower, blow-dry his hair, and change clothes with swift efficiency.
Standing before the mirror styling his hair, he noticed the gray at his temples. His hand holding the pomade froze.
Had she seen his gray hair yesterday?
Would she think he was old?
Ethan called Justin. "Book me a flight to New York. Now."
"Got it."
Ethan hesitated for a moment, then said in a low voice, "And arrange a stylist. Fastest possible—get me looking my best."
Justin's end went silent. He bit down hard on his tongue, forcing himself not to laugh.
"Sure thing."
After agreeing, Justin added carefully, "Look, you don't need all that. You're a good-looking guy—that hasn't changed. And honestly? If you show up like this, in your real state, that might move her more."
"You show up all polished and put-together, she'll think you've been doing just fine without her. But Olivia's got a soft heart. You let her see what these five years have really done to you..." He trailed off meaningfully.
Ethan said nothing. His throat worked. He hung up.
In the end, Ethan took Justin's advice. He didn't touch his appearance—just threw on a black suit and boarded the plane to New York, looking exactly like what he was: a man who'd spent five years missing someone.
He landed at JFK after midnight.
Vincent had sent him Olivia's address.
The car stopped outside her apartment building. Ethan sat in the back seat until dawn.
At seven a.m., Olivia emerged from the complex, holding hands with a little boy who looked exactly like Jackson.
Beside her walked a tall, sturdy man.
The cigarette in Ethan's hand had accumulated a long column of ash. It wasn't until the ember burned his fingers that he snapped back to awareness.