Chapter 170 Dead Husband
Frank grinned. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
She forced a smile, fingers tightening on her phone. "Nothing. Just—family stuff."
"Your kid okay?"
Frank's hand landed on her shoulder, warm and reassuring. "Look, I get it. Being a single mom is tough. But you can't let it consume you, Liv. You're young. You deserve a life too."
"You're right."
"That's my girl." He squeezed her shoulder once before letting go. "Now, about tonight—don't stress. It's just networking. Schmooze a little, smile pretty, let the big shots feel important. Easy money."
The charity gala was at the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center, just a ten-minute drive from their building if traffic cooperated. Frank's ride was a brand-new white Rolls-Royce Ghost. Olivia watched the driver slide on white gloves before touching the steering wheel.
Frank rode shotgun. She took the back seat.
"You don't need to wear a gown tonight," Frank had told her earlier. "Business casual works."
The Javits Center rose ahead, all glass and steel and modern angles. Outside, a parade of luxury vehicles lined the curb—Rolls-Royces, Maybachs, Bugattis, Lamborghinis, Ferraris. A showcase of obscene wealth, each car more aggressive than the last.
But one stood out.
A black custom Maybach with the license plate "4EV707" glided past them and claimed a spot clearly reserved just for it.
The driver's door opened. A man stepped out—broad-shouldered, crew cut.
Harry. Ethan's head of security.
Olivia recognized him instantly, even after five years.
Harry moved to the rear passenger door and opened it with practiced efficiency. A polished black shoe emerged first, followed by the sharp crease of charcoal trousers.
Beside Olivia, a woman in a purple cocktail dress audibly gasped. Her eyes went wide, lips parting in a look of pure, shameless hunger.
She wasn't the only one staring.
The man who stepped out of that Maybach commanded attention the way fire commanded air—absolute, inescapable.
Ethan Bennett.
Six-three, maybe taller in those Italian leather shoes. Navy blue suit, black dress shirt with a tie. A silver pocket square.
"Mr. Bennett, welcome," someone gushed—a portly man in an expensive suit who practically tripped over himself to shake Ethan's hand.
Ethan's mouth curved. "Commissioner Prescott. Kind of you to say."
Frank was already out of the car, hurrying forward with his shoulders slightly hunched. "Mr. Bennett!" He extended both hands, eager and deferential. "What an honor—"
Ethan's gaze swept past the crowd and landed on Frank. He shook Frank's hand with the bare minimum of courtesy. "Mr. Miller."
Olivia followed behind Frank, offering a polite nod toward Ethan—the kind of acknowledgment you'd give any business associate.
Ethan acted as if he didn't know her at all. He didn't even nod back. He simply shook Frank's hand with cool efficiency, then turned and disappeared into the convention center with Harry at his side.
Olivia lowered her eyes and silently followed Frank inside.
Inside, the convention center had been transformed. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting warm golden light over marble floors. Waiters in crisp white jackets glided between guests with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. A small orchestra played something classical and soothing in the corner.
Olivia leaned close to Frank, keeping her voice low. "Frank, what time does this wrap up?"
Frank whispered back, "The auction runs for seven days. Tonight's just the opening ceremony. The actual bidding starts tomorrow."
"How long will the opening take?"
"Shouldn't be too long. After the ceremony, there's a dinner."
Olivia's brow furrowed. "What? We have to stay for dinner?"
Frank laughed. "You get a free meal and you're complaining?"
"It's not that. I just—I have Jack at home."
Frank's smile deepened. "Speaking of which, I've been meaning to ask—where's the kid's father?"
As Frank asked this question, Ethan happened to be walking past.
Olivia had her back to him and didn't notice. She answered casually, making it up as she went: "He's dead."
Frank looked surprised. "Oh. Was it an accident or illness?"
Olivia kept a straight face. "He died serving his country. He was military. Helped with drug enforcement operations—got killed during a mission in the Golden Triangle."
Behind her, a low, husky laugh rang out.
Olivia spun around and found herself staring into Ethan's amused eyes.
"So Ms. Reed's husband was military too." Ethan adjusted his cufflinks, then leaned down slightly, his smile loaded with meaning. "What a coincidence. So am I."
Being called out like this—especially in front of so many people—was mortifying. Olivia wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
But she didn't let it show. She kept her expression calm and even managed to smile back. "That's right. My late husband was military too."
Hearing Olivia say the words "my husband" made something claw at Ethan's chest.
He forced down the sensation, his features relaxing into an easy smile as he turned to Frank. "Mr. Miller, would you mind if I sat here?"
Frank blinked, then practically leaped to his feet. "Mr. Bennett, please!"
Then, realizing he was about to give Ethan a warm seat, Frank quickly grabbed a fresh chair from nearby and set it down for Ethan, moving his own chair behind them.
Ethan nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Miller."
Frank's face lit up like Christmas morning. "Not at all, Mr. Bennett. Please, sit."
Ethan did just that, adjusting his trousers before settling into the chair and crossing one leg over the other. His posture was relaxed, elegant, utterly at ease.
The spacing between chairs in the hall was reasonable—standard social distance.
But once Ethan sat down beside her, Olivia felt like there was no space at all. Their bodies were unavoidably close, almost touching.
She immediately stood. "Frank, I need to use the restroom."
Frank nodded. "Sure. Don't be too long."
Before leaving, Olivia gave Ethan a polite nod—the kind of courteous acknowledgment expected in professional settings.
She didn't want anything to do with him, but she had to maintain appearances. Otherwise, it would look like she still cared.
The moment Olivia left, the smile dropped from Ethan's face.
Frank sat in the row behind where Olivia had been, watching Ethan's sharp profile. He leaned forward, about to make small talk.
Ethan tilted his head slightly and shot Frank a look—cold, cutting, dangerous.
Frank flinched and quickly settled back in his seat, abandoning any attempt at conversation.
Even someone as oblivious as Frank could see it now. There was history between Olivia and Ethan.
But if Olivia had been with this Bennett guy, then whose kid was Jack?
The boy didn't look like Ethan. Didn't look like Blake either.
So who was the father?
Man, these LA elites are complicated as hell.
In the restroom, Olivia washed her hands, trying to steady her breathing. She'd planned to find a quiet corner in the hall and wait for the event to end so she could leave with Frank.
But as she stepped out of the bathroom, her phone rang.
Sophie's name flashed on the screen.
"Hey, Sophie—" Olivia started to say, but then she heard it.
Jack's voice in the background, crying. Calling for her.
"Mommy!"
Her heart clenched. "Baby? What's wrong?"