Chapter 174 He's Next Door
The DNA results came back on a Thursday afternoon.
Jackson Hayes sat in the leather chair of the testing center's private consultation room, the envelope trembling in his hands. The numbers swam before his eyes—99.99% probability of paternity. Confirmed biological father.
Holy shit.
Across the table, Olivia sat with her hands folded in her lap, perfectly still. Her face showed nothing—no surprise, no vindication, nothing.
"Mr. Hayes." Her voice cut through the ringing in his ears. "Don't forget about the child support."
Jackson blinked. Looked up at her. She was watching him with those sharp, guarded eyes, waiting.
"Right." His voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat. "Right. Of course."
She pulled out her phone and held it out toward him. "Add me. I'll update you regularly about Jack. His health, school, whatever you need to know."
"Okay." Jackson fumbled for his own phone, nearly dropped it. The acceptance tone chirped. Contact added: Olivia Reed.
"About Jack coming back to stay with—" He looked up.
"No."
The word was flat. Final.
Jackson leaned forward. "Liv, look. I get it. But..." He tried for a reasonable tone. "You're a single woman raising a kid alone. That's not easy. I mean, there are going to be things that are just harder without—"
"I've been doing it for almost two years," Olivia interrupted. "I'm managing just fine."
"Sure. For now." Jackson pressed on. "But what about later? You can't stay single for the next fifteen years. At some point you're going to want your own life, and having a kid is going to complicate—"
"That's my business."
"But—"
"Jack's mother told me something before she died. Two things, actually." She paused. "First, she said I couldn't let you know about Jack's existence. Second, she said I could never let Jack go back to the Hayes family."
"I already broke the first rule." Her voice was quiet now. Almost apologetic. "But the second rule?" She shook her head. "That one I'm keeping. No matter what."
Jackson let out a long breath. "Okay. Fine. We'll do it your way."
Her shoulders relaxed fractionally.
He stood, gathering his jacket. "But if you ever need anything—financially, I mean—you tell me."
Olivia rose as well. The ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Don't worry, Mr. Hayes. If Jack needs something, you'll be the first to know."
---
The Upper West Side apartment came through faster than she'd expected.
Within a week, Jackson's assistant had called with the details—deed in her name, all paperwork processed, keys ready for pickup. Moving day arrived on a Saturday. Helen Morrison had rallied her church friends to help, insisting they cook a proper housewarming meal.
"This way," Helen said, setting down a platter of roasted chicken, "this place finally feels like home."
Sophie and Frank showed up after work. The apartment filled with warmth and noise—the clatter of dishes, Jack's excited laughter, the low hum of conversation.
"Hey," Sophie said suddenly, pausing in the doorway. "You know what's weird? The place next door is moving in too. I saw movers in the hallway."
Before Olivia could respond, someone knocked on the door.
She pulled it open to find Jonathan Bennett standing there, hands in his pockets, that easy smile on his face. "Hey! Congrats on the new place."
Olivia's heart stopped.
Behind Jonathan, through the open doorway of the adjacent apartment, she caught a glimpse of dark furniture being maneuvered inside. And then—
Ethan Bennett walked out of that apartment. He didn't look at her. Just headed straight for the elevators.
Her breath caught.
"Crazy coincidence, right?" Jonathan was still talking. "We're hauling boxes all day. Catch up later?"
---
By nine-thirty, even Helen had been convinced to leave. Olivia got Jack bathed and into bed, read him two stories, kissed his forehead as his eyes drifted shut.
Then she was alone.
She sat on the couch in the quiet apartment and stared at nothing.
Three years. She'd spent three years in Ethan Bennett's orbit, caught in his gravitational pull, unable to escape. Three years of being commanded, controlled, possessed. Three years of him taking and taking and taking until there was nothing left of her but rage and grief and a desperate need for freedom.
He'd been like a tsunami, she thought. The kind that swept in without warning and swallowed everything whole. Or maybe he'd been more like a blade—cold, sharp, precise, slicing her apart one shallow wound at a time.
She'd escaped five years ago. Paid for her freedom in blood—literally—and thought she'd never see him again.
And yet here she was. Living next door to the man who'd nearly destroyed her.
Olivia pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them.
It doesn't matter, she told herself firmly. He doesn't matter. We're done. We've been done for five years, and we're never going back to that.
---
Next door, Ethan sat on his own couch in his own empty apartment, phone in hand, scrolling through photos.
Olivia at eighteen, laughing at something off-camera, sunlight caught in her hair.
Olivia at nineteen, curled up on the couch at Oakwood Estate with a book in her lap.
Olivia at twenty, standing barefoot on a beach somewhere, smiling at him like he was the only person in the world.
He'd thought three years would be enough. Enough time for her to fall in love with him. Enough time to build something that would last.
He'd been wrong.
Ethan set the phone down. Reached for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, lit one, leaned his head back against the couch. The smoke curled up toward the ceiling.
For a moment—just a moment—he let himself imagine she was there. Sitting beside him. Smiling at him the way she used to.
The smoke cleared.
The illusion vanished.
His chest felt hollow. Empty.
---
Olivia barely slept that night.
She drifted in and out of restless dreams. High school classrooms. Muir Woods at dusk, Ethan's hands gripping her hips. The garden at Oakwood Estate in winter snow. Running, being caught, being tied up in a dark basement. And blood—so much blood—coating her hands, soaking through her clothes.
She jerked awake with a gasp.
It had been five years since she'd had nightmares like this.
By the time she'd composed herself enough to wake Jack, the sky outside had turned pale gray with dawn.
---
Jack climbed up onto the little stepstool in the bathroom and dutifully brushed his teeth while Olivia hovered nearby. She made his bed, smoothed the blankets.
"Okay, baby," she said, taking his hand. "Let's go."
They stepped out into the hallway. Headed for the elevators.
And there, already waiting, stood Ethan Bennett.
Olivia looked straight ahead. Focused on the elevator call button. Refused to acknowledge his presence.
But Jack—sweet, innocent, oblivious Jack—grinned up at the tall man beside them.
"Good morning, mister!" he chirped, waving one small hand.