Chapter 186 The Nine-Picture Panic
Ethan laughed softly, but didn't respond to Dante's comment. Instead, he shifted the topic to Dante's younger brother.
"I heard Raze got a new girlfriend. Spoils her like a princess."
Dante's tone turned dismissive. "Just a plaything."
Ethan's lips curved into a faint smile. "Don't underestimate that plaything, Dante."
He raised his hand, and Harry immediately stepped forward, handing him a prepared document envelope.
Ethan took it and extended it toward Dante.
Dante's eyes lowered to the envelope, then back to Ethan's face. A smile played at his lips. "What's this supposed to mean, Mr. Bennett?"
"A small token," Ethan said smoothly.
The envelope contained Emily Sullivan's background investigation—along with a detailed list of everything she'd done over the past two years to help Raze undermine Dante.
Dante took the envelope. "Thank you."
Ethan stood. "I got to go."
Ethan nodded, and one of Dante's men immediately stepped forward to escort him out.
---
The moment Ethan returned to his hotel suite, he pulled out his phone and tapped the friend request notification.
Accept.
He stared at the screen. One minute passed. Two.
Nothing.
Not even a fucking emoji.
His jaw tightened. Finally, he gave up waiting and typed the first message himself.
[Eaten yet?]
Olivia had just sat down in the Atelier Rose break room with her lunch tray when her phone buzzed. She glanced at it.
Ethan Bennett.
She didn't reply immediately. Instead, she set the phone face-down on the table and took a bite of her salad, thinking.
After a long moment, she picked up the phone again and typed a response.
[Mr. Bennett, the design drafts are complete. Do you need me to send them now?]
Ethan had actually received the drafts days ago—Frank had already forwarded them. But he'd deliberately ignored Frank's messages. Now, he played dumb.
[Oh? The drafts are done already? Send them over. I'll take a look.]
Olivia immediately attached the files and added: [Mr. Bennett, please review at your convenience.]
Ethan set his phone down and called Harry into the room.
"How's your photography?" he asked without preamble.
Harry blinked. "My... photography?"
"Do you want me to send you undercover into the Parker family, or do you want to take some pictures?"
"I'll take pictures." Harry's answer came fast.
"Good." Ethan handed him his phone. "Take one of me. Now."
Harry stared at the device like it might explode. "You want me to photograph... you?"
"Is there a problem?"
"No. No problem." Harry lifted the phone awkwardly. "Where should you—"
"Just shoot."
Ethan walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, slid both hands into his pockets, and positioned his feet shoulder-width apart. He gazed straight ahead, his posture confident and commanding.
"Alright," he said. "Go ahead."
Click.
"Done," Harry said, walking back over. He handed the phone to Ethan without even glancing at the result.
Ethan looked at the screen.
His expression darkened immediately.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" he snapped. "What the hell is this?"
Harry looked at the image. "I think you look pretty handsome—"
"Take it again." Ethan shoved the phone back into Harry's hands. "Pay attention to the lighting. The angle. Everything."
Harry's hand trembled slightly as he raised the phone again. "Boss... maybe I should just hire a professional photographer?"
Ethan paused. That... wasn't a bad idea. A professional would definitely do a better job than Harry's disaster of a first attempt.
"Fine. Go find one. Now."
Harry started toward the door, relief flooding his face.
"Wait."
He froze, turning back slowly. "Yeah?"
"Get two stylists and a makeup artist while you're at it. And rent a yacht. I want to shoot on the water."
Harry's mouth fell open. "You want to do a... full photoshoot?"
Ethan's gaze turned icy. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"No! No problem!" Harry bolted from the room.
---
It took a full day.
The photographer kept adjusting Ethan's collar and murmuring "magnifique" under her breath. The stylists cycled him through three outfits: a crisp white linen shirt with navy slacks, a black turtleneck, and a charcoal blazer over a fitted tee.
By the time they reached the yacht, Ethan was exhausted.
But the photos were perfect.
The photographer showed him the shots: Ethan on the deck, wind tousling his hair. Ethan leaning against the railing, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Ethan with his sleeves rolled up, forearms on full display.
Ethan nodded. "Send them all to my phone."
That night, after reviewing each image at least ten times, he selected the nine best shots and uploaded them to LinkedIn.
No caption. Just the photos.
He hit Post.
Within ten minutes, his phone started vibrating—and it didn't stop.
Likes climbed into the thousands. Comments flooded in by the hundreds.
But when Ethan opened his private messages, his expression shifted from satisfaction to confusion.
Vincent: [FUCK. Did the Parkers kidnap you?]
Vincent: [Are you okay? Should I send backup?]
Justin: [???]
Justin: [Ethan, if you're in danger, RESPOND.]
Trent: [Boss? Is this really you?]
Jackson: [What the hell happened?]
Jackson: [Say the word and I'll get you out.]
Jake: [Are you being held hostage?]
Jake: [I can have air support there in three hours.]
Alexander: [Bro... are you okay? This is concerning.]
Jonathan: [Ethan, is the company in trouble?]
Jonathan: [How much money do you need?]
Mason: [Did someone kidnap you?]
Hannah: [What happened? If you're in trouble, tell the family.]
Hannah: [We're not so desperate that you need to sell yourself to keep Bennett Enterprises afloat.]
Ethan stared at the screen, his jaw clenching.
Sell himself?
What the fuck?
He scrolled further.
Blake: [Did you lose your mind?]
Blake: [Or did some warlord propose to you?]
Dominic: [Talk to me. What's going on?]
Frank: [Mr. Bennett, your aura is truly god-like!]
Ethan closed his eyes and took a slow breath.
Shit.
He'd forgotten one crucial detail: he never posted personal photos. His LinkedIn was strictly professional—company updates, press releases, industry news.
And now, out of nowhere, he'd posted nine professionally shot images that looked like a cologne ad campaign.
No wonder everyone thought he'd been trafficked.
He opened the app and left a public comment:
[This is me. I'm fine. Thanks for your concern.]
Then he sent a message to the group chat:
[I'm not in danger. Everyone calm down.]
The responses came immediately.
Justin: [Then WHY did you post a nine-picture photo dump?!]
Vincent: [You look good, but this is seriously weird.]
Jackson: [Midlife crisis?]
Ethan ignored them all.
He tossed the phone onto the nightstand and lay back on the bed, one arm draped over his eyes.
This was supposed to get Olivia's attention. To show her he was... what? Spontaneous? Different?
Instead, he'd convinced half of LA that he'd been kidnapped by a crime syndicate.
Fuck.
His phone buzzed again.
He grabbed it.
Justin: [This wouldn't have anything to do with Olivia, would it?]