Chapter 27 I'll Make You Love Me
Sunlight streamed through a crack in the heavy curtains, painting a narrow golden stripe across my face. I squinted, then immediately regretted the tiny movement. Every muscle in my body protested as I attempted to roll onto my side. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck—a very specific, Ethan Bennett-shaped truck.
"Jesus," I whispered, finally managing to prop myself up on my elbows. The sheets pooled around my waist, exposing my naked torso to the cool air-conditioned room.
Across the room, Ethan stood on the balcony in a hotel bathrobe, scrolling through emails on his phone. He looked annoyingly refreshed and energetic, as though last night's activities had only invigorated him.
"Has anyone ever told you that you have too much stamina for your own good?" I called out, my voice still rough from sleep.
He turned, his lips curving into a half-smile. In three long strides, he was at the bedside, bending down to brush his lips against my forehead.
"Maybe you just need better conditioning, sweetheart."
I rolled my eyes. "Even an Olympic athlete would tap out after your 'workout regimen', Mr. Bennett."
A low chuckle rumbled through his chest as his fingers traced my collarbone, sending unwelcome shivers down my spine. "I've been holding back, believe it or not."
---
Back at Oakwood Estate, the following days fell into a peculiar rhythm. Ethan resumed his busy schedule, leaving early and returning late. I found myself eating meals alone most days.
The staff kept their distance, retreating to their quarters in a separate building behind the main house for meals and breaks. This had apparently been the arrangement before my arrival, and I didn't feel entitled to change it. Despite sleeping in Ethan's bed, I wasn't the lady of the house—just a temporary visitor playing a role.
I tried to make myself useful, straightening things that didn't need straightening, reading books from his expansive library, occasionally swimming laps in the infinity pool. But mostly I felt like an ornament, something pretty Ethan had acquired to decorate his life.
One evening, as I sat cross-legged on the massive bed scrolling through Netflix options, my phone rang. Seeing my grandmother's name on the screen made my heart skip.
"Grandma?" I answered quickly.
"The doctor says the tumor has shrunk by 30%, Liv!" Martha's voice trembled with excitement. "The treatment is working!"
My eyes immediately filled with tears. "That's... that's incredible."
"Dr. Peterson says if the progress continues, your grandfather can switch to outpatient treatment in two weeks." She lowered her voice. "I don't know who our anonymous donor is, but I pray for them every night."
I swallowed hard, guilt and gratitude warring in my chest. "How's he feeling?"
"Stronger every day. He's even complaining about the hospital food again." She laughed, the sound ringing with relief.
---
I was still at the window when Ethan returned at 10:30, the scent of whiskey and Cuban cigars clinging to him. He'd loosened his tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a slice of tanned skin beneath. He moved behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.
"Do you like me, Olivia?" he asked suddenly, his breath warm against my ear. "Not just tolerate. Actually like me."
I turned in his arms, surprised by the question. In the dim light, his eyes held an unfamiliar vulnerability that made my chest tighten.
"I'm not there yet, Ethan," I answered honestly. "I don't dislike you, but..."
Disappointment flickered across his face, quickly replaced by something harder, more determined. "I want to take you to Pacifica this weekend to see your grandfather. Then Europe—Paris, Rome, wherever you want."
He cradled my face between his palms, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I want to hear you say 'I love you' someday. And mean it."
The intensity in his gaze made me step back. I didn't answer, couldn't answer.
I can't say those words now, and I never will, I thought to myself. I feel nothing for Ethan. Not a single spark of love, not even a flutter of attraction.
It's not that he isn't exceptional. That's precisely the problem—he's too exceptional. The wealth, the power, the looks, the perfect body... a man with even one of these qualities would never lack female attention.
That's why I can't let myself feel anything. I'm terrified of getting hurt. If I don't love him, I have nothing to fear. I remain invulnerable. The moment this arrangement ends, I can walk away without a backward glance, dust myself off, and move on.
---
While Ethan showered, I sat on the edge of the bed, his declaration echoing in my mind. Memories I'd tried to suppress came flooding back—my family's broken history that had shaped my views on love.
My parents, David and Claire, had met through World of Warcraft, of all things. My mother, young and naive, had fallen pregnant after just three months. Her mother had been furious—my father's family was poor, with nothing to offer. My father's parents were equally unhappy with the match.
When the pressure became too much, my father left. My mother gave birth alone, then surrendered me to my paternal grandparents, unable to cope with a baby and her mother's disapproval. A few years later, my father married Jessica and had my half-brother Tyler, creating the perfect little family I was never part of.
While my father's new family thrived, my grandparents and I survived on Paul's retirement funds and medical insurance. Occasionally, my father would call, asking for money rather than offering it. When my grandfather's cancer diagnosis came, our meager savings evaporated, and my father refused to help.
Throughout high school, I'd juggled caring for my grandparents, maintaining a perfect GPA, and working three jobs during summers. I'd learned early that depending on others was a luxury I couldn't afford.
Standing before the bathroom mirror, I made myself a promise: "I won't end up like my mother. I won't get pregnant. I won't fall in love with a man who'll discard me."
---
The next day, Ethan's private jet cut through wispy clouds as we descended toward Pacifica. I'd fallen asleep against his shoulder, wrapped in a cashmere blanket. The plane lurched slightly in turbulence, pulling me from slumber.
"Shh, we're almost there," Ethan murmured, stroking my hair. His voice was tender, his touch gentle—not the controlling businessman or the demanding lover, but something else entirely. Something that terrified me more than his anger ever could.
My throat tightened as I looked up at him. "Don't be so kind to me, Ethan," I said, my voice breaking. "I can handle your cruelty, but I'm not prepared for your kindness. I'm afraid I'll lose myself completely to you."