Chapter 47 Let's Just Break Up
Christmas lights twinkled across Los Angeles as Ethan's Maybach glided through the holiday traffic. I stared out the window, watching families hurry along sidewalks clutching last-minute gifts, their faces illuminated by the festive decorations.
"We're almost there," Ethan said, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
I turned to look at him, admiring how the passing streetlights played across his chiseled features. The blue silk tie I'd given him for Thanksgiving was tucked neatly beneath his charcoal suit jacket.
The car turned off the main road and stopped before a discreet wooden gate, behind which lay a traditional Japanese courtyard. Only a simple lantern hanging beside the entrance suggested this was a restaurant at all.
As we stepped through the gate, I felt like we'd been transported to another world. A stone path wound through a meticulously maintained Japanese garden. White sand had been carefully raked into rippling patterns around artfully placed rocks, while the soft glow of ground lights illuminated precisely trimmed bonsai trees. In the background, I could hear the gentle notes of a koto being played.
"This is beautiful," I whispered, afraid to disturb the tranquility. "I've never been to such an authentic Japanese restaurant before."
A man dressed in a traditional black kimono appeared and bowed slightly. He exchanged a few words with Ethan before gesturing for us to follow.
"Shall we?" Ethan's hand found the small of my back, guiding me forward.
We were led to a private table by a window overlooking another garden section where delicate silver lights had been strung through cedar branches, blending Japanese aesthetics with subtle Christmas touches. Ethan pulled out my chair with practiced elegance.
"How did you think of sushi for Christmas Eve?" I asked, my fingers tracing the edge of the exquisitely crafted chopstick rest.
"Change is good," Ethan replied. "And I appreciate the privacy here."
As we settled in, conversation flowed easily between us. I told him about the stress of my final exams, while he shared updates about a new project at Bennett Enterprises. When the beautifully arranged appetizers arrived, our conversation shifted to food preferences.
"What's your favorite food?" I asked, delicately maneuvering my chopsticks.
"Among American cuisine, I have a special fondness for zha jiang mian and Peking duck," Ethan said, watching my movements with a slight smile. "You've been eating too many desserts lately, baby. They're not good for you at night."
He reached across to pinch my cheek gently. "Keep it up and you'll turn into my little chubby girl."
"Then I won't eat anything today!" I feigned indignation, but the smile in my eyes betrayed me. I promptly picked up another piece of sashimi and popped it into my mouth.
As dinner neared its end, the restaurant owner himself came to our table. He was a distinguished Japanese man in his fifties, wearing an impeccably pressed black kimono.
"Mr. Bennett, it's an honor to serve you again," he said with a slight accent. "I hope everything was to your satisfaction."
"Excellent as always, Mr. Tanaka," Ethan nodded respectfully.
Tanaka turned to me, offering a glass of amber liquid. "This is our special Christmas plum wine, I hope you'll enjoy it, miss."
"Thank you," I accepted the glass with a genuine smile, my eyes crinkling with appreciation. "Your restaurant is beautiful, and the food is exquisite. I especially loved the tamago—the sweetness was perfect."
When we finally left, I thanked Tanaka again with another warm smile. But as we walked to the parking lot, I realized Ethan's demeanor had completely changed. His body language had grown rigid, and instead of opening my door as he always did, he walked straight to the driver's side.
Once inside the car, he didn't help me with my seatbelt—another break from his usual routine.
"The restaurant was wonderful. Thank you for bringing me," I said tentatively. "I really loved that garden design."
Ethan merely grunted in response, starting the engine. The drive home was enveloped in a suffocating silence that made my skin crawl with anxiety.
When we arrived at Oakwood Estate, instead of heading to the main house, Ethan parked near a Japanese-inspired garden at the edge of the property. Without explanation, he suddenly scooped me up and carried me toward a small pavilion hidden among bamboo trees.
Inside the pavilion, it was warm and private, but Ethan's expression remained glacial. He set me down but kept a tight grip on my wrist.
"You smiled at him," Ethan's voice was low and dangerous.
I frowned in confusion. "What?"
"Tanaka," Ethan's eyes bored into mine. "You gave him that smile."
"I was just being polite," I tried to pull my hand away. "What's wrong with that?"
"Liv," Ethan's voice suddenly softened, becoming more dangerous. "Why can't you remember what I've told you? I've said not to smile at other men like that."
I stared at him in shock. "That was just normal social courtesy! He's a restaurant owner—of course I should be polite."
"That wasn't just politeness," Ethan said coldly. "That was encouragement. A signal."
Anger flared inside me. "What are you implying? I was just being friendly to a restaurant owner who's at least fifty years old!"
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. A small voice in the back of my mind reminded me: To him, I'm just a toy, a temporary amusement. Why fight about this?
When I opened my eyes again, I had surrendered. My expression grew distant and compliant. The fight had drained from me.
Ethan noticed the change. His tense body suddenly relaxed, and he released my wrist, stepping back as if my sudden compliance had taken the wind out of his sails.
Outside, snow had begun to fall—a rare white Christmas in Los Angeles. Ethan turned and walked out of the pavilion. I followed behind him, softly saying, "Slow down."
During the drive back to Westwood, I gazed out at the Christmas lights and falling snow, struggling with my emotions. What should have been a romantic Christmas Eve had turned into a cold standoff over a simple smile.
When we reached the apartment, Ethan pulled up to the entrance but didn't turn off the engine, clearly not planning to stay.
"Thank you for dinner," I said softly, my hand on the door handle. "Good night. Merry Christmas."
I didn't invite him up, and he didn't offer to come. I stepped out of the car and walked away without looking back, listening as the engine sound faded into the distance.
Back in my empty apartment, I changed out of my dress and sat by the window, watching the unusual sight of snow in Los Angeles. As the clock struck midnight, announcing the arrival of Christmas Day, I hesitated for a moment before dialing Ethan's number.
"Have you made it home?" I asked when he answered.
"Yes." His voice was controlled and distant.
Silence stretched between us. Finally, I took a deep breath. "Ethan, if you've lost interest, let's just break up."
The phone erupted with a low growl. "Olivia Reed, say that again!"