Chapter 56 Not Even A Word
Jackson nodded thoughtfully. "You're right, it's definitely not my business." His tone shifted, becoming lighter but somehow more dangerous. "I'm just worried Ethan might make it his business."
The man stiffened at the mention of the name. "Ethan? As in Bennett?"
"Exactly," Jackson replied, then immediately dialed Ethan's number and gestured to the club manager. "Turn down the music."
Within seconds, the pulsing beat faded, leaving an uncomfortable silence that spread through the nearby tables. People turned to stare as Jackson put the phone on speaker.
"Mr. Winters, if you don't believe me, you can ask him yourself," Jackson said, holding out the phone.
The club fell eerily quiet. Charlie's face tensed as he stared at the phone, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Emma and Grace exchanged confused glances beside me.
After a few agonizing seconds, Ethan's cold, deep voice cut through the silence: "What is it?"
Jackson spoke calmly into the phone. "Charlie here wants to buy Olivia a drink. I told him you might have an opinion on that."
There was a deadly silence. One second passed. Then two. Three. It felt like an eternity.
My hands trembled in my lap, visibly shaking despite my efforts to control them. I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs, each beat painful and loud in my ears.
In that silence, the call disconnected without Ethan saying a word.
Jackson put his phone away with an awkward smile. "Sorry about that. I'd say Ethan's lack of response is your answer."
Charlie's confident demeanor collapsed. "Tell Bennett it was just a misunderstanding. No disrespect intended," he muttered, backing away and disappearing into the crowd.
The manager turned the music back up, and conversations slowly resumed around us.
"What was that all about?" Grace asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
I couldn't answer. My throat had closed up as I watched them talking about me like I wasn't even there. They'd made decisions for me, settled my fate between them without once asking what I wanted. The humiliation burned worse than any physical pain I'd felt.
I wanted to tell Jackson I didn't need his help, that I could handle myself. But the words wouldn't come.
Because deep down, I knew the truth. Without Jackson stepping in, without Ethan's name being dropped like some kind of magical ward, I probably wouldn't have gotten away from this guy so easily.
The worst part was that Jackson had helped me because of Ethan, but Ethan and I were over. I didn't deserve this protection anymore, hadn't earned it. This favor felt like borrowed power, a debt I couldn't repay.
Jackson turned to me. "You okay?"
I nodded mechanically, though I felt anything but okay.
"Thanks for stepping in," I set down my cranberry juice and grabbed my purse. "I should go."
"Already?" Emma protested. "We just got here."
"I'll see you back at the dorm," I said, avoiding their questioning gazes.
Grace frowned. "Do you want us to come with you?"
"No, stay and have fun," I insisted. "I just need some air."
Before leaving, I turned to Jackson and bowed slightly. "Thank you for intervening. I'll repay this favor someday."
Without waiting for his response, I hurried toward the exit.
Outside, I took a deep breath of the cool night air. My mind was racing. I'd thought breaking ties with Ethan would mean freedom, but instead, I'd just discovered that his shadow extended far beyond his physical presence.
I walked quickly, wanting to put as much distance between myself and the club as possible. I had deleted his number, returned his money, and avoided his social circle, yet somehow I couldn't escape his influence.
As I walked, a profound sense of helplessness washed over me. From childhood, I'd known I was pretty, but I'd also understood the limitations of beauty alone. Beauty without status or education was a losing hand. That's why I'd studied so hard, desperate to change my circumstances.
Yet here I was, still trapped in patterns I couldn't control. I'd escaped one relationship only to discover that the mere mention of Ethan's name could alter my reality. It was a crushing realization - perhaps my life truly wasn't my own to direct.
Lost in these thoughts, I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings. I collided with someone, my forehead bumping painfully against what felt like a solid chest.
"Watch where you're fucking going!" a harsh voice snarled.
I looked up to see a man with muscular arms covered in elaborate tattoos, wearing a black t-shirt. His face was flushed with anger, his breath heavy with alcohol.
"I'm sorry," I apologized quickly, trying to step around him.
The man swayed slightly, his eyes focusing on my face. Recognition dawned in his expression, followed by an unpleasant smile.
"No problem, little miss. Where are you headed?" His tone had shifted from anger to something that made my skin crawl.
"I'm going home," I said cautiously, taking two steps back.
He moved forward, closing the distance between us. "It's still early. Why don't you hang with me for a while? I'll take you home later."
I clutched my purse tightly, turning to head back toward the club. I had barely taken a step when his large, sweaty hand grabbed my arm.
The man's grip was strong, his palm hot and sticky against my skin. I felt immediately nauseated, like I was being touched by some repulsive creature. I tried to pull away.
"Let go of me!" I demanded.
His fingers tightened. "Come on, don't be like that."
With one sharp tug, he pulled me against his chest. I cried out in shock as his arms wrapped around my body.
"Help!" I screamed, my voice echoing in the parking lot. "Someone help me!"