Chapter 67 Will You Leave Him
The text message arrived just after breakfast the next morning. An invitation—or rather, a summons—to visit the Bennett family's private art collection at their Beverly Hills estate.
"Who's it from?" Ethan asked, glancing up from his laptop.
"Hannah Bennett," I replied, showing him the screen. "Your sister wants to meet me today."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "You don't have to go."
"But I should, right?" I traced the rim of my coffee cup.
He exhaled slowly. "If you want to go, I'll have Walter drive you."
I nodded, already calculating what this meeting might entail.
---
Three hours later, Walter dropped me at the entrance to a modernist glass structure set apart from the main Bennett estate. The building gleamed in the California sun—all clean lines and strategic angles designed to control the light falling on whatever treasures it held.
"Ms. Reed," a voice called as I approached the entrance. "How lovely of you to join us."
Hannah Bennett stood at the doorway, elegant in a cream Chanel suit. She was taller than me by several inches, with the same commanding presence as Ethan but softened by feminine grace. The family resemblance was undeniable—those same piercing eyes, that same confident posture.
"Thank you for inviting me," I said, extending my hand.
She took it with a warm smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "The pleasure is mine. I've been curious about you for some time."
Inside, the gallery opened into a vast space with a soaring glass ceiling. Museum-quality lighting illuminated works I recognized from art history textbooks—a Rothko here, a Picasso there, each piece casually displayed as if having a multi-million dollar painting was as normal as hanging family photos.
"Our father started collecting in the seventies," Hannah explained, guiding me through the space. "Before art became an investment vehicle for the masses."
I nodded, trying not to look overwhelmed.
"Champagne?" She lifted two flutes from a passing server I hadn't even noticed.
"It's barely noon," I said.
"It's always time for Dom Pérignon when you're discussing family matters." Her smile turned knowing. "And that is why you're here, isn't it? Family matters."
My stomach tightened. "Is it?"
Hannah gestured toward a doorway at the far end of the gallery. "Let's speak privately."
The VIP room was intimate—all plush seating and subdued lighting. Hannah closed the door behind us, and suddenly the museum-like atmosphere disappeared, replaced by something more personal. More dangerous.
"You look nervous," she observed, settling onto a velvet sofa. "Don't be. I'm not here to threaten you."
"Then why am I here?"
"To understand." Hannah crossed her legs elegantly. "To learn about the family you've become entangled with."
She launched into the Bennett family history with practiced ease—how her mother came from a small town in New Mexico, working as a waitress in LA when she met Richard Bennett. How Richard defied family expectations to marry her.
"They were happy at first," Hannah continued. "Father paid for Mother's education. They had me, then Nathan."
"And then?" I prompted when she paused.
"Then reality set in. Mother-in-law issues, the novelty wearing off." Hannah shrugged. "They divorced when I was seven."
She described how Richard had a brief affair with a Hollywood actress who resembled her mother, resulting in a son—Mason. Then political ambition led to a strategic marriage to steel heiress Ashley Montgomery.
"And that union produced Ethan," Hannah finished, watching me carefully.
I kept my expression neutral. "You're telling me Ethan is the product of a political alliance?"
"Exactly. But Ethan defied expectations from the start." Her eyes gleamed with something like pride. "At sixteen, he entered West Point, the youngest in decades. Father wanted him in politics, but Ethan chose the military. He was brilliant—top of his class in everything."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you need to understand what you're interfering with." Hannah leaned forward. "Ethan isn't just any rich man's son. He's the Bennett family's future. With him, our influence continues for another generation. Without him..." She trailed off meaningfully.
"So this is about preserving your dynasty?" I tried to keep the bitterness from my voice.
"It's about reality, Olivia." Hannah's tone hardened slightly. "From our grandfather down to the least consequential cousin, no one wants Ethan distracted by someone... common."
The word stung more than it should have.
"That's selfish," I managed.
"Extremely," she agreed with surprising candor. "But selfishness runs in our blood." She reached for my hand. "You're smart, Olivia. Surely you realize you and Ethan have no future together."
I pulled my hand away. "If that's true, you should tell him to let me go. Not me."
Hannah raised an eyebrow. "So you don't actually care for Ethan after all?"
I said nothing, just maintained eye contact.
"What if I offered to arrange study abroad for you? With a generous financial package to ensure you'd never have to worry about money again?"
Her offer sent a jolt through me. Study abroad? Financial freedom? The temptation was powerful.
But something felt wrong. Too convenient. Too neat.
"No thank you," I said firmly.
Hannah seemed genuinely surprised. "No? Not even for—what is it—two million? Three?"
"I'm not interested."
"Why not?" Her confusion seemed genuine.
I took a deep breath and delivered the lie I'd prepared: "First, I love my country and don't want to study abroad. Second, I love Ethan and won't leave him." I added softly, "I'll only leave if he doesn't want me anymore. And when that happens, I'll go quietly, without causing any trouble."
Hannah stared at me, then slowly applauded. "What a touching performance. You almost had me believing you."
Before I could respond, a door at the back of the room opened.
Ethan stepped in, wearing a black button-down shirt, his expression unreadable.