Chapter 69 Bad Timing
Blake stood less than ten feet away, hands in his pockets, looking both familiar and foreign all at once. Nearly a year had passed since I'd last seen him, yet his presence hit me like a physical blow.
A flash of irritation surged through me, surprising in its intensity.
"Your father just died," I said bluntly. "Shouldn't you be in mourning or something?"
Blake's expression didn't change. "He was cremated a week ago."
His voice was flat, devoid of the grief one might expect. I nodded awkwardly, then turned and started walking, hoping he'd take the hint and leave.
"Where are you living now?" He fell into step beside me, his long strides easily matching mine.
"An apartment near campus," I replied tersely, keeping my eyes forward.
"Did Ethan buy it for you?"
I hesitated, my stride faltering for just a moment. "Yes."
"My father's death has caused problems for him too," Blake continued. "His enemies won't miss this opportunity to move against him."
I remained silent, my mind racing. Ethan hadn't contacted me in ten days. No calls, no texts, no unexpected appearances at my door. Was this because of Blake's father's death? Or had he finally decided to end our arrangement?
Without warning, Blake stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me.
"Blake!" I gasped, pushing against his chest. "Let go!"
"Just let me hold you for a moment," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion I hadn't heard earlier. "Just one moment, Liv."
I stopped struggling, my arms falling limply to my sides.
True to his word, Blake released me after only a few seconds. "Let me drive you home."
"No," I said firmly. "That's not necessary."
His mouth twisted. "Afraid he'll see us?"
I frowned. "It's late, that's all. It wouldn't be appropriate."
"We can't even be friends now?" Blake challenged. "Has he dictated who you're allowed to talk to as well?"
I pressed my lips together, saying nothing.
"Christ, Liv," Blake's voice rose slightly. "You used to have fire. You weren't afraid to tell me off when I pushed too far. What has he done to you?"
I pulled out my phone, opening the rideshare app. "I should go."
He grabbed my hand, preventing me from ordering a car. "It's not safe to take rideshares alone at night. Let me drive you."
"No, thank you," I said, pulling my hand free.
Blake's eyes narrowed. "Has he threatened you? Hurt you?"
My eyelashes fluttered as I looked down. "No. He's... good to me."
"Bullshit." Blake's laugh was cold. "If he were good to you, you wouldn't be acting like a frightened rabbit. The Liv I remember—the one who first came to UCLA—was bright and spirited. Your eyes were full of life. Now..." He shook his head. "Now you look like a wilted flower, constantly on the verge of tears."
"Back then, when I pursued you, you rejected me without hesitation. Your eyes had light in them. But now—"
"Enough," I cut him off. "I'll take your ride."
As I slid into the passenger seat of Blake's car and reached for the seatbelt, a sharp honk pierced the night air. My head snapped up to see a sleek black Maybach pulling alongside us, the driver's window sliding down to reveal Ethan's cold, piercing gaze.
My heart nearly stopped.
"Hey, Uncle," Blake called out with forced casualness, raising his hand in greeting.
Ethan said nothing, his eyes locked on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. His jaw was clenched tight, face expressionless except for the dangerous glint in his eyes.
With trembling hands, I unfastened the seatbelt and pushed open the door. I walked to Ethan's car on unsteady legs, pulled open the back door, and slid inside without a word.
Throughout the entire exchange, Ethan never spoke, never even looked at Blake again. After I closed the door, he simply drove away, leaving his nephew staring after us.
The car's interior was suffocating in its silence. The windows were up, the air conditioning creating a soft white noise that only emphasized the crushing quiet. I could hear each breath, feel my heart pounding against my ribs.
I sat rigidly upright in the back seat, hands folded primly in my lap, eyes fixed straight ahead. I couldn't bring myself to look at Ethan, couldn't bear to see the cold fury I knew would be etched across his features.
Every stoplight seemed to stretch for an eternity. Traffic appeared from nowhere, clogging the streets as if conspiring to extend my torture. By the time we finally reached the underground garage of my apartment building, my back was damp with sweat and my legs had gone numb.
The silence continued, stretching between us like a physical thing. Then came the metallic click of Ethan's seatbelt, followed by the scratch of a lighter.
A small flame flickered in the darkness as Ethan lit a cigarette, something I'd never seen him do inside a car before. He didn't open a window, didn't ask if I minded. The smoke began to fill the enclosed space, acrid and suffocating.
He smoked methodically, deliberately, the ember glowing red with each inhale. When the first cigarette burned down to his fingers, he simply crushed it out and lit another.
The smoke grew thicker, making my eyes water and my throat burn. "Could we open a window?" I finally whispered.
Ethan continued smoking as if he hadn't heard me.
By the time he lit his third cigarette, I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed open the door and stumbled out, gasping for air, one hand covering my mouth as I tried to suppress a cough.
The garage's damp, musty air was a blessed relief compared to the smoke-filled car. I took deep breaths, trying to clear my lungs despite the underground garage's less-than-fresh atmosphere.
I heard the car door open behind me, followed by the measured tread of Ethan's footsteps. I turned to see him approaching, cigarette still held between his long fingers, the tip glowing red in the dimness. His face was cast in shadow, but his eyes caught what little light there was.
My heart rate spiked, breath quickening as he came closer. Fear—pure, instinctive fear—surged through me, but my feet remained rooted to the spot.
When Ethan reached me, he raised his hand to my face. The cigarette came dangerously close to my hair, close enough that I could smell the singeing of a few stray strands. I trembled violently, unable to control my body's reaction.
"E-Ethan," I stuttered, "I—"
He patted my cheek with the hand holding the cigarette, ash falling onto my shoulder. "What are you afraid of?" He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Olivia Reed, with your boundless courage—are you actually afraid of me?"
Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.
"Don't do this," I whispered.
"Don't do what?" Ethan asked, lifting his index finger to extinguish the cigarette against it, grinding the burning ember into his own skin without flinching. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "If I hadn't come back tonight, would you have brought him to your bed?"