Chapter 72 She's My Girlfriend
The luxury jet soared above a sea of clouds that stretched like an endless cotton field beneath us. I pressed my palm against the cool window, searching for a moment's peace in the shifting patterns below. Something about clouds had always calmed me—maybe because they represented freedom, constantly changing and drifting wherever the wind took them.
"Enjoying the view?" Ethan's voice pulled me from my thoughts.
His hand reached out, fingers gently brushing my cheek. I flinched involuntarily. I hated when he looked at me like that—so deep, so intense, like a bottomless abyss that could swallow me whole.
I couldn't meet his gaze, quickly turning back to the window. "It's beautiful."
Ethan chuckled softly, withdrawing his hand and opening his laptop to review some documents. The tension in my shoulders eased slightly when his attention shifted away. After staring at the clouds a while longer, exhaustion washed over me. I closed my eyes, letting sleep take me.
It wasn't my fault I hadn't packed properly. How could I, when Ethan had announced our international trip right after dinner? I'd hurried to our bedroom to pack, bent over folding clothes when he'd appeared behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. What followed were hours of him claiming my body, leaving me no time to prepare. By midnight, I was too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Between going to bed late and our early departure, I hadn't even packed a change of clothes beyond essential documents.
"Local time is one o'clock in the afternoon," the pilot's voice announced over the speakers.
As I stepped off the plane, Brussels' sunlight hit my eyes with piercing intensity. I squinted, raising my hand to shield my face.
Suddenly a sun hat was placed on my head. I looked up to find Ethan's tall frame casting a shadow over me, blocking the harsh sun.
"Thank you," I said softly, my voice barely audible.
He adjusted the hat carefully, then slid sunglasses onto the bridge of my nose, his fingers lingering against my skin. The corner of his mouth curved upward slightly.
It wasn't my fault I hadn't prepared these things myself. Last night, Ethan had said we were going abroad right after dinner. When I'd hurried back to the bedroom to pack, bending over to fold clothes, he'd come up behind me and embraced me, then taken me without warning. Those hours of him claiming my body had left no time for packing. By midnight, I was too exhausted to do anything but sleep.
Between going to bed so late and our early departure, I hadn't even had time to prepare anything. Besides essential documents, I hadn't even brought a change of clothes.
Looking at the hat and sunglasses Ethan had produced, I simply thanked him without asking when he'd prepared them. I didn't need to ask—he'd obviously had an assistant arrange everything. Ethan wouldn't personally bother with such trivial details.
I'd spent the ten-hour flight in a haze, drifting in and out of sleep. After sitting so long, my ears were ringing painfully as we disembarked. I covered my mouth to cough, repeatedly swallowing to try to clear the pressure, but the discomfort persisted.
Ethan gently massaged my ears and handed me a bottle of water. I took several sips, feeling marginally better.
A brown-haired man approached us through the VIP corridor, shaking Ethan's hand enthusiastically. "Mr. Bennett, welcome to Brussels!" His English carried a heavy French accent.
Philippe politely extended his hand toward me. "Your young assistant is very pretty."
Before he could finish, Ethan cut in, his tone firm: "She's my girlfriend."
I turned to look at Ethan, surprised by his immediate correction. He stroked my hair affectionately, his voice softening. "Did I get that wrong?" Then to me: "He's the project manager for this deal, Philippe Everett."
Philippe delivered us to the Royal Plaza Hotel, a blend of luxury and historic grandeur. Our presidential suite featured Baroque ceiling decorations, priceless antique furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Brussels' most famous square.
"We could visit Grand Place and the Manneken Pis statue tonight—Brussels' most famous attractions," Ethan suggested, his hands resting on my shoulders from behind.
I shook my head slightly. "No need. Focus on your work."
In the elevator mirror, I caught our reflection—one tall, one short, standing close together. We looked like an intimate couple. But we're far from equals. When he's happy, he pets me like a beloved animal. When he's angry, he uses me. He humiliates me whenever he wants.
This moment of harmony feels like a dream.
Ethan's phone rang suddenly. Checking the caller ID, his expression instantly cooled. He walked to the balcony, lowering his voice, but I could still hear fragments of the conversation.
"Are you accusing me, Father?" His voice was ice-cold.
From the other end, Richard Bennett's angry voice was faintly audible: "Nathan's situation with that female student—with your capabilities, you could have handled it quietly, but instead it's become a mess..."
Ethan lit a cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke before laughing coldly. "Good. I've finally disappointed you." He took a deep drag. "If you believe it was me, don't waste time asking. Open an investigation. I'll await the court summons."
He ended the call abruptly, crushing out his cigarette with unnecessary force, his eyes frost-like.
When he turned back toward me, his brows were drawn low, eyes chilling, his entire body radiating a terrifying intensity.
I quickly looked away, too frightened to hold his gaze.
He strode into the room, one hand bracing against the sofa as he leaned over me. "Blake Bennett fell from a high-rise. A life cut short in his prime."
My eyelashes trembled, eyes growing wet.
Ethan smiled. "Do you think it was an accident or deliberate?"
I couldn't speak. My heart nearly stopped, eyes wide with fear as I stared at him.
Ethan raised his hand, gently caressing my face, his smile never reaching his eyes as he asked: "Do you think I did it, Liv?"