Chapter 73 Want To Leave With Blake?
My head moved from side to side before I could even process a response. "No, I don't," I managed. Seeing his expression remain unreadable, I quickly added, "It wasn't you. You wouldn't do something like that."
This wasn't flattery born from fear—though God knows I was terrified. It was logical. Someone with Ethan's position and resources would never do something as stupid as murder. If he wanted to destroy Blake, he had countless other ways—sending him abroad, ruining his career, making his life miserable—all without legal consequences.
Ethan leaned closer, his breath warm against my face. "Oh? You trust me that much?"
I didn't trust him—not really. But I understood him. He wouldn't risk everything over something so avoidable.
The corner of his mouth curved upward as his hand slipped from my face. "I'm messing with you," he said, his tone lighter. "He's fine, very much alive." He paused, his fingers trailing down to my neck, long fingers gently caressing the delicate skin there. "Though his father getting that female student killed in that accident became public knowledge. It's affected my father too—forced him to step down early. Blake will find it difficult to establish himself in LA now."
I said nothing, just watched him carefully.
Ethan straightened, walking toward the bathroom with casual confidence.
When Ethan emerged, a towel hung low on his hips, revealing his muscular torso. I quickly averted my eyes, terrified he might pull me into bed despite my exhaustion from the ten-hour flight. My head was still spinning, and the last thing I wanted was his hands on me.
His phone rang, and he answered it with practiced authority. "Bennett." After a brief exchange, he nodded. "Inform Philippe I'll be down shortly."
He turned to me. "The project team is waiting in the hotel's conference room. You should rest—you look pale."
Relief washed over me. Thank God. I could finally have some time alone.
After Ethan left, I took a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the tension in my muscles. The bathroom was a marvel of Italian marble and gold fixtures. I stood there, letting water cascade over me, wondering how I'd become so accustomed to this life while simultaneously feeling like a prisoner within it.
Wrapped in a plush hotel robe, I collapsed onto the bed, my body finally relaxing. I grabbed my phone to scroll through social media when an unknown number called.
Something in my gut told me who it was.
Blake.
I declined the call and immediately blocked the number, my heart racing. Not even a minute later, another unknown number appeared on my screen. I rejected this one too.
Two minutes later, a text message arrived:
Liv, let's leave together. I'll take you away from here—out of the country, away from LA. I'll help you transfer to a new school abroad. After a few years, when things settle and Ethan gives up on you, we can come back. Or if you prefer, we can immigrate permanently. Whatever country you want, I'll arrange everything.
I exhaled slowly, reading the message twice before deleting it and blocking this number too.
These Bennett men were insane—both of them! Both completely self-absorbed and oblivious to what I actually wanted. One trapping me like I was his possession, the other convinced he was my knight in shining armor. Uncle and nephew, cut from the same cloth.
Room service arrived with Belgian cuisine I didn't order—delicate waffles with fresh berries, mussels in white wine sauce, and chocolate truffles arranged on fine china. I forced myself to take a few bites, not wanting to upset Ethan by leaving it untouched.
Shortly after, a man introduced himself as Aaron, Ethan's sales director for the Brussels division. With him were three medical professionals carrying portable equipment.
"Mr. Bennett asked us to have Dr. Mitchell examine you," Thomas explained with a thick accent.
I wanted to refuse, but knew better than to reject Ethan's "care." Dr. Mitchell, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, checked my vitals and asked about my symptoms.
"Just jet lag and some flight syndrome," he concluded after a thorough examination. "Nothing serious, but you need rest." He prescribed medication for my symptoms and advised against any strenuous activity for twenty-four hours.
"Her blood pressure is slightly elevated," he mentioned to Aaron, who nodded solemnly as if reporting directly to Ethan. "And her body shows signs of stress."
The irony wasn't lost on me. Ethan controlling even my health while simultaneously being the cause of my stress.
After they left, exhaustion overtook me and I fell into a dreamless sleep. The medication worked quickly, pulling me under into blessed darkness where neither Ethan nor Blake could reach me.
I woke to the sensation of someone watching me. Opening my eyes, I found Ethan sitting beside me on the bed, his face illuminated by the soft glow of Brussels' evening lights filtering through the partially drawn curtains. His expression wasn't tender or concerned—it was cold and dangerous.
My heart nearly stopped when I saw what he was holding—his phone, open to a text message screen.
"Want to leave with Blake?" he asked, his voice eerily calm as he showed me the screen.