Chapter 81 So Desperate to Leave Me?
The plane had barely been airborne for a few minutes when I saw it.
Something outside the window caught my eye—a sleek metal shape slicing through the clouds. At first, I thought it was just another commercial flight passing by. Then another appeared. And another.
Fighter jets.
The entire cabin froze in a collective gasp as passengers realized what was happening. These weren't ordinary aircraft—they were military-grade fighter jets, surrounding our commercial plane with predatory precision.
"What the fuck is happening?" Blake's friend jumped to his feet, his face drained of color.
"Sir, please remain seated," the flight attendant instructed with forced composure that did nothing to mask her own fear.
"We're about to get blown out of the sky, and you want me to sit?" he snapped back.
I stared out the window, oddly calm despite the chaos erupting around me. Maybe it was the remnants of the sedative still swimming through my bloodstream, or perhaps the realization that there was no escaping Ethan Bennett. Not really. Not ever.
A part of me almost smiled at the absurdity. If this plane went down, at least it would be quick. At least I'd be free. The thought brought a strange peace, and I felt my lips curve slightly upward.
Blake sat rigid beside me, his face ashen, eyes narrowed as he stared at the fighter jets. His jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. This wasn't part of his plan. This was the moment his grand rescue fantasy crumbled before his eyes.
His friend leaned forward, eyes wide with sudden understanding. "Shit, Bennett. Are these fighters your uncle's doing?"
The captain's voice crackled over the intercom: "Ladies and gentlemen, due to unforeseen circumstances, we've been instructed to return to our departure airport. Please remain calm and seated. The airline will compensate you for any inconvenience caused."
The collective relief was palpable as passengers realized this wasn't a terrorist attack, just some "air traffic issue" necessitating a return. They had no idea the real threat waited on the tarmac.
As the plane banked into a turn, the fighter jets maintained their positions with mechanical precision. They weren't attacking—they were escorting us back, like prison guards returning an escaped convict.
I could see him through the small oval window as we taxied—Ethan, leaning against his black Maybach, one hand casually holding a cigarette, his posture deceptively relaxed. A military Jeep was parked beside his car. Even from this distance, I could feel the cold fury radiating from him.
"Blake," I whispered, my voice barely audible, "what happens now?"
His eyes met mine, and for the first time since I'd known him, I saw genuine fear there. Not just concern or worry, but primal fear.
"Stay close to me," he murmured, reaching for my hand.
I pulled away. No point making things worse than they already were.
As passengers began filing out, my legs felt like cotton, each step an exercise in fighting gravity. The bright sunlight hit me as I descended the stairs, temporarily blinding me. But there was no mistaking the tall figure by the car, his angular face hard as granite under the midday sun.
Ethan's eyes found mine immediately, cutting through the distance between us with laser precision. He didn't move toward me, didn't speak, just stood there watching, the cigarette between his fingers momentarily forgotten.
I felt physically wounded by that gaze, like he'd reached across the tarmac and sliced into me. The harsh sunlight made my eyes water—or at least, that's what I told myself as tears streamed down my face.
Blake put his arm around my shoulders. "Unc—" he began.
I didn't let him finish. With a soft exhale, I let my body go limp, collapsing against him in a carefully orchestrated faint.
"Liv!" Blake's panicked voice sounded above me as he caught my falling body. "Liv!"
I kept my eyes closed, my body unresponsive. It was cowardly, perhaps, but it was my only defense—this small deception to buy precious seconds before facing Ethan's wrath.
Through slitted eyelids, I saw Ethan approach, his movements fluid and predatory. Without warning, his hand lashed out, striking Blake across the face with enough force to snap his head sideways.
The crack of palm against cheek was followed by an even more sickening sound—the snap of bone as Ethan grabbed Blake's wrist and twisted. Blake's scream tore through the air as he instinctively released me.
Ethan caught me before I could hit the ground, cradling me against his chest with unexpected gentleness. He carefully adjusted his jacket to shield my face from the sun, the tenderness of the gesture a disturbing contrast to the violence he'd just inflicted.
"Take him and that friend of his," Ethan ordered coldly, and I heard the shuffle of movement as his security team moved to comply.
He carried me across the tarmac, my body pressed against the solid wall of his chest.
Inside the VIP lounge, Ethan laid me on a couch, then positioned himself above me, hands braced on either side of my head. I could feel his breath on my face, smell the mixture of cigarettes and his expensive cologne.
A short, humorless laugh escaped him. Then I felt the tip of his nose brush against my cheek, followed by the pressure of his lips against mine.
My eyelashes fluttered involuntarily, but I kept my eyes shut, desperately clinging to my pretense of unconsciousness.
"I know you're awake," Ethan said, his voice low and dangerous. "Open your eyes."
I remained still, too frightened to comply, too frightened to continue the charade.
"Perhaps we need a doctor to administer a few injections," he added coolly.
That did it. I sat up quickly, one hand pressed to my head in feigned disorientation. "I'm awake," I whispered, my voice deliberately weak.
Ethan leaned in closer, his eyes burning into mine. "You've grown quite bold, haven't you? Trying to run away from me." His long fingers captured my chin, forcing my face upward. "Is that what you want so badly? To leave me? Hm?"