Chapter 90 The Timer Starts Now
Inside the Maybach, I shut my eyes, refusing to look at him. Tears slid silently down my cheeks as I pressed myself against the door, creating as much distance between us as the luxury car would allow. My body trembled slightly, betraying my attempt to appear calm.
Ethan tilted his head, studying me with those predatory eyes before leaning in. His lips found my neck like a hunter claiming his prey. I shuddered at the touch, prompting him to pull back. When he saw the hatred burning in my reddened eyes, something shifted in his expression.
Quickly unbuttoning his shirt, he exposed his muscular chest and grabbed the back of my head, pressing my face against his skin.
"If you're angry, bite me," he commanded, his voice deep and resonant. "Bite as hard as you need to until you feel better."
I didn't hesitate. My teeth sank into his flesh until I tasted iron. Blood filled my mouth, its metallic flavor spreading across my tongue, but I didn't stop.
"Keep going," he urged, his voice strained but encouraging. "Bite straight to my heart if you want."
I jerked away, my eyes still wet with tears. "Ethan, why can't you just let me go?"
His sharp eyes narrowed dangerously, and he laughed—a cold, hollow sound that sent chills down my spine. "Let you go?" His large hand captured my chin, his thumb roughly caressing my lip. "Olivia, do you even understand what you're asking?"
The window lowered slightly as Ethan lit a Cohiba cigar. Smoke curled through the car interior, dancing in the spaces between us. I huddled in the corner of the seat, arms wrapped tightly around myself, staring at the floor. Outside, the Malibu coastline passed by—a vision of freedom that seemed to mock me through the tinted windows.
After smoking half his cigar in tense silence, Ethan spoke again, his voice calmer but no less commanding. "Just two years, Olivia. Give me two years of your warmth and genuine companionship. Can you do that?"
I opened my mouth but couldn't find the words.
Ethan reached over, gently stroking my face. His eyes, deep as an abyss, locked onto mine. "I might as well lay all my cards on the table. Two years is your limit, but it's also mine. After that, even if you wanted to stay, I couldn't keep you."
I remained silent, processing his words.
"Ungrateful little thing," he murmured, a slight smile playing on his lips. "I took a beating for you, and this is what I get."
I knew what he meant. When he'd returned to the Bennett estate after our trip abroad, his grandfather had him whipped. For me. For breaking his nephew's arm. For commandeering fighter jets to intercept a commercial plane.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, lowering my head.
"Don't apologize," Ethan replied, pulling me into his arms. His stubbled chin brushed against my forehead as he spoke in a husky voice. "You know that's not what I want to hear, Olivia."
I fell silent again. Beyond "I'm sorry," there were only three other words he wanted, and I couldn't—wouldn't—say them.
He adjusted his hold, wrapping an arm around my slender waist. "My grandfather gave me two years with you. After that, he's forcing us to separate. So you don't need to worry about me not letting you go. Even if I didn't want to end things, he'd make sure it happened."
In my mind, I wondered why we should even bother with these two years if separation was inevitable. Why not end things now? But I knew better than to voice such thoughts.
"Okay," I finally agreed. "But you can't keep me like a prisoner. I need enough freedom."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, an almost-smile playing on his lips. "What do you mean by 'enough freedom'? Haven't I given you freedom?"
"First, you can't interfere with my normal social life," I said firmly. "Like what you said on the phone—forbidding me from seeing my friends. That's not acceptable."
Ethan nodded. "Fine, I take back what I said earlier."
"And you can't falsely accuse me or misjudge me, like—"
"When have I ever falsely accused you?" Ethan interrupted, irritation flashing in his eyes. "Olivia, who taught you to make such baseless claims?"
"Last year at the New Year's gala," I countered, bringing up old grievances. "I was co-hosting with a friend, and we just talked a bit more than usual. You got furious and sent him abroad. And then there was—"
His eyes darkened instantly. He gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh as his mouth curved into a cold, dangerous smile. "You've been waiting to bring this up, haven't you?"
I knew I'd touched a nerve, but I had to continue. If he wanted me to accompany him for two years, we needed clear boundaries. Without basic freedom, I couldn't possibly do this with any peace of mind.
So I pressed on, my voice steady despite my fear. "When you work, you must interact with women too. You don't see me getting irrationally jealous or accusing you of—"
The man who'd been scowling seconds ago suddenly laughed.
"Jealous?" He leaned closer, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I rarely interact with other women. My assistants or secretaries handle those interactions."
I wanted to say "I'm not jealous," but afraid of upsetting him, I pivoted. "You must have some contact with women occasionally."
"Even when I do," Ethan replied, "I maintain a proper social distance. I never have intimate contact with them."
His implication inflamed me. "What's that supposed to mean? Are you suggesting I have inappropriate physical contact with other men?"
"You don't," Ethan said coldly, "but that doesn't stop them from wanting it! Your so-called co-host friend—anyone could see his filthy intentions. Those hungry dog eyes never left you. If I remember correctly, people even said you two made a good couple. You call that normal socializing?"
I felt my face flush with anger. "As if women don't look at you the same way!"