Chapter 3 You're So Cruel, Olivia

Ethan's eyes found mine for a brief moment. I quickly looked away, pretending to adjust my navy blue dress. When I dared to look again, his gaze had already turned cold and distant.

Ethan moved past me without acknowledgment, greeting the other executives with firm handshakes. I secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

Vincent gave me a knowing look, his eyes dancing with amusement. He, too, pretended not to recognize me.

"Shall we begin?" Vincent gestured toward the large table draped in white linen.

Vincent invited Ethan to take a seat, and everyone quickly found their places.

When I finally snapped back to attention, I realized with dismay that the only empty chair remaining was directly to Ethan's right. Fuck. This can't be happening.

Frank noticed my hesitation, his brow furrowing at my obvious discomfort. "Mr. Bennett, you don't mind if Olivia sits next to you, do you?"

"Not at all," Ethan replied, not even glancing in my direction.

I had no choice. Swallowing my anxiety, I slid into the chair beside him.

Maybe he'll get a call and leave early, I thought desperately. He always had, back then—dinners interrupted by urgent business calls, nights cut short by emergencies.

But Ethan remained present, completely ignoring me while engaging effortlessly with everyone else.

When the appetizers arrived, Vincent raised his glass. "To Mr. Bennett, the real decision-maker for our investment." He smiled broadly.

Ethan nodded slightly, accepting the toast with practiced grace.

Frank turned to me with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Olivia, why don't you personally thank Mr. Bennett for his interest in your collection?"

My hand trembled as I raised my glass. Before I could speak, Ethan lifted his own glass and turned to me for the first time.

"Miss Reed, you can contact me directly if you need anything," he said, his voice low and dangerous as his eyes locked with mine. "You know that, don't you? Just ask, and I'll give you whatever you want."

The intensity in his stare cut straight to my core, making it impossible to breathe.

Everyone at the table looked stunned, except for Vincent who watched with undisguised amusement. The silence was deafening.

I stared at my glass, unsure how to respond. But before I could formulate a reply, Ethan set his glass down with a sharp clink and turned to Frank.

"Is this how you run your business?" His voice was razor-sharp. "Making female employees drink with potential investors?"

Frank jumped like he'd been shocked, nearly knocking over his water glass. "Mr. Bennett, that's not—we would never—Atelier Rose is a professional company. We don't engage in those kinds of... practices."

"Good to hear," Ethan replied coldly.

When Vincent finally signed the contract and promised the first payment would be transferred within three days, I felt like I could breathe again.

As soon as it seemed acceptable to leave, I excused myself to the restroom. Sophie followed close behind.

"What the hell was that?" she whispered, pulling me into a quiet corner. "What's going on between you and Bennett?"

I let out a bitter laugh. "A debt of sin, that's all."

Sophie stared at me, clearly wanting to press further, but her phone rang. "I have to take this." She squeezed my arm before hurrying down the hallway, her voice fading as she disappeared around a corner.

I pushed off the wall, ready to make my escape. I'd barely taken three steps when a strong arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me sideways into a private dining room. The door clicked shut behind us.

"Let me go, Mr. Bennett!" I struggled against his grip.

He spun me around, backing me against the leather booth. His eyes were blazing with an emotion I couldn't name—anger, desire, or something worse.

"'Debt of sin'?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. His hand moved to my neck, thumb tracing my pulse point. "Is that all I am to you, Olivia? A sin to be repaid?"

I turned my face away, refusing to meet his eyes. He lowered his head, his breath hot against my skin before his teeth grazed my neck. I gasped at the sharp pain, instinctively raising my hand to slap him, but he caught my wrist effortlessly.

He pinned my legs with his own, immobilizing me completely. All I could do was glare at him, trying to mask my fear with defiance.

"You promised to let me go," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady.

His jaw tightened. "And I also said if you left, don't come back. Yet here you are."

"You know damn well why I'm in LA," I snapped.

He buried his face in my neck, his voice hoarse. "I let you go once, Olivia, but I can't let myself go."

"This will only make me lose respect for you," I said coldly.

He bit my neck again, harder this time. "God, you're ruthless," he whispered against my skin.

When we finally returned to the suite, Frank was saying goodbye to Vincent. "I'll drive Mr. Crawford home," Frank explained. "He's had quite a bit to drink."

"Sophie and I can share a ride," Vincent added with a sly smile. "We have some marketing strategies to discuss."

Frank turned to me with an apologetic look. "Olivia, would you mind driving Mr. Bennett back? Since you haven't been drinking."

Fuck. I couldn't refuse without causing a scene. Refusing would mean embarrassing Ethan, which could jeopardize everything—the contract, my friends' careers, the entire company.

"Of course," I said, my voice sounding hollow to my own ears.

Ethan's lips curved into a satisfied smile as he handed me his car keys. The Maybach key fob felt heavy in my palm.

Sitting behind the wheel of his car, I noticed a dreamcatcher hanging from the rearview mirror, gently swaying with the movement of the car. The small silver bells at its bottom made a soft tinkling sound as the autumn breeze caught them. I swallowed hard—I'd given him that dreamcatcher for his thirtieth birthday.

I busied myself with the seatbelt, desperate for any distraction. "Where to, Mr. Bennett?" I asked formally, keeping my eyes fixed on the steering wheel.

He leaned back against the leather seat, his eyes half-closed. "You know exactly where I live, Olivia."

"It's been five years," I said tightly. "Things change."

"Reeding Waters," he said softly.

I nodded and was about to start the engine when he spoke again.

"Reddy," he said, using the nickname only he had ever called me. "I've missed you."

The sound of that name sent a wave of heat through my body. My hands trembled on the steering wheel, my eyes burning with unshed tears. Memories I'd fought to suppress came rushing back.