Chapter 4 When the Hunter Found Me

Ethan pulled me closer, his strong arms wrapped possessively around my waist as we lay in the massive bed of Oakwood Estate. His lips brushed against my ear as he whispered, "You're blushing again, Reddy."

"Don't call me that," I protested weakly, trying to wiggle free from his embrace.

His fingers traced lazy patterns on my bare stomach, stopping at the soft curve of my waist where he knew I was most sensitive. "Why not? It's perfect for you. The way you flush red all over when you're embarrassed... or aroused." His voice dropped to that dangerous low register that always made me melt like honey.

At nineteen, my body had filled out more since college, something Ethan seemed to appreciate with possessive pride. He pressed his lips against the sensitive spot just below my ear, and I couldn't suppress a small gasp.

"See? Just like that," he murmured against my skin. "I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, Olivia. Wanted to keep you all to myself."

And he had done exactly that—taken me from another man with ruthless determination, making me his through methods both tender and merciless.

I often wondered how different my life would be if I'd never agreed to date Blake. If I'd never met Ethan Bennett. But fate doesn't offer do-overs.

Two years earlier, I'd been sitting under the sprawling oak trees at UCLA with my roommates, Emma and Grace. At seventeen, the world seemed full of possibilities.

"Before graduation, I want to explore every corner of Los Angeles," I declared, unwrapping a sandwich. "And try every restaurant worth eating at."

Grace rolled her eyes. "All you think about is food. You'll end up a giant balloon if you're not careful."

I shrugged, taking a defiant bite. "So what if I get fat? My stomach will be happy, and that's what matters."

Emma nudged my shoulder playfully. "With that face, you could gain fifty pounds and still have guys lining up."

"Speaking of guys," Grace said with a sly grin, "Blake Bennett hasn't stopped watching you since orientation. It's been almost a full year, and he's still following you around like a puppy. You really don't get it?"

Emma agreed. "The job market is brutal right now. Why not use his help? The Bennetts practically own Los Angeles."

I quickly changed the subject, offering Emma a bite of my sandwich.

The truth was, I understood Blake's interest perfectly well. What I couldn't understand was why someone like him—the Bennett family heir with billions to his name—would focus so persistently on someone like me, a scholarship kid from Pacifica. While many people complimented my looks, I knew beauty was subjective, and certainly not reason enough to pursue someone across such a vast social divide."

A week later, Blake's sleek Bentley pulled up beside us as we walked across campus. He stepped out, drawing admiring stares from everyone nearby. At six-foot-two with perfectly chiseled features, Blake Bennett was the definition of privileged good looks—cold when serious, roguishly charming when he smiled.

I pulled him aside to avoid the spectators. "What are you doing here?"

Blake's lips quirked into that half-smile that had melted countless hearts. "Have you decided yet?"

"Decided what?"

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I want you to be my girlfriend. You said you weren't eighteen yet, but this weekend's your birthday. So what's your answer?"

I glanced around nervously, unsure how to respond.

Blake bent down slightly, his expression suddenly earnest. "Olivia, I genuinely want to be with you."

I frowned. "But I—"

"I know you don't have feelings for me," he interrupted, "but you're not interested in anyone else either, are you?"

I remained silent. I couldn't lie and say there was someone else—Blake would inevitably investigate and drive that person away.

His hand gently touched my hair. "Just say yes. I promise I won't touch you until you develop feelings for me."

I looked down. "Can I refuse?"

Blake's smile turned predatory. "Of course." He paused deliberately. "But I can't guarantee you'll be able to focus on your studies for the next year."

"Fine," I reluctantly agreed, then raised a slender finger. "But I have one condition. One month. If you can't make me fall for you in one month, we break up, and you never bother me again."

Blake laughed. "Are you serious?"

I challenged him: "Not confident enough?"

"Deal," he agreed with surprising ease.

That weekend, Blake reserved a private section of the Beverly Hills Hotel to celebrate my eighteenth birthday. He invited his friends and wealthy heirs, people I barely knew.

His friends raised champagne flutes, toasting me with practiced smiles. "Happy birthday to the future Mrs. Bennett," one of them called out, drawing knowing laughter.

Someone deliberately bumped Blake, pushing him against me. Just as I was about to step away, my phone rang—my grandmother. Relieved, I excused myself to take the call.

I stood alone in the hotel's famous rose garden, the pink walls of the building glowing in the setting sun as my grandmother's gentle voice came through the phone.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart. Are you having fun?" she asked, her tone warm with concern.

I forced a smile she couldn't see but might hear in my voice. "Everything's fine, Grandma. You don't need to worry about me."

After a pause, I asked the question weighing on my mind. "How's Grandpa doing today?"

She sighed softly. "Same as before. The doctors came by this morning, but nothing's changed."

My throat tightened.

"I should go, Grandma. Emma's looking for me," I lied, not wanting her to hear the tremor in my voice. "I'll call tomorrow, okay?"

I composed myself, wiping away the tears from the corner of my eye and preparing to return to the party. That's when a strange sensation crawled up my spine—someone was watching me.

I glanced up at the hotel's second floor. Through the tinted glass windows, I could make out a man's silhouette, standing perfectly still, seemingly staring right at me. His face was indiscernible behind the darkened glass, but the intensity of his gaze was unmistakable.