My Ex's Uncle, My Trap

Olivia's POV:

His fingers gripped my chin like a vise, forcing my gaze up to meet his. Cold. Calculating. Consuming. Ethan Bennett's steel-gray eyes bore into mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.

"Running? Where to?" His voice was low, dangerous—a predator toying with prey already cornered against the bedroom wall.

I shook my head, my hands instinctively rising to create some barrier between us, however futile. The expensive wallpaper pressed against my back felt as cold as the expression on his face.

"Even death won't let you leave me," he said, the words falling like ice shards. "You can only die in my bed."

A tear slid down my cheek. I remained silent, compliant—I'd learned the hard way that resistance only fueled his rage. Five-foot-four against his towering six-foot-three frame, I had no physical advantage. My only defense was submission.

His grip tightened, thumb pressing into the hollow beneath my bottom lip. "Why are you crying? Is being with me that unbearable?"

My wet lashes fluttered, but I couldn't form words.

Frustration flashed across his face. He lowered his head, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of my neck, hard enough to make me gasp. "Who would you rather be with? Tell me. Who?"

He pulled back, fingers digging into my cheeks. "Look at me when I speak to you."

I forced myself to meet his gaze, tears falling freely now. "No one," I whispered, my voice breaking. "There's no one else. Please... just let me go."

He pressed his forehead against mine, his breath hot on my face. "You should say: 'I want to be with Ethan Bennett.' Understand?"

Under the crushing weight of his dominance, I swallowed hard and drew a deep breath. "I want to be with Ethan Bennett."

His eyes darkened. In one swift motion, he lifted me, carrying me into the bedroom and pinning me to the mattress. His fingers slid between my legs, probing roughly. "Has he been inside you?" he demanded, his voice thick with jealousy.

"Ah!" I cried out, the intrusion both painful and—

"Olivia? Olivia, are you okay?"

I jerked awake, gasping for air, my heart hammering against my ribs. The cramped interior of the economy cabin came into focus—not the luxurious bedroom of my nightmare. Sophie was leaning across the aisle, concern etched across her face.

"You were making noises in your sleep," she said quietly. "Bad dream?"

I pressed my palms against my eyes, willing my pulse to slow. "I'm fine," I managed, clearing my throat. "Just didn't sleep well last night. Too busy finalizing those design mockups."

That was a lie. What had really kept me awake was the knowledge that after five years, I was breaking my vow—returning to Los Angeles, the city I'd sworn never to set foot in again.

Sophie squeezed my arm. "We're starting our descent. You should drink some water—you look pale."

I nodded, accepting the bottle she offered. The flight attendant's voice came over the intercom, announcing our imminent arrival at LAX. Each word felt like another nail in my coffin.

Ten minutes later, we emerged into the California sunshine. It was 5:25 PM, late autumn, but the air still carried that distinctive LA heat, tempered with just enough coolness to remind you that summer had passed.

Many people in LA feared Ethan Bennett. His name alone could open doors or slam them shut permanently. But no one feared him like I did.

I hadn't planned to return—ever. Five years ago, I'd made a promise as I boarded a plane with a still-healing wound in my side and a heart fractured beyond repair. But here I was, dragged back like a reluctant moth to a flame that had already burned me once.

"The car's here," Sophie announced, gesturing toward a sleek black Cadillac.

As we settled into the plush leather seats, memories flooded back unbidden. Five years ago. Another autumn day. Yellow leaves drifting in the sunset as Ethan stood beneath a maple tree at the edge of the Bennett estate.

"I'm only letting you go this once, Olivia," he'd said, his silhouette haloed by the dying light, making him look like some avenging angel. "If you leave, don't ever come back."

"Thank you, Mr. Bennett," I'd replied, my voice steady despite the pain shooting through my side. "You can rest assured I won't. I'll never set foot in Los Angeles again."

Yet here I was, breaking that promise. The thought alone was enough to trigger last night's insomnia and today's nightmare. I feared seeing him again—feared being pulled back into his orbit, back under his control. Nobody understood the depth of Ethan Bennett's possessiveness like I did. Nobody else had experienced three years of his obsessive attention, his suffocating protection, his devastating desire.

And I certainly didn't want to be caught between him and his nephew again. Blake Bennett had been my introduction to the Bennett family—my college boyfriend, charming and persistent. Until his uncle decided he wanted me for himself.

I had escaped. Built a new life. After leaving the States for Europe, I'd eventually returned to settle in New York two years ago. Sophie—my high school friend—had helped me land a position at Atelier Rose. With her role as marketing director, she ensured my transition was smooth. My design talents would have gotten me through the door regardless, but Sophie's presence meant I wasn't alone in an unfamiliar environment.

But three months ago, disaster struck. Our Italian fabric supplier suddenly canceled their contract and switched to our competitor. Our upcoming fall/winter collection was in jeopardy, and company morale plummeted. Frank Miller, our CEO, had been brutally honest during the emergency meeting: without new partnerships and a successful collection by next quarter, layoffs—even bankruptcy—were inevitable.

Then came the unexpected lifeline. Vincent Crawford, founder of the Crawford Group, had expressed interest in my "Jade Dynasty" series. He wanted to invest in developing it into a complete high-end fashion line for the LA Fashion Week. And he'd specifically requested me to come to Los Angeles to discuss the details.

"It's a lifesaver," Sophie had said, barely containing her excitement. "This could save the whole company."

The one reassuring thought: Vincent Crawford and Ethan Bennett were known rivals, having clashed over Southeast Asian markets years ago. With Vincent backing this project, chances of crossing paths with Ethan seemed minimal.

So with trepidation and hope intertwined, I'd boarded the flight to the city I'd vowed never to return to.

"We're here," Sophie announced as the car pulled up to a modest Holiday Inn in West Hollywood.

Our rooms were adjacent. After freshening up, we began preparing for tonight's meeting.

"Have you seen Vincent's photos?" Sophie asked, applying mascara with practiced precision. "The man is seriously handsome."

I nodded noncommittally, more concerned with a different question. "Do we know who else will be at the meeting tomorrow? Besides Vincent Crawford?"

Sophie shrugged. "Just the people on the confirmed attendee list. It's not like these high-level meetings are open-door events."

I nodded again, trying to appear casual.

Sophie paused, eyeing me in the mirror. "What's got you so worried? Are you afraid of seeing someone in particular?"