Olivia’s POV
I cleared my throat and tried again, forcing my voice lower. "Sir, it seems you didn’t hear the first ti. I said I need to go ho to my girlfriend. And to check on your cat as well."
"I heard you the first ti, Oliver." Maxwell crossed his arms, looking annoyingly calm. "And I’m saying you’re staying the night. Don’t you care about my health?"
"But sir, you have so many staff mbers!" I gestured toward the massive house behind him. "Plus, you just said you’re feeling better."
"You can never tell with pneumonia. It could start up again at any ti." His expression was perfectly serious, but I swore I could see amusent dancing in his eyes.
"But your family can take care of you..."
"I don’t want my mother here." He interrupted in a sharp tone.
I sighed in frustration, running a hand through my hair, then imdiately regretting it when I rembered I was wearing a wig. "Sir, I really don’t understand you. What exactly do you want from ? First you give your precious cat, now you’re forcing to stay in your ho?"
"I’m not forcing you into anything, Oliver, that’s the last thing I’ll ever do. My driver will take you ho right now if that’s what you want, and I’ll face my fate alone tonight."
Then he turned and started walking into the house.
I stood there in the driveway, staring after him like an idiot. Was it just , or was he using reverse psychology? The man had literally just guilted into staying by pretending to give permission to leave.
Shit.
Who was I kidding? I knew I wanted to stay. I’d imagined what it would feel like to sleep in this mansion ever since I’d first seen it. And despite everything - despite the complications, the confusion, the kiss that still burned on my lips - I wanted to be closer to Maxwell for just a bit longer. Even though he was into guys. So sad. No wonder he’d been so cruel to Sabrina and vengeful towards Olivia. He preferred n!
The thought should have made feel better about my disguise, but instead, it just made feel... jealous, which was absolutely ridiculous.
Before I could overthink it any further, my feet started moving on their own, carrying toward the front door.
Maxwell stopped just inside the entrance hall, turning slightly when he heard behind him. The corner of his mouth lifted in the smallest smile - barely there, but unmistakable.
I can’t believe that jerk just smiled. He knew! He absolutely knew I would follow him!
"Changed your mind?" he asked, trying to sound neutral.
"I’m only staying because I’m worried about your health," I said defensively, marching past him into the house.
"Of course," Maxwell replied, following inside. "I would expect nothing less from such a dedicated assistant."
Before I could say anything, a maid approached us with a warm smile.
"Ms. Anna," Maxwell’s voice returned to its usual commanding tone, "please show Mr. Hopton to the guest room in the east wing. Make sure he has everything he needs."
"Of course, Mr. Wellington," Ms. Anna replied. She turned to . "Please follow , Mr. Hopton."
Another staff mber - a young man - ca in with my suitcase, which I’d apparently forgotten in all my confusion.
Before Ms. Anna could lead away, Maxwell spoke again. "Oliver."
I turned back to look at him.
"Freshen up and co down for dinner in an hour. We’re eating in the main dining room tonight."
The way he said it left no room for argunt. It wasn’t a request, but a command.
"Yes, sir," I muttered, then followed Ms. Anna up the grand staircase.
The guest room she led to was absolutely massive. It had a four-poster bed - like sothing out of a historical drama - floor-to-ceiling windows with heavy curtains, a sitting area with plush armchairs, and an en-suite bathroom that was bigger than my bedroom at ho.
"This could pass for a master bedroom," I said without thinking.
Ms. Anna smiled. "Mr. Wellington believes in treating his guests well. If you need anything at all, just use the intercom by the bed. Dinner will be served soon."
After she left, I stood in the middle of the room for a mont, just taking it all in. Then my stomach growled loudly, reminding that I’d barely eaten anything all day due to the chaos in Chicago.
I quickly showered, carefully reapplying my facial disguise and adjusting my wig. I put on my oversized pajamas - the sa ones that had saved from chest binding on the first night. Even without binding my chest right now, it looked flat and natural under the little camisole I’d thrown on.
Besides, it was only dinner - I’ll just eat quickly and hurry back to my room.
I triple-checked my appearance in the mirror. Still looked like Oliver. Good.
As I made my way downstairs toward the dining area, I was already ntally preparing for an awkward one-on-one dinner with Maxwell. Maybe we could just eat in silence and pretend the kiss never happened. That seed like a reasonable plan.
But when I reached the dining room, I stopped short in the doorway.
Gabriel, Alex, and Damien were all sitting around the massive dining table.
Oh my God.
When they saw , Alex waved enthusiastically. "Oliver! There you are! Co join us, we’ve been waiting."
I forced my legs to move, walking over to the table on shaking knees. "I... I didn’t realize anyone else would be here."
"We heard about Maxwell’s health scare from Damien," Gabriel said, gesturing to the empty seat between him and Alex. "Thought we’d co check on our friend."
Damien nodded from across the table, his eyes tracking my movents as I sat down. "Can’t have our boy collapsing without proper supervision."
I sank into the chair, invisibly smacking myself for letting Maxwell deceive into coming here. I shouldn’t have accepted. I should have insisted on going ho, should have called a cab, should have done anything other than walk into what was clearly becoming a complicated situation.
And worst of all? I wasn’t wearing my chest bind.
Damn.
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