Olivia’s POV
I stood outside on the balcony for a long ti, gulping in the night air like a drowning person finally breaking the surface. My hands were still shaking, my pulse still racing from Maxwell’s touch on my neck.
Eventually, I forced myself to take deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just like Kira taught .
You can do this, Olivia. Just go back in there, make your excuses, and escape to your room.
When I finally felt steady enough to move, I pushed open the doors and stepped back into the living room.
The guys were still there, casually sipping their drinks like they hadn’t just put through the most stressful hour of my life. They looked up when I entered, but nobody said anything imdiately.
Then Maxwell spoke, "Oliver, you don’t have to rejoin us if you don’t want to. If you’re tired, you can head up to your room. The guys and I will continue and retire late."
I could have kissed him. Well, again. But this ti out of pure gratitude.
"Thank you," I said quickly, probably too quickly. "I am really exhausted. The travel, the hospital, everything... it’s been a long day."
"Of course," Alex said kindly. "Get so rest. We’ll see you in the morning."
Gabriel nodded, but Damien’s eyes followed as I moved toward the doorway. That sa intense, calculating stare that had been unnerving all evening.
I practically fled up the grand staircase, muttering "Thank you, Jesus" under my breath with each step. Finally. The nightmare was over. I could breathe again.
When I reached my room, I locked the door securely behind - both the main lock and the deadbolt. Quite frankly, I didn’t trust any of those guys downstairs. Especially not Damien with his creepy staring, and definitely not Maxwell after that pulse-checking dare that had felt way too intimate.
I imdiately stripped off my disguise, peeling away the fake Adam’s apple, removing the wig with relief, washing my face thoroughly in the bathroom sink. The cool water felt like heaven against my overheated skin.
Finally free. Finally breathing properly again.
I changed into a comfortable tank top and shorts - my actual pajamas, not the oversized masculine ones I’d been wearing - and slipped under the duvet.
Exhaustion hit the mont my head touched the pillow. My body felt like it had been through a marathon, every muscle aching with tension that was finally releasing. My eyes were already closing before I’d fully settled into the bed.
Within minutes, I drifted off into a deep, beautiful sleep.
I was Cinderella, dancing in a magnificent ballroom with crystal chandeliers overhead. My dress was blue and sparkling, swirling around as my Prince Charming led across the floor. His face was hidden in shadow, but his arms were strong and sure around my waist, and I felt safe, protected, cherished.
The music swelled, and we spun faster and faster, the room blurring into streaks of light and color. He pulled closer, and I could almost see his face, almost make out his features...
"Hello, Livy."
The whisper was intimate, right against my ear. And it definitely wasn’t part of my dream.
My eyes flew open in panic, and I bolted upright in bed. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. Soone was in the bed with . Soone was actually in the bed with .
The room was pitch black - every single light turned off, the curtains drawn tight against any outside light. I couldn’t see anything except the vague shapes in the darkness. And I certainly didn’t rember switching off the lights.
"Shh, it’s okay," the voice said again, and this ti I recognized it. "It’s . Calm down."
My stranger.
My hand flew to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. "You scared half to death!"
"I’m sorry," he said, and he actually did sound apologetic. "I didn’t an to frighten you. I was trying to let you wake up naturally, but you were having a dream, and smiling so beautifully, I couldn’t resist whispering to you."
I turned toward the direction of his voice, trying to see him in the darkness. All I could make out was a dark silhouette - dark clothes, a dark hoodie pulled up to cover most of his head and half of his face. He was sitting on top of the covers, not under them, but still... he was in my bed. In Maxwell’s guest room. In Maxwell’s house.
"What are you doing here?" I whispered urgently. "How did you even get in here?"
"I have my ways," he said simply, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
I shook my head, even though he probably couldn’t see the gesture in the dark. "That’s impossible. This is Maxwell Wellington’s estate. There’s security everywhere - caras, guards. There’s no way you could have gotten in here without being caught."
"It’s the sa way I infiltrated his company," he replied calmly. "Sa way I’ve been watching over you all this ti. It’s actually quite easy when you know what you’re doing."
My mind was racing, trying to make sense of this. He’d infiltrated both the company and the estate? That ant he had access to Wellington Enterprises, could move through the building without being detected...
Then it hit like a bolt of lightning.
I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. "Oh my God. Are you... are you one of the four n downstairs?"
The silence that followed my question was heavy.
Then he sighed - a long, exasperated sound. "Livy, I’ve told you countless tis not to try to find out who I am. Why do you keep pushing this?"
"Because it’s driving crazy!" I whispered frantically. "You show up in my apartnt, at my work, now in my boss’s house! You know everything about , but I know nothing about you! And now you’re telling you can just waltz into a place with top-tier security like it’s nothing?"
"I never said I was one of the n downstairs," he pointed out.
"But you didn’t deny it either," I countered. "And it would explain so much. How you always know where I am, what I’m doing, who I’m with. If you’re one of them - if you’re Maxwell or Damien or Gabriel or Alex - then you’d have access to all of that information."
He shifted on the bed, and I felt the mattress dip slightly with his movent. "You can be so smart when you want to. You know right?"
"Is that a yes?" My heart was pounding again, but for entirely different reasons now. "Are you one of them?"
"Livy," he said, his voice taking on a warning tone, "you need to stop this. Stop trying to figure out who I am. Things will be totally different when you do."
I felt tears prickling at my eyes - from frustration, from exhaustion, from the overwhelming confusion of not knowing who this man was. "I don’t understand any of this. Why are you here? Why did you co tonight?"
His hand reached out in the darkness, and I felt his fingers gently brush against my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.
"I’m here because I needed to see you," he said softly. "Because I could tell you were having a rough ti tonight, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"How did you know I was having a rough ti?"
Another pause. "I just knew."
Which confird absolutely nothing while also confirming everything. If he could know I was having a rough ti, he had to have been watching. And the only way he could have been watching was if he’d been in the house. Which ant...
"You were downstairs," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "You were there. You saw what happened."
He didn’t confirm or deny it, just continued sitting there in the darkness.
"You asked to do a dare right? What did you ask to do? What was your question?"
"Does it matter?" he countered.
"Yes!" I said, louder than I intended. Then, quieter: "Yes, it matters. Because if you were one of them, if you were sitting there watching struggle and panic and nearly expose myself, then... then what does that say about you?"
"It says," he replied slowly, "that I’m trying to figure out how to help you without revealing myself. And that’s not as easy as it sounds."
"Were you the one I punched in the face?" I asked, still trying to figure it out.
He chuckled - a low, warm sound that made sothing flutter in my chest. "I have to say, Damien was right about one thing."
"What’s that?"
"You really do punch like a girl."
I grabbed a pillow and swung it toward where I thought his head was. He caught it easily, laughing.
"Not funny," I muttered.
"A little funny," he countered, and I could hear the smile in his voice again.
We sat there in silence for a mont. Then I asked the question that had been burning in my mind for a while.
"Why did Maxwell check my pulse like that? What was he looking for?"
The stranger went very still. "What makes you think I would know?"
"Because you know everything else," I said. "And because the way you just reacted to that question tells you definitely know sothing."
Another long pause. Then: "I don’t know, Livy. He’s a complicated man."
Then I felt him edging closer, the mattress dipping underneath his weight until I could sense his presence enveloping .
"Enough about the n downstairs," he said, his voice becoming more intimate. "I miss you terribly, Livy, and I want to touch you."
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