Stranger in my Ass Chapter 145

Olivia’s POV

After Clarissa left, I turned to head back to my desk, already ntally organizing the work that needed to be done. With David’s case on hold, that would free up so ti in Maxwell’s schedule that would probably be imdiately filled with sothing else equally demanding.

I was almost at my desk when Maxwell’s voice stopped . "Where are you going?"

I turned back, confused. "To my desk? I need to..."

"Not yet." He was watching with an unreadable expression again. "We need to discuss sothing first."

My stomach dropped. Oh God, what now?

"Sir?"

"My bathroom," Maxwell said, leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms. "You used it."

I blinked. "Yes? I went to change."

"I’ve never let anyone use my executive bathroom before. It’s a personal space. Private."

"I... I’m sorry?" I wasn’t sure where this was going, but I had a sinking feeling I wasn’t going to like it. "You told to change, and I thought..."

"But since you were so adamant about using it," he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken, "and since you did end up in there despite my initial suggestion that you change out here... you’re going to have to clean it."

I stared at him, my jaw dropping. "What?"

"Clean it," Maxwell repeated, like he was explaining sothing simple to a child. "Top to bottom. Make sure it’s spotless."

"But I only got dressed in there!" My voice was climbing toward a pitch that was dangerously feminine, and I had to consciously bring it back down. "I didn’t even use the toilet or the sink or anything! I literally just put on my clothes and left!"

"Doesn’t matter." He shrugged, completely unbothered by my protest. "You entered my private space. That ans you used it. And that ans it needs to be cleaned before I use it again."

This was insane. This was completely, utterly insane.

"I can call the cleaning service," I tried desperately. "They can co right now and..."

"No." The single word stopped . "You used it. You clean it."

I wanted to scream. Wanted to throw sothing at his smug face. Wanted to tell him exactly what I thought of his petty, ridiculous, vindictive little power play.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t afford to get fired for insubordination.

"Fine," I bit out, my jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. "I’ll clean your precious bathroom."

"Excellent." Maxwell smiled devilishly. "Cleaning supplies are under the sink. I expect it to be spotless."

I turned on my heel and marched back into the bathroom, my hands balled into fists, fury radiating from every pore.

This is humiliation. Pure, wicked humiliation. He’s enjoying this.

Under the sink, I found an array of expensive cleaning products - all organic, all designer brands, because of course Maxwell Wellington didn’t use regular cleaning supplies like a normal person.

I grabbed them along with microfiber cloths and set to work, scrubbing the already - spotless bathroom with more force than necessary.

I hate him. I hate him so much.

The sink was polished to a mirror shine. The toilet was sparkling. I’d literally only been in here for five minutes, there was nothing to clean! But I scrubbed it anyway, imagining Maxwell’s face with every angry swipe of the cloth.

Arrogant. Controlling. Manipulative bastard.

I moved to the shower - a massive glass enclosure that looked like it belonged in a luxury spa. Scrubbed every inch of it, even though there wasn’t a single water spot or soap scum to be found.

Making clean his bathroom like I’m so kind of servant. Like I’m beneath him.

The tile floor got the sa treatnt. The mirror. The walls. I cleaned everything with a fury that was probably unhealthy.

The entire ti, I was ntally composing creative ways to get revenge. Nothing too obvious - nothing that would get fired - but sothing that would let him know he couldn’t just humiliate without consequences.

I was just finishing wiping down the light fixtures when I heard his voice from the other side of the door. "Oliver, I’m heading out for lunch. I’ll be back in an hour."

I froze, a cloth in one hand, cleaning spray in the other.

Then I heard the office door open and close.

He was gone. Finally.

I dropped everything back in it’s right place, and erged from the bathroom, my arms aching from all the unnecessary scrubbing, my mood absolutely black.

And that’s when I saw it.

Sitting on Maxwell’s desk, right where he’d left it, was his water bottle. Half-full, the cap loosely screwed on.

His water. The water he’d been drinking all morning. The water he’d probably take another sip from when he returned from lunch.

An idea ford in my mind - dark, petty, absolutely juvenile.

You want to humiliate ? Fine. Let’s see how you like a taste of your own dicine.

I grabbed the water bottle, noting exactly where the water line sat - about halfway down. Then I carefully unscrewed the cap and walked into the bathroom I’d just spent forty-five minutes cleaning.

My hands were shaking slightly - from fury, from the audacity of what I was about to do, from the sheer satisfaction of imagining Maxwell’s face if he ever found out.

I poured the clean water down the sink, watching it swirl away.

Then I placed the bottle inside the toilet water and filled it back up to exactly the sa level.

Toilet water. I was filling Maxwell Wellington’s drinking water with toilet water.

It was disgusting. It was petty. It was probably going to give him so kind of bacterial infection.

But I didn’t care. Not even a little bit.

This is for making clean your bathroom. For humiliating .

I screwed the cap back on carefully, making sure it was at the exact sa angle as before. Then I wiped down the outside of the bottle with a clean cloth, removing any evidence of fingerprints or tampering.

Back in his office, I placed the bottle exactly where I’d found it, the water line at the sa level, everything looking completely normal.

Perfect.

I stood there for a mont, staring at that innocent-looking water bottle, feeling a dark satisfaction settle over .

Revenge, it turned out, tasted surprisingly sweet.

Even if Maxwell’s water was about to taste like shit.