Olivia’s POV
I stared at Kira, the question looming above us.
Who are you going as? Olivia or Oliver?
Every logical part of my brain scread Olivia. My body was wrecked, exhausted, still recovering from the electrocution. The thought of binding my chest, hunching my shoulders, maintaining Oliver’s deeper voice and masculine mannerisms for hours while we walked around the neighborhood - it sounded like torture.
But then I thought about Maxwell.
Maxwell, who had given Mitchell to Oliver, not Olivia. Maxwell, who might actually show up looking for Oliver despite my lies. Maxwell, who would have questions - so many questions - if people told him they’d seen so girl putting up posters of his cat instead of his assistant.
And you never could tell what might happen. This was Maxwell Wellington we were talking about - the man who seed to have eyes and ears everywhere, who showed up at random clubs on Tuesday nights, who had sohow known Oliver lived in the sa building as his cousin despite never telling him that particular detail.
"Oliver," I said finally, "I’m going as Oliver."
Kira’s eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure? Because you look like you’re about to collapse, and..."
"I have to," I interrupted, already heading back to my room. "Maxwell gave Mitchell to Oliver. If word gets back to him that so random girl was putting up posters of his cat, he’ll have questions. Too many questions."
"Your funeral," Kira called after , but I could hear the concern in her voice.
Twenty minutes later, I erged from my bedroom as Oliver - chest bound, wig secured, clothes hanging loose. Every movent hurt. The binding felt tighter than usual, constricting my already tired body. But asides that, everything was perfect.
"Ready?" I asked.
Kira just shook her head, but she grabbed her stack of posters. "You’re insane. You know that, right?"
"It’s been ntioned," I said dryly.
We headed out into the afternoon sun, carrying our posters and tape. The neighborhood was busier now than it had been during our search last night - people walking dogs, parents with strollers, teenagers skateboarding down the sidewalk.
"Excuse !" I called out to a woman walking a golden retriever. "Have you seen this cat? She’s missing."
The woman took the flyer, studying Mitchell’s picture. "Oh, what a beautiful cat. No, I’m sorry, I haven’t seen her. But I’ll keep an eye out."
"Thank you. If you see her, please call that number."
We moved on to the next person, and the next, handing out flyers and taping them to light poles, store windows, bus stops - anywhere people might see them. My voice was already starting to strain from maintaining Oliver’s voice, and we’d only been at this for thirty minutes.
"You okay?" Kira asked quietly as we taped a poster to a community bulletin board.
"Fine," I lied, ignoring the way my ribs ached under the binding. "Let’s keep going."
We covered block after block, our stack of posters slowly running out. So people were sympathetic, promising to watch out for Mitchell. Others barely glanced at the flyers before crumpling them up. A few stopped to tell us their own lost pet stories, which would have been touching if I wasn’t dying inside from exhaustion and worry.
We’d been walking for over an hour when I heard it - the low, purr of an engine pulling up alongside us.
I turned, and my heart dropped straight through the sidewalk.
A sleek black rcedes had pulled up to the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the afternoon sun. But the back window was rolling down, and there - his face set in hard, angry lines - was Maxwell.
"Get in," he commanded, his voice cold and sharp.
I stood frozen on the sidewalk, posters still in my hand, my mind racing. How? How had he found here? We were blocks away from our apartnt building, in a completely random part of the neighborhood. There was no way this was a coincidence.
"I..." My voice ca out higher, and I had to clear my throat and try again. "What are you doing here?"
"I said get in, Oliver." Maxwell’s eyes were dark, dangerous. "Now."
"But what about my girlfriend?" I gestured weakly toward Kira, my brain scrambling for any excuse not to get in that car. "I can’t just leave her..."
"I’ll be fine," Kira said quickly. She gave a look that said go, before he gets more suspicious. "You go ahead. I’ll finish distributing these."
There was no way out. No excuse that wouldn’t sound ridiculous. So I walked toward the car on shaking legs, pulled open the door, and slid into the backseat.
The door closed behind , caging in with him.
Maxwell didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there in the corner of the spacious backseat, his body angled toward , his eyes tracking my every movent like a predator watching prey.
The driver stared straight ahead, waiting for instructions.
I needed to break this silence before it suffocated .
"What are you doing in this neighborhood?" I asked, trying to keep Oliver’s voice steady and casual. "I thought you’d be at the office."
"I was heading toward your apartnt building, before I saw you on the street." Maxwell said, his tone clipped and controlled - like he was holding back a volcano of rage.
My apartnt building. That pulled up short, sending alarm bells ringing through my skull.
"How did you know where I lived?" The question ca out before I could stop it.
It was sothing that had always bothered , niggling at the back of my mind. Maxwell only knew that Olivia lived in that building. So how the hell did he connect Oliver to that sa address?
"I was passing by one day and saw you coming out of the building. This was before I sent Mitchell to stay with you."
The explanation was simple, yet sothing about the way he said it made my skin prickle. Like he’d been watching . Tracking my movents. How many other things had he seen that I didn’t know about?
Reviews
All reviews (0)