Olivia’s POV
I stared at Kennedy from behind the pillar, unable to process what I was seeing.
Am I dreaming? Is this so sort of joke?
This was totally, and absolutely impossible! Kennedy didn’t know Maxwell. Kennedy had never ntioned Maxwell. They ran in completely different circles. They were worlds apart. My brother could not be the long ti friend Maxwell had been referring to.
"Maxwell!" Kennedy called out. "Where are you hiding, man? I brought whiskey!"
Maxwell’s voice bood from sowhere upstairs: "Kennedy! You’re early! Give two minutes. I’ll be with you shortly!"
"Take your ti! I’ll raid your kitchen!"
Kennedy started walking toward the back of the house, toward the kitchen, his footsteps fading.
I remained frozen behind the pillar, my entire world tilting on its axis.
What the hell was that friendly exchange?
Were they really close friends? Close friends to the extent that Kennedy will return ho after a long ti away, and visit Maxwell first?
But how can they be long ti friends and I didn’t know about Maxwell?
Does that an Maxwell knows Olivia is Kennedy’s sister? Oh God... I grabbed the railings to steady myself. None of this made any scene.
My phone buzzed in my hands.
Kira: I’m at the gate. Where are you?
I stared at the ssage, then at the front door Kennedy had just walked through, then at the staircase where Maxwell would be descending any second.
I was trapped. I needed to leave this spot imdiately.
So instead of running towards the door to go collect the package from Kira, I turned instead and fled.
I took the stairs two at a ti, not caring if anyone heard , not caring about maintaining Oliver’s masculine gait or controlled movents. Just running.
Kennedy. My brother Kennedy is here. In Maxwell’s house. As his friend.
I burst into my room and slamd the door behind , pressing my back against it as my chest heaved with panicked breaths.
This isn’t possible. This can’t be happening.
But it was. I’d seen him with my own eyes. Kennedy, with his duffel bag and his casual familiarity with Maxwell’s mansion, standing out there and calling out his na like they were old friends. Which, apparently, they were.
Long-ti friends.
The words echoed in my head, each repetition making the room spin a little more.
I stumbled toward my dresser, gripping the edge of it with white-knuckled hands to keep myself from falling as dizziness swept over .
When did they et? How long have they known each other?
Kennedy had so many friends. Especially during high school and college. I’d avoided most of them, preferring to stay in my room or hang out with my own small circle. It was entirely possible that Maxwell had been one of them - soone Kennedy had brought ho, soone I’d passed in the hallway or ignored at a party.
But I didn’t rember him. Couldn’t place him in any of my mories.
Does Maxwell know Kennedy has a sister? Has Kennedy ever ntioned ?
The questions kept spinning, each one making my head pound harder.
Kennedy and I were close, but we didn’t particularly mingle with each other’s friends. He’d always been caught up in his own world, his own friends, his own life. Maybe he’d never talked about to Maxwell. Maybe my na had never co up.
Or maybe it had. Maybe Maxwell knew exactly who I was. Maybe...
Stop. Stop thinking. You’re going to make yourself sick.
But I couldn’t stop. The room was tilting now, the edges of my vision going fuzzy and dark.
My head was pounding - a dull, throbbing ache that seed to pulse in ti with my racing heartbeat. The stress, the panic, and Kennedy’s arrival were all crashing down on at once.
I needed to lie down. Needed to close my eyes and make the world stop spinning before I collapsed right here on the floor.
I sohow made it to the bed, my legs barely supporting my weight. The mont my head touched the pillow, the blessed relief of darkness started to pull under.
Kira. I was supposed to et Kira.
But I couldn’t. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think beyond the overwhelming need to escape consciousness.
When I wake up... I’ll figure it out when I wake up.
But I need to sleep...
*******
Kira’s POV
I stood outside the massive gates of Maxwell’s mansion, my phone in my hand, staring at the last text I’d sent.
: I’m at the gate. Where are you?
Sent fifteen minutes ago.
No response.
Co on, Liv. Where are you?
I sent another text: Seriously, where are you? I’m literally standing outside in the cold with your ergency contraception. RESPOND.
Nothing.
Five more minutes passed. Then ten.
The knot of worry in my stomach was growing tighter with each passing second.
What if sothing happened? What if Maxwell caught her? What if she’s in trouble?
I started pacing along the gate, my imagination running wild with terrible scenarios.
Olivia caught trying to sneak out. Maxwell discovering her identity. That psychotic girlfriend showing up again with her gun. Security tackling Olivia to the ground. Maxwell locking her in so dungeon that billionaires probably had in their mansions for exactly this purpose.
Okay, Kira. Calm down. You’re spiraling.
I checked my phone again. Still nothing.
That’s it. I’m done waiting.
I made a decision. If Olivia wouldn’t co out, I was going in.
I held the gate - a massive wrought-iron monstrosity - and started examining it for weak points.
Okay. It’s just a gate. A really tall, intimidating gate. But still just a gate.
I grabbed onto the bars and started climbing.
The iron was cold under my hands, and my sneakers kept slipping on the smooth tal, but I was determined. I’d climbed worse things - such as the trellis outside my ex’s apartnt when I’d needed to retrieve my favorite hoodie after our breakup.
So this was fine. Totally fine.
"Co on, Kira," I muttered to myself, pulling myself higher. "You can do this. For Olivia. For your idiot best friend who always gets herself in a new ss everyday."
I was about halfway up - actually making decent progress - when I felt hands grab my ankles.
"What the..."
Before I could finish the sentence, I was being pulled down with force. Two security guards - both built like brick walls - had opened the side gate and were literally plucking off the gate like I was a fruit on a tree.
"Hey! Let go!" I kicked and squird, but their grips were iron. "I’m not doing anything wrong! This is a free country! I can climb whatever I want!"
"Ma’am, you’re trespassing on private property," one of them said in a deep, monotone voice.
"I’m not trespassing! My boyfriend is in there! He’s being held hostage!"
"Ma’am..."
"Don’t ’ma’am’ ! Let GO!"
But they didn’t let go. Instead, they started dragging - my feet barely touching the ground - through the side gate.
"This is kidnapping!" I shouted, still struggling. "You’re kidnapping ! I’m going to sue! I know lawyers!"
They pulled through the side entrance, up the driveway, and toward the massive front doors of the mansion. The whole ti, I kept protesting, throwing threats and insults.
The front doors swung open, and I was unceremoniously hauled into a foyer that looked so pristine and beautiful. They kept dragging till I saw him.
There, sitting in a large hall that looked like the living room, was Maxwell Wellington himself, drinking whiskey.
He wasn’t alone. Another man - tall, handso with cute glasses on, and vaguely familiar - sat across from him. But I didn’t bother to look at him properly, my gaze was solely fixed on Maxwell.
"Mr. Wellington," one of the security guards said, still gripping my arms firmly. "We found an intruder trying to climb the front gate."
"I’m not an intruder!" I shouted before Maxwell could respond. "And you..." I pointed at Maxwell with my free hand, "...you are holding my boyfriend hostage and I’m here to rescue him!"
Maxwell’s eyebrows rose slowly. He set down his whiskey glass calmly. "Your boyfriend."
"Yes! Oliver! He’s been here for days against his will, and I know you’re probably doing sothing horrible to him, and I swear to God if you’ve hurt him I will scratch your eyes out with my bare hands!"
"Your boyfriend," Maxwell repeated, and there was sothing in his tone that made want to punch him even more.
"Are you deaf? Yes, my boyfriend! Oliver! Now let him go before I call the police and report you for kidnapping and..."
"You have a boyfriend?"
The new voice ca from the other man on the couch. He’d stood up and was now looking at with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
"Yes, I do!" I snapped, turning to face him. "And who the hell are you? His accomplice? Because I’ll scratch your eyes out too if..."
The words died in my throat.
Because I finally recognized him.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
"Kennedy?" The na ca out as barely a whisper.
Kennedy!!!
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