Olivia’s POV
When Maxwell opened the connecting door and stepped into my room, I imdiately stood up from the dresser, my heart jumping into my throat.
"Mr. Wellington," I said, keeping my voice low. "Are you alright?"
He stood in the doorway, his expression filled with shock and sothing I couldn’t quite identify. He was still in his office clothes, his shirt tie looking like he’d been tugging at it for hours.
Did he just get back from the office? And why the hell was he looking at like that?
"I’m fine," he said finally, his voice neutral. "I just wanted to check... the eting with your girlfriend. Did it go well?"
The question caught off guard. He was asking about Kira? About our supposed relationship drama?
"Yes," I said cautiously. "We talked things through. Everything’s fine now."
"Good. That’s... good." Maxwell’s jaw tightened, and he looked like he wanted to say sothing else but couldn’t quite form the words.
We stood there in awkward silence, the air between us charged with everything we weren’t saying.
"Well," Maxwell said abruptly, "goodnight, Oliver."
"Goodnight, sir."
He turned and walked back through the connecting door, closing it behind him.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and sank back down onto the dresser chair.
What was that about?
*********
I’d returned from the hotel hours ago, leaving Kira and Julian to deal with Ryan on their own. They’d assured they could handle it - that they’d get more information from him and figure out what to do about Ken.
When I got back to the mansion, I’d imdiately showered, scrubbing away the stress of the day. Then Gabriel had called, his voice warm and reassuring as we’d made plans for tomorrow night.
"Dinner at Marea," he’d said. "Very public, very visible. If we’re going to make Maxwell jealous, we might as well do it properly."
"You’re really committed to this fake dating thing," I’d observed.
"Who says it’s fake?" His tone had been light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of sothing genuine that made pause.
Is Gabriel actually starting to have feelings? Or am I reading too much into this?
After the call, I’d tried to sleep. But sleep wouldn’t co. My mind kept spinning with too many thoughts, too many revelations, too many questions.
At so point, I’d given up on sleep and gone downstairs for snacks. I’d grabbed so crackers and cheese from the kitchen, checking my phone for the ti every few minutes like the numbers would sohow provide answers to my spiraling thoughts.
Back in my room, I’d found myself sitting at the dresser, staring at my reflection - Oliver’s reflection - and trying to sort through the tangled ss of my mories.
Sothing was missing. So fundantal piece of my childhood that I couldn’t quite access.
I’d asked my mom about it once, when I’d first woken up from the hospital, when I’d first noticed the gaps. She’d brushed it off, saying nothing major had happened, that I shouldn’t stress myself trying to rember.
"The doctor said it would co back naturally," she’d said. "Don’t force it. Just let your brain heal."
Heal from what? I’d never gotten a straight answer.
At the ti, it hadn’t seed important. The missing mories were small, insignificant. Just a few events from when I was young. What did it matter if I couldn’t rember every detail of my childhood?
But now, with Maxwell saying we’d known each other as kids, with his talk of being "his Olivia," with the way he looked at like I’d broken sothing fundantal inside him - now those missing mories felt crucial.
What happened between us? What did I do that made him love and hate in equal asure?
I’d considered going into Maxwell’s room to search for clues. Maybe he had photos, journals, sothing that would help understand.
But the risk of him catching was too high. So I’d just sat there, staring at Oliver’s face in the mirror and trying to will the mories to surface.
That’s when Maxwell had opened the connecting door, looking at with that shocked expression that suggested he hadn’t expected to be there at all.
And now he was gone again, back in his room, leaving with more questions than answers.
This is driving insane. But then I already knew what would make sleep better. Being Olivia - without the whole weight of the disguise.
I removed my wig, letting my hair fall free, then I removed my facials and my chest bind.
I stood and moved to the bed, finally ready to try sleeping again. Maybe tomorrow would bring clarity. Maybe after my fake date with Gabriel, Maxwell would finally show his cards.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
I pulled back the covers and climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. Finally, I let the exhaustion claid , pulling down into restless sleep.
********
Stranger’s POV
I stood in my room, my entire body vibrating with restless energy.
The events of the day had left raw, frustrated, barely holding onto control. Gabriel’s refusal to back down. Olivia’s appointnt asking for relationship advice. And now the realization that sohow, Ryan - my carefully placed replacent - had disappeared, and Olivia had returned to the mansion.
She ssed up my plans. Shit!
I needed release. Needed Olivia. If I could just be with her - really be with her, even just for tonight - maybe this crushing pressure in my chest would ease.
I dropped my briefcase on the bed and headed straight for the shower, letting the hot water pound against my tense muscles.
Gabriel thinks he can have her. Thinks he can just swoop in and claim what’s mine.
The thought made my hands clench into fists.
No. She’s mine. She’s always been mine. I just need to make her rember.
I stepped out of the shower and dried off quickly, my mind already shifting to the other side of who I was. The side Olivia knew. The side that had found her first.
My stranger persona.
I moved to my walk-in closet, walking past the rows of expensive suits and casual wear until I reached the far end. There, hidden among the shelves of shoes, was an almost invisible button.
I pressed it.
The shelf slid back and aside with a soft chanical whir, revealing a hidden room.
My secret room. The space where I kept everything that made Olivia’s mysterious stranger.
How I’d co to create this double life - this third personality - was a long, complicated story. And one that I hoped if I confessed to her, she wouldn’t hate forever. The thought made my chest tighten with fear.
But I’ll cross that bridge when I co to it.
I stepped into the hidden room and surveyed my options. Black clothing - all of it designed to obscure my identity. The voice modulator that would distort my voice just enough that she wouldn’t recognize it as Maxwell’s. And the mask - simple, dark, covering the upper half of my face.
I changed quickly, styling my hair differently so even the shape of my head would look different from Maxwell’s usual appearance.
When I looked in the mirror, a stranger stared back. A mysterious figure who could slip in and out of Olivia’s life like a shadow.
Perfect.
I moved to my balcony door and opened it carefully, stepping out into the cool night air.
I climbed along the ledge, until I reached her balcony. Through the window, I could see her form in the bed, covers pulled up to her shoulders, her face turned away from .
Beautiful. Even like this, she’s so beautiful.
I tested the balcony door - unlocked, as I’d known it would be. The staff never locked the windows of this particular room.
The door opened silently, and I slipped inside, closing it behind with barely a whisper of sound.
For a mont, I just stood there, watching her sleep. The rise and fall of her breathing. The way her hair spread across the pillow.
Mine. You’re mine, Olivia. Even if you don’t rember. You’re mine.
I moved around the bed, my footsteps silent on the plush carpet, until I was on the other side - the side where I could see her face.
Then, carefully, I climbed into the bed behind her.
The mont my weight settled on the mattress, she yelped and jerked awake.
"Shh," I whispered, wrapping my arms around her before she could fully turn around. "It’s . It’s just ."
I felt her body go rigid, then relax slightly as recognition set in.
"You," she breathed, and I couldn’t tell if her tone was relief or anger or sothing in between.
Then she started struggling.
"Let go!" Her voice was rising. "What are you doing here? After you abandoned ? After you left on that street like I ant nothing? You didn’t check on , didn’t call, didn’t - and now you just show up in my room? How did you even get in here?"
She was rambling now, words tumbling over each other as she tried to push away.
"My boss is in the next room," she continued, her voice rising higher. "I’ll scream. I’ll call for help. You need to leave. You need to..."
I couldn’t take her struggling anymore.
I grabbed her, rolled her onto her back, and crushed my mouth against hers.
She made a sound of surprise against my lips, her hands coming up to push against my chest. But I held her gently but firmly, pouring every ounce of want and need and desperation into the kiss.
Stop struggling. Stop fighting this. Just let love you.
For a mont, she continued pushing.
Then, slowly, her resistance lted away.
Her hands stopped pushing and started clutching.
And she kissed back.
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