Olivia’s POV
I stared at Kennedy, my breath caught in disbelief.
"What? Why would you even suggest that? Why would you suggest I go work for Maxwell?"
He didn’t look away. Kennedy rarely backed down from confrontation, but this ti, there was a flicker of hesitation, doubt, and maybe guilt shadowing his eyes.
"Because..." He paused, studying my face as though searching for the safest words to say.
My heart stopped mid-beat, a cold panic rising behind my ribs.
Wait. This cannot be. "Kennedy. Does Maxwell know I’m Oliver?"
His response was fast. "No," he said quickly. "He doesn’t know."
I exhaled, but relief only muddled the confusion swirling inside of . "Then why do you think I should work for him now? Of all people? I left as Oliver, on a clean slate. Don’t you think he’ll figure everything out if I return there?"
Kennedy leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, voice gentling. "Because, Liv, I hate watching you force yourself into a life that dims you. Fooling the world as a man when it’s so obvious you’re a woman - and a damn remarkable one. You’re talented, brilliant, ambitious, and you deserve a career built as yourself."
He held my gaze, unflinching. "Maxwell’s firm is one of the best, which I’m sure you’re aware of. If you work there as Olivia - as his assistant first, then eventually as a junior associate - you’ll finally get a stable career. He ntioned sothing about finally letting female attorneys into the company. This is a great opportunity for you, Olivia. Not crumbs. The real thing."
I looked down at my hands, twisting them together until the knuckles whitened. "I don’t know how I feel about that. What if he refuses to offer a job? Maxwell’s not the type to hand out opportunities."
"He will," Kennedy said with absolute certainty that I didn’t share. "I’ll talk to him. Maxwell will do that favor."
"But Kennedy..." My voice cracked with vulnerability. "Maxwell has been cruel to before. As Olivia. What if he’s worse now? What if..."
I couldn’t finish... not because the words weren’t there, but because I felt it was true.
Maxwell - the man who once called a charity case.
The man who vowed to punish .
The man whose motivations remained a maze I couldn’t map.
Yet he was also the man who sotis looked at like he knew - even when I was Oliver.
Kennedy must have seen my spiraling thoughts. His expression softened, though there was tension beneath, a quiet restraint. "Don’t jump to conclusions. Just... take your ti. Think about it." He hesitated. "And if there’s sothing you want to talk about, I’m here."
"Actually," I said, lifting my gaze back to him, "there is sothing. I still don’t understand how you’re friends with Maxwell. For years you kept it quiet. What part of my mory is missing from childhood?"
Kennedy’s jaw ticked - not anger, but sothing heavier. Frustration? Pain? I couldn’t tell.
"I’m not in a position to discuss that with you."
"Kennedy..."
"It’s up to you to rember," he interrupted, standing abruptly. "Or for Maxwell to open up about it. I can’t tell you, Liv. It’s not my place."
He was avoiding my eyes now. That alone frightened .
"Please," I whispered. "Just give sothing."
He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead - like he used to when I was little, when things were simpler and monsters were imaginary.
"I have to call Kira," he said, voice quiet. "Goodnight, Liv. Think about what I said."
He left.
And I was alone.
The silence in the room felt like a weight pressing down on my chest. My untouched drink sat on the table, condensation dripping like the world’s slowest hourglass.
I sank back onto the couch, staring blankly ahead while my thoughts ricocheted.
From my perspective, after this Tokyo vacation, I was practically jobless. No firm. No plan. No real safety net.
If I accepted the job, I might be walking straight into Maxwell’s sharpened claws.
If I didn’t, I might be unemployed for months.
God.
I was so damn confused.
I got up, pacing, my bare feet silent on the floor. I felt like the walls were closing in - career uncertainty, fractured mories, Maxwell’s unpredictable behavior, Kira’s silence, Gabriel’s very obvious feelings, the dual identity I was so tired of wearing like a costu made of barbed wire.
What was I even fighting for anymore?
And what was I still afraid of?
My mind drifted to Kira.
My safe haven.
Why hadn’t she called back?
I grabbed my phone and dialed her again.
Straight to voicemail.
A cold prickle of unease traced my spine.
"What the hell is going on?" I murmured to the empty room, the dread settling deeper.
I returned to my room and shut the door quietly behind . The mont I was alone in the dim light, the exhaustion hit - a tidal wave that made my limbs heavy and my eyelids hurt.
I removed my clothes and reached into my suitcase for one of my stranger’s lingerie I’d been too embarrassed to try on before.
Deep red silk.
Barely-there lace.
A nightgown ant for confidence, seduction - or a fantasy version of myself I wasn’t sure I deserved to be.
I slipped it on.
The fabric caressed my skin, cool and smooth. I looked in the mirror, and saw my beautiful reflection. Curves soft and powerful, hair loose, eyes vulnerable. For once I saw .
Olivia.
The real .
My throat tightened unexpectedly.
When had I last looked at myself this long? This free? Without fear of being caught?
Too long.
Far, far too long.
I crawled into bed, and the silk whispered against my skin as I sank into the pillows. The exhaustion swallowed up imdiately.
I didn’t hear the first knock.
Or the second.
It was the third - loud, insistent - that dragged violently from sleep.
I stumbled out of bed, still groggy, mumbling curses under my breath about the best sleep of my life and whoever dared wake .
I yanked open the door.
And ti stopped.
Maxwell stood there.
But not as the composed, arrogant man I knew.
No suit. No tie.
His shirt was torn.
Hair damp with sweat.
Face pale / too pale.
And his eyes - dark and fevered - glittered with sothing feral.
"Maxwell? What are you..."
Then I saw it.
The blood.
Dark red. Spreading across his side.
Soaking into the torn fabric.
Dripping onto the floor.
His smile was crooked, almost mocking, despite the agony etched into his features.
"I can’t... don’t want... no hospital..."
Then his body gave out.
He collapsed - straight into my arms.
I barely caught him, knees buckling under his weight. The warmth of his blood sared across my skin, the tallic scent hitting my senses.
"Maxwell! Maxwell, stay with ..."
But he was unconscious.
And I was frozen.
Half-naked.
Barefoot.
Holding a bleeding man in my arms.
******
Kira’s POV
The gunshot still echoed in my head long after the sound faded.
The n dragged away but I couldn’t give in so easily.
I fought them hard as I watched Damien’s body crumpled, blood pooling beneath him - vivid red against the warehouse’s gray floor.
I scread again as I tore away from them and ran towards Damien’s still body.
"Damien! NO! PLEASE!"
I dropped to my knees beside him. His blood soaked through my trousers, warm and horrifying.
The kidnappers began shouting, panic erupting among them.
"You idiot! You weren’t supposed to shoot him!"
"He lunged at !"
"Do you know what his family will do to us?!"
Their voices blurred, becoming aningless noise against the only thing that mattered...
Damien wasn’t moving.
Then... sirens.
Loud. Piercing siren sound.
A sound I had never been more grateful for.
The n froze like cornered animals.
"Police!"
The warehouse doors burst open, splinters flying.
Officers stord in - guns raised, shouting in Hindi and English.
"Hands up! Don’t move!"
Within seconds, the kidnappers were on the ground, handcuffed, powerless.
But none of that mattered.
"Help him!" I scread, voice shrill and unrecognizable. "PLEASE! Soone’s dying - get an ambulance!"
Paradics pushed through, racing toward Damien.
"No pulse..."
"Gunshot wound to the abdon..."
"We need to move, now!"
They lifted him onto a stretcher. His head lolled to the side, lips pale.
I tried to follow, but an officer grabbed my arm, holding back.
"Miss, you need to stay here..."
"NO! You don’t understand!" My voice cracked. "That’s Damien Wellington! I’m his bodyguard... I need to be with him!"
But the ambulance doors slamd.
It drove away, sirens wailing, drowning out the world.
I stood there - covered in his blood, shaking so violently my knees almost buckled.
I had sworn to protect him.
And now he might die... because of .
The weight of it crushed .
Made it hard to breathe.
Damien Wellington - arrogant. Infuriating. Untouchable.
The man who pushed every button I had.
The man who I thought didn’t need protecting, until now.
And the man who risked his life...
for .
I prayed he would survive.
Jesus. He had to survive.
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