Olivia’s POV
I returned to the office after lunch, practically floating.
Maxwell’s seat was still empty. He hadn’t co back yet.
I settled at my desk, going through already-read emails, reorganizing files I’d organized, just to have sothing to do. Maxwell had said I wouldn’t start fully until tomorrow, but I was too wired to just sit still.
Ti crawled. 2:00 ca and went. Then 3:00. Then 4:00.
Where was he? He’d said he’d be back by 2:00.
My phone buzzed with a text.
Maxwell: Won’t make it back to the office today. Client eting running long. One of the staff will co by to collect important docunts - a blue folder on my desk. Give it to him, then close up and head ho. See you tomorrow.
Disappointnt washed through , but I pushed it aside.
: No problem. Will handle it.
I stood and walked to Maxwell’s desk to retrieve the folder.
His desk was, as always, immaculately organized. Files in neat stacks. Pens in a holder. His laptop closed. And there, in the center - a blue folder.
I reached for it, and my elbow knocked into his coffee mug.
The mug tipped.
Left over coffee spread across the desk in a rapidly expanding puddle, heading straight for a stack of important-looking docunts.
"Shit!" I lunged for the papers, moving them out of harm’s way, then frantically opened his desk drawers, looking for sothing to quickly stop the spill with.
Bottom drawer. Towels. Thank God.
I grabbed them and quickly mopped up everything, my heart racing. I couldn’t ss up on my first day. Couldn’t give Maxwell any reason to regret rehiring .
When every drop was absorbed, I sank into Maxwell’s chair, exhaling in relief.
That was close. Too close.
I was about to stand when my knee hit sothing under the desk - so kind of button or lever.
I heard a soft click.
And a secret drawer slid open from beneath the desktop.
I froze, staring at it.
A hidden compartnt. In Maxwell’s desk.
I should close it. Should pretend I never saw it. I was trying to be a better person now. No more snooping. No more...
But curiosity pulled at like a physical force.
Just one look. Just to see what would need that level of secrecy.
Inside was a single leather-bound book. Not a ledger or business records.
A journal.
This was private. Personal. I shouldn’t be snooping.
I was about closing the drawer when I stopped...
Sothing on the cover had caught my eye.
Words, embossed in gold:
Livy’s and Maxy’s Life
Livy.
My heart stopped.
Only one person had ever called Livy.
My stranger.
With trembling fingers, I pulled out the journal and opened it.
The first page was dated months ago. The concert. The sa concert where my stranger had first approached from behind.
"Finally found her tonight after years of searching. She was at the concert. Standing in the crowd like she belonged there, singing every word. Beautiful. Ethereal. Mine. She just doesn’t know it yet."
My hands shook harder.
I flipped pages. More entries. More confessions.
"Was surprised to see her at the love doctor’s office today. She was so beautiful I couldn’t breathe. She was here. Here to see . I simply couldn’t believe it. But then she stated her purpose for coming and I felt my whole world crumbling. She was here for Alex. For my best friend. What were the odds."
"Ti to make a change. Poaching Alex to Wellington and Sons. If she wants him, she’ll have to co to for a job."
"Can’t believe it. She actually ca. But dressed as a man. OLIVER. All to follow Alex. The audacity. The brilliance. She’s magnificent even when she’s breaking my heart to pieces."
"Made her life hell today. Pushed too far. Saw the hurt in her eyes. Hated myself. But she needs to forget Alex. Needs to see . Only ."
"Every manipulation, every ga - it’s all for her. To make her mine. To make her see that we’re inevitable."
Page after page. Detail after detail.
Every sche. Every manipulation. Every calculated move.
Getting gifts. Following . Watching .
Hiring despite knowing I was committing fraud.
Making Oliver’s life miserable to push away from Alex.
Bringing Julian into his ga.
Creating situations that forced close. Faking pneumonia in Canada. Taking Mitchell away to Paris to manipulate into living with him. Pretending to be drunk to lure into his bed. Trying to make pregnant. Exchanging the pills with leaves.
And then - toward the end - newer entries.
"Organized a dical checkup at the hotel in Tokyo to ascertain if she’s truly pregnant. Pregnant. She’s pregnant with my child. Saw the test results. She doesn’t know I know. Bought her a house. Set everything up. She’ll need it now. Need security. Stability. Everything I can give her."
"Soon. Soon I’ll tell her everything. But not yet. Not until she’s ready. Not until she can’t run."
The journal slipped from my hands.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
Everything - EVERYTHING - had been a lie.
Not a coincidence. Not fate. Not destiny.
Calculated. Planned. Orchestrated.
He’d been my stranger all along. Had played both roles - the mysterious lover and the cruel boss. Had manipulated every aspect of my life while I thought I was making my own choices.
The house. He’d bought a house. Knew about the baby. Had probably known before I did.
Had watched take that test. Violated my privacy. Used that information to trap .
I felt sothing crack inside my chest. Sothing fundantal and irreparable.
All this ti. All these while.
I’d been nothing but a ga. A prize to be won through strategy and manipulation.
He didn’t love . He was obsessed with . There was a difference.
A huge, terrifying difference.
Rage exploded through like a bomb.
I stood so fast the chair rolled backward and crashed into the wall.
My hands swept across his desk, sending everything flying. Papers scattered. Pens clattered. His laptop hit the floor.
"BASTARD!" I scread to the empty office. "YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"
I grabbed his desk lamp and threw it. It smashed against the wall, glass shattering everywhere.
Everything he’d done. Everything he’d said. Every "kind" gesture. Every "thoughtful" word.
All lies. All manipulation.
I needed to leave. Needed to get out before I destroyed everything in this office. Before I ran mad. Before I collapsed. Before...
I tried to move around the desk too fast. My knee slamd into the corner and hot pain exploded through my leg, throwing off my balance.
I stumbled and landed hard on the floor where the lamp had shattered.
Sharp, burning pain lanced through my thigh.
I looked down to see blood. So much blood. A large shard of glass had embedded itself in my thigh.
But the physical pain was nothing compared to what I felt inside.
My chest was being ripped apart. My heart was exploding. Every organ in my body was breaking simultaneously.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel anything except betrayal so profound it might actually kill .
I pulled myself to standing, the glass still in my thigh, blood running down to the floor.
I had to leave. Had to get away from this place. This office. This building. Everything that reminded of him.
I limped toward the door, leaving a trail of blood everywhere.
Into the elevator. Through the lobby. Ignoring the stares, the concerned voices, the security guard who asked if I needed help.
Outside. Into the street. Found a taxi.
"Hospital," I managed, sliding into the backseat. "Any hospital. Far from here. Just...just drive."
"Miss, you’re bleeding..."
"I KNOW!" My voice broke. "Just drive. Please. Please just drive."
He drove.
And I sat in the back, my hand pressed uselessly against the wound, blood seeping between my fingers, and cried.
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