Maxwell’s POV
The client eting was wrapping up when my phone vibrated.
Jones. One of our senior associates.
I almost let it go to voicemail - I was in the middle of negotiating a crucial contract - but sothing made answer.
"This better be important," I said, keeping my voice low.
"Mr. Wellington, I..." Jones sounded shaken. "I went to your office like you asked. To collect the blue folder. But..."
"But what?"
"Your office is destroyed. Papers everywhere. Broken glass. And there’s..." He paused. "There’s blood on the floor. Quite a lot of it."
My heart stopped. "What?"
"I don’t know what happened, sir. But your assistant... I didn’t see anyone in the office. She’s not there."
The phone nearly slipped from my hand.
"I’m on my way." I was already standing, gathering my things. "Don’t touch anything. Don’t let anyone in that office."
I ended the call and turned to the clients. "We’ll have to reschedule. Ergency."
"But Mr. Wellington, we’re not finished..."
"I SAID ERGENCY!" My voice ca out harder than intended, but I didn’t care. I was already halfway to the door.
Olivia.
The scene from Tokyo flashed through my mind. The stabbing. The blood. The way I’d almost died in that alley.
What if whoever had co after and Damien had found Olivia? What if they’d hurt her? What if...
I couldn’t finish the thought.
I ran through the parking garage, my feet pounding hard against the floor, my wound from Tokyo screaming in protest. I didn’t care. Couldn’t care about anything except getting to her.
My car screeched out of the garage. I drove like a madman through New York traffic - running red lights, cutting off other vehicles, my hand on the horn constantly.
Faster. I needed to go faster.
Finally I reached the building. I parked hazardously, half on the curb, and sprinted inside.
The elevator took forever. Each second felt like an hour.
"Co on, co on, co ON!" I slamd my hand against the wall.
When the doors finally opened on the executive floor, I ran down the hallway into my office.
I stopped short in the doorway.
Destroyed.
That was the only word for it.
My desk - everything that had been on it was scattered across the floor. Papers. Pens. My laptop, cracked screen facing up. The lamp I’d had for years, shattered into pieces.
Files everywhere. My chair overturned.
Like a tornado had torn through the space.
Or like soone in a blind rage had destroyed everything they could reach.
"Olivia?" My voice ca out hoarse. "Olivia, are you here?"
Silence.
I moved into the room carefully, glass crunching under my shoes.
And that’s when I saw it.
The secret drawer. Under my desk.
Open.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
I stumbled forward, looked inside.
Empty.
My journal. The journal I’d kept hidden for months. The journal that contained every thought, every plan, every manipulation I’d orchestrated, laid open on the floor.
She’d found it. She’d read it.
She knew everything.
"Oh God." My knees nearly gave out. "Oh God, what have I done?"
Then I noticed the blood Jones had talked about.
Dark red drops on the floor, with more of it near the broken lamp.
So much blood.
Too much blood.
"Olivia!" I was shouting now, looking around the office. Inside the smaller assistant office. "OLIVIA!"
But she wasn’t there. The blood trail led to the door, out into the hallway.
I followed it with my eyes. Drops every few feet. All the way to the elevator.
What the hell had happened?
The caras. Security would have footage.
I ran to the elevator, jamming the button repeatedly until it arrived.
Then I took it to the security office.
I burst through the door with enough force to make it slam against the wall.
"PULL UP FOOTAGE FROM MY OFFICE!" My voice ca out as a roar. "ONE HOUR AGO! NOW!"
Every person in the room jumped. Soone dropped their coffee. Another knocked over their lunch.
"S-sir, yes sir!" The head of security scrambled to his computer.
I moved behind him, my hands gripping the desk so hard my knuckles went white.
The footage loaded. My office, from the cara mounted in the corner.
Empty at first. Then Olivia walked into view.
God, she looked so beautiful.
She went to my desk. Reached for sothing. The blue folder.
Then her elbow knocked the mug.
I watched her panic. Open drawers. Find towels. Clean up the spill.
Sink into my chair in relief.
Try to stand.
Hit sothing under the desk.
The drawer opened.
Even on the grainy security footage, I could see the mont she froze. The mont she saw the journal.
"No," I whispered. "Please, no."
She reached for it with shaking hands. Opened it.
And I watched her world shatter.
I could see it in every line of her body. The way her shoulders started shaking. The way she doubled over. The way she pressed her hand to her mouth like she was going to be sick.
She continued reading. Page after page. Her body curling in on itself with each revelation.
Then she stood.
And the rage took over her.
Papers flew. The laptop crashed to the floor. The lamp thrown with enough force to shatter against the wall.
She was screaming. I couldn’t hear it on the silent footage, but I could see it. See her mouth open in anguish. See her destroying everything.
Then she tried to move around the desk.
Too fast. Her knee hit the corner. She stumbled.
Fell.
Directly onto the broken glass from the lamp.
"NO!" I grabbed the monitor like I could sohow reach through it and catch her.
Blood. So much blood. Pooling from inside her thigh.
But she didn’t stop. Didn’t even seem to feel it. Just pulled herself up and limped out of the office, leaving a trail of blood behind.
The caras in the hallway showed her making her way to the elevator. Down to the lobby. Outside.
Gone.
"Sir?" The head security’s voice was hesitant. "Should we call the police? Or dical..."
"No." I was already moving. "No police. I’ll handle this."
One word kept echoing through my mind. One terrible, horrifying word.
Miscarriage.
I’d seen this before. When I was twelve. My mother, pregnant with what would have been my sister. She’d fallen. Not far. Just a few steps. But the blood...
She’d lost the baby that night.
And Olivia had fallen harder. Onto broken glass.
The baby. Our baby. She could be losing our baby right now.
I ran back to my car, my mind calculating. She’d need a hospital. Would go to the nearest one.
I drove to St. Luke’s - five blocks away. Burst into the ER.
"I’m looking for a woman. Late twenties. Pregnant. Ca in within the last hour with blood dripping from her legs. Olivia Hopton."
The nurse checked her computer. "No one by that na, sir."
"Check again!"
"Sir, I’ve checked. We haven’t admitted anyone with that description."
I ran back to my car. St. Mary’s. Presbyterian. Lenox Hill.
Nothing. Nothing. NOTHING.
Where would she go?
And then it hit .
The house. She’d go to the house I’d bought her.
I drove across town, my mind spiraling.
She knew everything now. Every lie. Every sche. Every calculated move I’d made to trap her.
And she was bleeding. Possibly losing our baby. Possibly hating more than any person had ever hated anyone.
I deserved it. God, I deserved all of it.
But I needed to know she was okay. Needed to make sure she got dical attention.
The house appeared in front of . That beautiful brownstone I’d bought with her beautiful face in mind.
I abandoned my car in the middle of the street and ran to the gate.
Locked.
"OLIVIA!" I pounded on the wrought iron. "OLIVIA, OPEN UP!"
Movent from inside. Then Kira appeared, her eyes going wide with shock when she saw .
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
But I was already pushing past her the mont she opened the gate, running toward the house.
"OLIVIA!" I shouted. "OLIVIA, WHERE ARE YOU?"
"Are you insane?" Kira grabbed my arm. "Who gave you the right to barge into our house and scream like a lunatic? What’s wrong with you?"
I ignored her, running through the first floor. Living room - empty. Kitchen - empty. Study - empty.
"OLIVIA!"
"She’s not here!" Kira was following , her voice rising. "Why would she be here? Isn’t she at the office with you? What the hell is going on?"
I ran upstairs. Checked the bedrooms. The nursery.
Empty. All empty.
Panic was clawing at my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I ca back downstairs to find Kira standing with her arms crossed, fury written across her face.
"I’m going to ask you one more ti," she said coldly. "What. Are. You. Doing. Here?"
I crossed to her in three strides and grabbed her shoulders. "Where is she? Where’s Olivia?"
"I don’t know! Let go of !" She tried to shake off. "I should be asking YOU that question! She’s supposed to be with you at work! How did you even know we lived here? How did you know the address..."
She stopped mid-sentence.
I watched as realization dawned across her face. Watched as her eyes widened. Watched as all the pieces clicked into place.
"The house," she whispered. "The stranger." Her voice dropped even lower. "Are you Olivia’s stranger?"
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.
"Oh my God." Kira stepped back, her hand going to her mouth. "It’s you. It’s been you this whole ti." Her eyes blazed with fury. "You manipulative son of a bitch."
"Where is she?" My voice cracked. "Please, Kira. I know you hate right now. I know I deserve it. But Olivia is hurt. She’s bleeding. She might be..." I couldn’t say it. "Please. If you know where she is, tell ."
"Hurt? What do you an hurt?"
"She fell. In my office. Onto broken glass. There was so much blood. And she’s pregnant, and if she’s losing the baby..." My voice broke completely. "Please. I need to find her."
Kira’s expression shifted from anger to alarm. "Oh my God! Rebel!"
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