Maxwell’s POV
"WHO’S MAKING THAT NOISE?" I bellowed into the empty house.
Silence.
Then quiet, hurried footsteps as soone rushed to wherever the sound had co from.
I spotted another staff mber - Jude, the new hire - walking across the far end of the hallway, his shoes making soft squeaking sounds against the floor.
"YOU!" I pointed at him, and he froze like a deer in headlights. "Not a single sound. Not one. You understand ? If I hear so much as a breath that’s too loud, you’re fired. All of you are fired if I hear anything!"
Jude’s eyes went wide, and he nodded frantically before disappearing around the corner so fast he practically left skid marks.
I made it to my bedroom and slamd the door behind , imdiately regretting it when the bang echoed through the house.
The shower. I needed a shower.
I stripped off my clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor - sothing I never did, sothing that would have bothered any other day - and stepped under the spray before the water had even ward up.
The cold hit like a slap, and I welcod it.
Turned it colder.
Let the icy water pound against my shoulders, my back, my head, washing away the hospital sll and the desperation and the fear.
But it couldn’t wash away the image of Olivia’s coldness when she’d told the baby had to go.
It couldn’t wash away the sound of my own heart breaking.
I stood there until the water finally ward, then turned it as hot as I could stand, letting it scald my skin.
Pain. At least pain was sothing I could understand. Sothing I could control.
Unlike everything else in my goddamn life.
Eventually, I forced myself out. Dried off. Put on sleep pants and collapsed onto my bed without bothering with a shirt.
The plan was simple: Sleep it off. Wake up tomorrow and see if Olivia showed up for work. If she didn’t, I’d call Kennedy and demand to know where she was.
I needed to put an end to all this misunderstanding and miscommunication once and for all.
I needed to fix this.
I had to fix this.
But as I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, all I could think about was Olivia’s voice - that terrible, calm voice - telling she was going to abort our child.
******
I woke up the next morning feeling worse than I had the night before.
No rest had co during the few hours I’d managed to sleep. Just nightmares - Olivia walking away, Olivia at a clinic, Olivia disappearing into crowds while I chased after her and never got close enough to reach.
I dragged myself out of bed and went through the motions of getting ready for work.
Shower. Shave. Suit.
All of it felt pointless, but routine was the only thing keeping from falling apart completely.
I walked past the breakfast table the head chef had laid out, and kept going straight out the door.
"Mr. Wellington, you should eat sothing..." she started.
"Not hungry," I cut her off, not even looking at her.
The drive to the office was a blur.
I kept checking my phone, hoping for a ssage from Olivia. An email. A miracle.
Nothing.
When I walked into the office, I half-expected to see her at her desk. Half-prayed she’d be there, looking up at with those beautiful eyes, ready to accept my apology.
But her desk was empty.
Of course it was.
I went through the day in a fog, signing docunts I barely read, sitting through etings where I contributed nothing, watching the clock and willing it to move faster so this nightmare of a day would end.
At three PM, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I pulled out my phone and called Kennedy.
He answered on the third ring. "Maxwell?"
"Have you heard from Olivia?" I asked without preamble.
A pause. "No. Kira and I went to check on her this morning," Kennedy said. "The hospital said she’d already discharged herself. We’ve been trying to call her, but she’s not picking up."
My chest tightened.
"If you hear from her..."
"I’ll let you know," he said reassuringly.
I ended the call and sat there in my office, staring at my phone.
She was out there sowhere. Alone. Possibly hurt. Definitely upset.
Possibly ending our baby’s life.
I couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t let myself go there.
Work. I needed to focus on work.
But the numbers on the spreadsheet in front of might as well have been hieroglyphics for all the sense they made.
At five PM, I gave up pretending and left early.
From the office, I drove straight to the house I’d bought for her.
Mrs. Hillary answered the door.
"Mr. Wellington. I wasn’t expecting you."
"Has Olivia co back?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No, sir. Neither Miss Olivia nor Miss Kira have returned since they left yesterday."
Another dead end.
"If they do co back..."
"I’ll call you imdiately," she promised.
I drove to their old apartnt next, and there was Kira, loading bags into a taxi.
I pulled up fast, practically jumping out of my car before it had fully stopped.
"Kira!"
She looked up, and her expression imdiately hardened.
"What do you want, Maxwell?"
"Where’s Olivia?" I demanded, walking toward her. "Where is she? I need to talk to her."
"I don’t know," Kira said coolly, hefting another bag into the trunk. "But wherever she is, I can guarantee it’s sowhere you can’t find her."
"Kira, please..."
"No." She cut off, her eyes flashing. "You don’t get to ’please’ . You don’t get to show up here acting desperate and concerned after everything you’ve done."
"I just need to know she’s safe..."
"She’s safe," Kira said. "From you."
The words hurt, but I swallowed them in.
"Where are you going?" I asked, noticing the bags, the taxi.
"Sowhere else," she said vaguely. "Staying with Kennedy for a while. Can’t really go back to that house you bought since, you know, it reminds of what a manipulative asshole you are."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to defend myself. Wanted to explain that everything I’d done had been out of love, not malice.
But what was the point?
She wouldn’t believe . Hell, I barely believed myself anymore.
"If you hear from Olivia..."
"I won’t tell you where she is," Kira interrupted. "Don’t even bother asking."
She climbed into the taxi, and I stood there watching it drive away, feeling that familiar sense of loss enveloping again.
The sa feeling I’d had at twelve years old when Olivia had run from .
The sa feeling I’d had at eighteen when I’d co ho from boarding school to find she’d moved away.
The sa feeling I’d been running from my entire life.
I drove ho more frustrated and angry than I’d been the day before.
The staff scattered like frightened mice when they saw coming, and I didn’t bla them.
I was a monster. A barely-contained storm of rage and grief and desperation.
Maybe I should just give up.
She didn’t want to talk to . Didn’t want to see . Couldn’t stand the sight of my face.
And I couldn’t force her to feel differently.
I’d tried force. Tried manipulation. Tried control.
And all it had done was drive her further away.
Maybe it was ti to accept that so things - so people - were never ant to be mine.
But when I woke up the next morning, I knew I couldn’t give up.
Not yet.
Not when there was still one option I hadn’t tried.
Her parents.
Maybe they could help .
Maybe they could tell where Olivia was.
Maybe they could convince her to at least hear out.
It was a long shot.
But it was the only shot I had left.
I got dressed with purpose for the first ti in days.
Today, I was going to the Hoptons’ house.
Today, I was going to make everything right.
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