Maxwell’s POV
Ian’s eyebrows shot up. He looked at like I’d just suggested he strip naked and run through the storm singing show tunes.
"Leave?" he repeated slowly. "You think you’re in a position to tell to leave?"
"I just ant..."
"Last I checked," he interrupted, his tone pleasant but with an edge of steel underneath, "this is the Hoptons’ house. Not yours. And Olivia invited to stay until the storm passed. So unless she wakes up and tells to go, I’m not going anywhere."
He gestured toward the window again, where lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the room in harsh white light.
"Besides," he added, "in case you haven’t noticed, it’s still a goddamn monsoon out there. What do you want to do, swim ho?"
I clenched my jaw, fighting back the completely irrational urge to tell him yes, actually, that sounded like a great idea.
What is wrong with you? I thought viciously. The man saved your life and you want to throw him out into a storm because he’s... what? Near Olivia?
I took a breath, trying to calm down.
"Can I at least see her?" I asked, proud of how level my voice sounded. "Just to make sure she’s okay?"
Ian studied for a mont, then shrugged.
"Sure. But I’m supervising. Don’t want you waking her up or doing anything weird."
"Weird?" I repeated, offended. "What exactly do you think I’m going to..."
"Let’s go," Ian said, already walking past toward the door.
I followed him down a short hallway, my legs still unsteady, my body protesting every movent.
Ian stopped in front of a closed door and turned to look at , his expression serious for the first ti since I’d woken up.
"She’s been through hell tonight," he said quietly. "Whatever happened out there, it traumatized her. So you get a look - just a look - to confirm she’s alive and breathing. Then we go back to our rooms and let her rest. Understood?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Ian opened the door slowly, carefully, trying not to make any noise.
The room beyond was warm and softly lit - not the harsh red of the room I’d woken up in, but a gentle golden glow from a small lamp on the nightstand.
And there, in the bed, was Olivia.
She was lying on her side, buried under a thick comforter, her dark hair spread across the pillow. Her face was peaceful in sleep, all the fear and pain from earlier erased by unconsciousness.
She was alive.
She was safe.
She was...
The door closed.
I blinked, finding myself suddenly staring at wood instead of Olivia.
"That’s enough," Ian said from behind . "She’s fine. You’ve seen her. Now let’s go back to bed and let her sleep."
"But I..."
"Bed. Now. Unless you want to carry you."
I turned to look at him, ready to argue, ready to demand more ti, ready to...
But then I saw the look in his eyes. Not hostile, exactly. But firm. Unmovable.
And I realized that, much as I hated to admit it, he was right.
Olivia needed rest. Needed peace. Needed ti to recover from everything that had happened.
bursting in there, demanding to talk to her, making everything about my needs and my feelings - that was exactly the kind of selfish behavior that had gotten us into this ss in the first place.
So I nodded and turned back toward the room I’d woken up in.
Ian followed, which I found odd until I realized he was still behind when I entered the room.
I stopped and turned to find him closing the door.
Behind him.
Inside the room.
With .
"What are you doing?" I asked, confusion overriding my exhaustion.
Ian walked past to the bed - the only bed in the room - and sat down on it, pulling off his shoes.
"What does it look like I’m doing?" he said, lying back against the pillows with a satisfied sigh. "I’m going to sleep. It’s been a long night. Very stressful, watching you breathe for hours, making sure you didn’t die on my watch. I’m exhausted."
I stared at him. "Where am I supposed to sleep?"
He glanced at , then at the bed, then back at .
"There are only two functioning bedrooms in this house," he said, like he was explaining basic math. "Olivia’s in one. We’re in the other. So you’ve got three options: share the bed, take the couch..." he gestured to the small loveseat against the wall, "...or the floor."
He paused, then added with a smirk, "Though I’d recomnd the couch. The floor looks uncomfortable, and you’ve already had a rough night."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"You can’t be serious."
"Dead serious," he said, settling deeper into the pillows and closing his eyes. "Now, are you going to pick a spot and let sleep, or are you going to stand there gaping at all night? Because I warn you, I snore when I’m tired, and you’ve definitely made tired."
I looked at the bed - king-sized, plenty of room for two people if they stayed on their respective sides.
Then at the couch - definitely too small for soone my height.
Then at the floor - hard. Cold. Uninviting.
Then back at Ian, who had sohow already managed to look half-asleep, his breathing evening out, his body relaxed.
This is insane, I thought. This entire situation is completely insane.
But I was too exhausted to argue. Too drained to care.
And honestly, after drowning and coming back to life, sharing a bed with a stranger who’d saved seed like a relatively minor indignity.
"Fine," I muttered, walking around to the other side of the bed.
I lay down on top of the covers, keeping as much distance between us as possible, and stared up at the ceiling.
The red lamp cast strange shadows across the room.
Outside, the storm raged on, rain hamring against the windows, wind howling like sothing alive and angry.
And sowhere down the hall, Olivia was sleeping.
Alive.
Safe.
Because of this insufferable man currently taking up more than his fair share of the bed.
"Hey," I said quietly.
"Mm?" Ian’s voice was drowsy, already halfway to sleep.
"Thank you," I said again. And this ti, I ant it. Really ant it. "For saving . For saving her. For... everything."
There was a long pause.
Then: "You’re welco, Maxwell. Now shut up and let sleep."
Despite the pain, the confusion, the bizarre situation I’d found myself in, I felt a small smile tug at my lips as I closed my eyes and drifted off.
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