CHAPTER 167: CHAPTER 167

Olivia’s POV

Before I could even process what was happening, Maxwell was already settling into the space beside me with the kind of effortless confidence that made my blood boil.

He crossed his legs like he owned the place, then he raised two fingers in the air, summoning a waiter with the casual arrogance of someone who’d never been told "no" in his entire privileged life.

My heart kicked into overdrive, hammering against my ribcage so hard it hurt. It always did this - betrayed me completely whenever I was face-to-face with Maxwell as myself, as Olivia.

Breathe. Just breathe.

I forced myself to compose, straightening up. "What are you doing here?" The words came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care.

He didn’t even look at me, his attention fixed on the approaching waiter. "Getting a drink."

The casualness of it made my jaw clench. "On a Tuesday night?"

"Yes." One word. Flat. Dismissive.

I tried keeping my cool, but I could feel the annoyance bubbling up inside me like champagne that had been shaken too hard. "Why are you at our table?"

Finally, he turned to look at me, and the impact of those green eyes nearly knocked the breath from my lungs. "I saw a familiar face and decided to join them."

The way he said it - like I should be grateful, like I should be flattered - made something snap inside me.

"Well, you’re not welcome here," I said, my voice colder than I’d ever heard it. I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice. "The last time we met, your psychotic girlfriend pointed a gun at me. So forgive me if I’m not exactly thrilled about your company. Leave."

The words hung in the air between us, and I watched as his jaw tighten, a muscle ticking there.

What I didn’t say - what I couldn’t say - was that I was also furious with him for another reason entirely. He hadn’t come to check on Oliver in the hospital. Not a single visit, not a call, nothing. And that hurt more than I wanted to admit, even though I knew I had no right to expect anything from him.

Maxwell held my gaze for a long, suffocating moment. The air between us crackled with something dangerous, something that made my skin feel too hot and too tight. Something that reminded me of that kiss in his car. Then, just when I thought he might actually leave, he turned away from me.

Toward Kira.

"How’s your boyfriend?" His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Kira blinked, clearly thrown. "I’m sorry, what?"

"Your boyfriend," Maxwell repeated, tilting his head slightly. "How is he?"

"He’s... fine?" Kira said slowly, confusion written all over her face.

Maxwell smiled wryly. "Really? That’s interesting. I would’ve thought he’d be in quite a bit of pain right now, considering he was electrocuted earlier today." He paused, letting that sink in before adding, "Or do you have another boyfriend somewhere that’s making you confused about which one I’m referring to?"

I watched the exact moment understanding dawned on Kira’s face. Her eyes widened, her mouth forming a small ’o’ as she remembered that she was supposed to be my girlfriend. Oliver’s girlfriend.

Shit.

Kira recovered faster than I expected, bless her. "Yes! I meant it when I said Oliver was doing fine. He was getting better when I left him at home tonight." She shot Maxwell a look that could’ve frozen lava. "And just so we’re clear, I’m completely faithful to my man. Singular. One man."

I stood up just then. I couldn’t let Maxwell rattle us with his suspicious questions and presence. It was time to leave.

But when I stood up - too quickly, apparently - a sharp twinge of pain shot through my lower back and down my thighs. I couldn’t quite stop the small wince that crossed my face.

Maxwell’s attention snapped back to me immediately. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth, forcing myself to stand up straight despite the soreness. "Just started going to the gym recently. You know how it is - the soreness catches up with you."

Maxwell’s eyes traveled slowly down my body and back up again, and there was something in that gaze that made heat pool in my belly despite my anger. "The gym," he repeated, his voice low and skeptical, like he didn’t quite believe me.

"Yes. The gym." I grabbed my purse from the table with more force than necessary. "Now if you’ll excuse us..."

"Let me get you ladies a drink," Maxwell interrupted, gesturing toward the bar. "My treat."

"No, thank you."

"I insist..."

"I said no." I cut him off, my patience officially expired. "We’re perfectly capable of buying our own drinks."

"Then let me give you a ride home at least." He stood too, and suddenly he was close - too close - and I could smell everything about him, making my head swim. "It’s late. You shouldn’t be taking cabs dressed like that."

The way he said "dressed like that" sent a hot shiver down my spine.

So he was worried about my skimpy dress.

"We’re fine," I said firmly, taking a step back to put distance between us. "We don’t need anything from you. Have a nice evening, Mr. Wellington."

I turned on my heel - carefully this time -and linked my arm through Kira’s. "Come on, let’s go."

As we moved through the crowded club toward the exit, Kira leaned in close to my ear. "What the hell was that? What’s his deal? Is he trying to win you over or something?"

"I don’t know and I don’t care," I said, though my heart was still racing and my skin still tingled where his gaze had touched. "I just want to leave before something happens. Something always happens when Maxwell is involved."

We went outside into the cool night air, and I sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear my head of Maxwell’s sexy smell, his eyes, his presence that seemed to fill every available space even when he wasn’t there.

Kira kept glancing back at the club like Maxwell might follow us out. "That was intense."

"As usual, when it comes to him." I muttered, raising my hand to hail a cab. "

A yellow taxi pulled up to the curb, and Kira helped steady me as I slid into the backseat.

She climbed in after me and gave the driver our address.

As the cab pulled away from the club, I finally let myself slump against the seat, exhaustion crashing over me.

"You okay?" Kira asked softly.

"Yeah," I lied. "Just tired. And pissed."

Pissed that my stranger hadn’t approached me tonight, which meant he was still angry about... whatever I’d done to upset him.

Pissed that Maxwell had shown up and ruined what was supposed to be a fun girls’ night out. Pissed that my body had betrayed me by responding to Maxwell’s proximity when I should feel nothing but contempt for him.

Pissed that my life had become so impossibly complicated that I couldn’t even go to a club without running into one of the men making it complicated.

The drive home was blessedly peaceful and quiet. By the time we reached our apartment building, we were both physically and mentally exhausted.

"I swear," Kira said as we climbed the stairs to our floor, "New York men are a different breed of crazy. Like, certifiablyinsane."

"Twice as crazy as normal men," I agreed, searching for my keys. "It’s something in the water. Or maybe the air pollution."

"Should we move to the countryside? Become farmers? Marry some nice, boring men who don’t have psychotic girlfriends or mysterious identities?"

"Tempting," I admitted, finally getting the door open. "So, so tempting."

We went inside, laughing about our hypothetical farm life, about how we’d raise chickens and grow our own vegetables and never have to deal with arrogant billionaires or complicated fake identities ever again.

We were so caught up in our conversation, that it took several minutes before the silence registered.

The wrong kind of silence.

I froze mid-sentence, my eyes scanning the apartment. "Wait."

"What?" Kira stopped too, following my gaze.

Everything was exactly where we’d left it. Mitchell’s expensive luggage still sat by the corner, the designer carrier, the three large suitcases, the bag full of gourmet cat food and toys. The cashmere blanket was still draped over the armchair.

But Mitchell herself was nowhere to be seen.

"Mitchell?" I called out, my voice rising slightly. "Here, kitty, kitty?"

Nothing.

Kira and I exchanged glances before splitting up, searching the apartment with urgency. I checked under the couch, behind the TV stand, in the kitchen cabinets. Kira searched the bedrooms, the bathroom, even the tiny closet by the front door.

No Mitchell.

We met back in the living room, both slightly out of breath, and stared at each other in growing horror.

"She’s not here," Kira reported.

"How is she not here?" I pressed my hands to my cheeks, feeling panic start to rise in my chest. "We locked the door. The windows are closed. Where could she have possibly gone?"

"Maybe she’s really good at hiding? Cats do that sometimes, right?"

"Not Mitchell," I said, shaking my head frantically. "She’s too spoiled, too attention-seeking. She would’ve come running the second she heard us come in, demanding dinner and cuddles and..."

Oh my God. Mitchell was missing.

Maxwell’s Persian princess was gone.

"Blood of Jesus!" I exclaimed, raising my hands up in the air. "I’m finished!"