CHAPTER 169: CHAPTER 169

Olivia’s POV

LYING THERE. DIDN’T MOVE.

"No," I whispered, feeling all the blood drain from my face. "No, no, no..."

My vision started to blur, black spots dancing at the edges. The street swayed beneath my feet, and I felt myself starting to fall.

"Olivia!" Kira caught me, wrapping her arms around my waist to keep me upright. "Hey, hey, stay with me."

"She’s dead," I choked out, tears already streaming down my face. "Mitchell is dead. Oh God, she’s dead."

"You don’t know that," Kira said firmly, even though I could hear the fear in her voice too. "It might not be her. It could be a different cat."

"How many white Persian cats do you think are running around this neighborhood?" My voice was rising, breaking. "It’s her. I know it’s her. And she’s dead and it’s all my fault."

I wasn’t even thinking about Maxwell anymore, about what he would do to me, about the consequences I’d face. All I could think about was Mitchell - sweet, spoiled, attention-seeking Mitchell who would curl up on my chest at night and purr so loudly I could feel it in my bones. Mitchell who would bat at my face with her soft paws when she wanted breakfast. Mitchell who I’d grown to love so much over these past weeks that the thought of her being gone, of her dying alone on some dark street, was unbearable.

"We have to go see," Kira said, her voice gentle. "Come on. Don’t give up yet."

She took my hand and started leading me in the direction the man had pointed. I let her guide me because I couldn’t seem to make my legs work properly on their own. Each step felt like walking through water, like moving through a nightmare where everything was too slow and too heavy.

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. Please don’t let it be her. Please, please, please don’t let it be Mitchell.

As we turned the corner onto a quieter street, I saw them - a small crowd of people standing in a circle on the sidewalk, their faces somber in the glow of the streetlights.

"Oh God," I breathed.

In the center of the circle, lying perfectly still on the cold floor, was a large white Persian cat.

My world stopped again.

Everything - sound, time, my heartbeat - just stopped.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t process what I was seeing.

"No!" The word tore out of me as I broke free from Kira’s grip and ran.

I forgot that I wasn’t strong, forgot that I was recently discharged from the hospital, forgot everything except the sight of that white fur, that motionless body.

The crowd parted as I dropped to my knees beside the cat, my hands shaking so badly I could barely reach out to touch her.

"Mitchell?" My voice was barely a whisper, thick with tears. "Baby, no. Please no."

The cat didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just lay there with her eyes closed, her fur matted and dirty from the street.

I started crying, my grief so sharp it felt like I was being torn in half. I bent over the cat’s body, my tears falling onto her white fur, my whole body shaking with the force of my crying.

"I’m so sorry," I gasped out between sobs. "I’m so, so sorry. I should have watched you better. I should have kept you safe. This is all my fault."

Around me, I could hear the murmurs of the crowd - sad, sympathetic voices saying things like "poor thing" and "such a beautiful cat" and "must have been hit by a car."

I couldn’t stop crying. Couldn’t stop touching her fur, even though it felt too still, too cold.

"Olivia." Kira’s voice came from above me. "Olivia, stop. Look at me."

"She’s dead," I sobbed. "Mitchell’s dead and I..."

"That’s not Mitchell."

I froze, my hand still on the cat’s back.

"What?"

"Look at her," Kira said, kneeling down beside me and gently pulling my hands away from the cat. "Really look at her."

Through my tears, I forced myself to focus. To actually see what I was touching instead of just feeling the overwhelming grief.

The cat was white. And fluffy. And definitely a Persian.

But as I looked closer, wiping my eyes to see better, I started noticing the differences.

This cat was smaller than Mitchell. Her fur was pure white, and it had cream-colored patches around it’s ears. Something Mitchell didn’t have.

"That’s... that’s not her," I whispered, my voice hoarse.

"That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you," Kira said, relief flooding her.

I sat back on my heels, staring at the dead cat with a mixture of relief and guilt so intense I felt dizzy. Relief that it wasn’t Mitchell. Guilt that I’d been so relieved it wasn’t Mitchell when this poor cat was still dead, still someone’s pet, still deserved to be mourned.

"Thank God," I breathed, then immediately felt terrible for saying it. "I mean - I don’t mean..."

I looked down at the cat again, at her peaceful face, and felt fresh tears spring to my eyes. Someone had loved this cat. Someone was probably out here right now, searching for her the way I was searching for Mitchell, not knowing yet that she was gone.

Slowly, I reached out and gently straightened the cat’s body, making sure she looked peaceful. Then I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer I barely remembered from my mugged up childhood memory.

"Rest in peace, sweet girl," I murmured, touching her head softly one last time. "I hope you weren’t scared. I hope it didn’t hurt. And I hope wherever you are now, there are sunny spots to nap in and all the treats you could want."

A few people in the crowd murmured "Amen" and "bless you, dear."

I stood up slowly, Kira helping me to my feet. My legs were shaky, my face was wet with tears, but there was still a spark of hope burning in my chest.

It wasn’t Mitchell. Which meant Mitchell was still out there somewhere. Still alive. Still findable.

"Come on," I said to Kira, grabbing her hand again and squeezing it tight. "We have to keep looking."

We walked away from the crowd, from that sad scene, and continued our search with renewed energy. Every alley, every doorway, every dark corner - we checked them all.

We walked for another thirty minutes. The city was getting quieter now, the streets emptying.

Finally, exhausted and hoarse, we found ourselves back in front of our apartment building.

"She’s not out here," Kira said quietly. "We’ve looked everywhere, Olivia. Twice."

I leaned against the wall of our building, feeling the last of my energy drain away. She was right. We’d searched every possible place a cat could be. We’d talked to dozens of people. We’d looked under cars, behind dumpsters, in every alley and alcove within a mile radius.

Mitchell was gone. Really, truly gone.

And there was only one thing left to do.

"I have to tell Maxwell," I said, my voice flat with defeat. "I have to call him and tell him the truth and face whatever consequences come."

"Olivia..."

"No, Kira. I have to." I pulled out my phone, staring at the screen like it was a bomb about to explode. "He trusted me with her. He trusted me, and I failed. He deserves to know."

My finger hovered over Maxwell’s contact. Every part of me was screaming not to do it, not to make that call, not to hear the fury and disappointment in his voice when I told him I’d lost the one thing he actually cared about.

But I had to. Because as terrified as I was of his reaction, as much as I knew this might destroy any chance of maintaining my double life, keeping it from him would be even worse.

Mitchell was missing. And Maxwell needed to know.

I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer for courage, and pressed the call button.

The phone rang once. Twice.

On the third ring, he picked up.