CHAPTER 174: CHAPTER 174

Maxwell’s POV

The ride to my mansion was quiet - which was a good thing. It gave me the perfect opportunity to do what I’d been dying to do since she got in the car - watch her without restraint.

I kept my body angled casually toward the window, my expression neutral, but my eyes? My eyes were drinking in every single detail of the woman sitting beside me like I was a man dying of thirst and she was water.

God, she’s beautiful.

Even now, even hidden behind that ridiculous disguise, the baggy clothes, the binding that I knew must be torturing her exhausted body, she was absolutely stunning.

My little liar.

Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, fingers intertwined, and I found myself imagining what those soft, feminine hands would feel like against my skin without the pretense between us. Would they tremble if I touched her? Would she finally drop the act of not being affected by me?

She was staring out the window, deliberately avoiding looking at me, but I could see everything she was trying to hide. The tension in her shoulders - so rigid, so controlled, and probably aching. The way her breathing was just slightly too fast to be calm.

She’s affected by me.

I could see it in the way she held herself, the way she refused to meet my eyes, the way her fingers trembled slightly even though she was trying so hard to appear calm.

Olivia was rattled by my presence. By being trapped in this car with me. By the thought of staying in my home.

And the best part? She thought it was because "Oliver" was nervous about the Mitchell situation, about facing the consequences, about being held hostage by his demanding boss.

She had no idea that her body was betraying her in entirely different ways. That the tension between us was sexual, electric, undeniable - and that I could see it even if she refused to acknowledge it.

I imagined it constantly - too often, if I was being honest. What would she do if I just reached over right now, pulled off that ridiculous wig, and kissed her?

Would she fight me? Push me away? Or would her lips part in surprise, would those beautiful eyes flutter closed, would she make one of those soft, feminine sounds she always made whenever I kissed her?

The thought alone made my pulse quicken, made my fingers itch to reach out and touch her.

No. Control yourself.

Kissing her without reason would ruin everything. I’d worked too hard, been too patient, orchestrated this situation too carefully to blow it all now with an impulsive move that would send her running.

I’ve been looking for the perfect opportunity. The perfect, legitimate excuse to keep Olivia close. To have her in my home, under my roof, within reach for days or possibly weeks. And now it was here.

She was in my car, heading to my home, with no escape route and no valid excuse to leave until Mitchell was found.

And if Mitchell happened to take a little longer to turn up?

Well, that wasn’t my fault, was it?

You’re a terrible person, my conscience whispered.

I know, I thought back, unable to stop myself from smiling as I watched Olivia’s profile. I really, truly know.

Now I’ll get to see her every morning at breakfast, every evening at dinner, catching glimpses of her throughout the day as she came and went from searches. I will watch her try to maintain Oliver’s identity 24/7 under the pressure of living in my home, knowing that eventually - inevitably - she would slip up. That the mask would crack. That I’d finally get to see her break down and reveal herself.

The possibilities were intoxicating.

Olivia’s POV

The moment we drove through Maxwell’s gates, I knew just one thing.

I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.

And the truly terrifying part? I had a track record of following one colossal mistake with an even bigger one. It was like my superpower, except instead of saving the world, I just kept digging myself deeper into disaster.

At this rate, I’d win some kind of award for Most Catastrophically Poor Decision-Making in a Single Month.

I kept my eyes fixed on the window, watching the lawns and hedges roll by, refusing to look at Maxwell even though I could feel his gaze on me.

He’s watching me. Why is he always watching me?

I didn’t care. Or at least, I told myself I didn’t care. All I cared about was figuring out how to survive this impossible situation in his home without getting caught.

The binding around my chest felt too tight. How long could I keep wearing this? Hours? Days? Eventually, I’d have to take it off, and how the hell was I supposed to do that with Maxwell watching my every move?

I’ll need an ally, I realized with desperation. Someone in this house I can trust. Someone who can help cover for me if things get too difficult.

But who? Maxwell’s staff were probably loyal to him. Why would any of them risk their jobs to help me?

The car came to a stop in front of mansion’s entrance, and he opened his door without a word, stepping out onto the driveway.

He didn’t wait to see if I was following. Didn’t look back. Just started walking up the stone pathway toward the massive front doors.

I climbed out of the car on shaking legs, my whole body protesting the movement after the exhausting day of searching and the strain of maintaining Oliver’s posture.

But I followed. Because what choice did I have?

I walked up the pathway, through the front doors, into the grand entryway.

A staff member was already waiting inside - a young pretty lady. She reached for Maxwell’s briefcase, which he’d been carrying, but he waved her off.

"Rita, forget about me. Show Oliver to his room."

Rita’s eyebrows raised slightly, but she nodded. "Of course, sir."

"Oliver will be staying with us for a while," Maxwell continued, "a long while, most likely. Make sure he has everything he needs."

I turned sharply to stare at him. "Long while? How do you know that? Mitchell could be found at any time. Tomorrow, even. Or later today."

"Let’s hope so," he said without emotions, his dark eyes holding mine for a beat too long.

Before I could ask more questions, he was turning away, heading toward the living room, leaving me standing there with Rita. My mind was spinning with questions and concerns and the growing suspicion that Maxwell had orchestrated all of this somehow.

No. That’s paranoid. He couldn’t have planned for Mitchell to go missing. Could he?

"Mr. Oliver?" Rita’s gentle voice pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. "This way, please."

She started up the staircase, and I followed, my legs aching with each step.

Rita led me down a long hallway, and I wondered why we weren’t going towards the room I used the last time.

Finally, she stopped in front of an ornate wooden door and pushed it open with a flourish.

"Your room, sir."

I stepped inside, and the first thing I noticed was how enormous it was. It had everything my previous room had, but this space was much more bigger, fansier and classier.

"The bathroom is through there," Rita said, gesturing to a door on the left. "You’ll find fresh towels, toiletries, everything you might need. If there’s anything else you require, just dial zero on the phone and someone will bring it right up."

"This is..." I turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. "This is beautiful."

I admired the beauty of the room, my mouth in awe. There were fresh flowers on the nightstand - expensive roses that looked like they’d been arranged that morning. The laptop was already plugged in and powered on. The closet door was ajar, with fresh clothes lined up.

Wait.

"Was this room already prepared?" I asked slowly. "Before I arrived?"

Rita’s smiled professionally, revealing nothing. "Mr. Wellington always ensures his guests are comfortable."

That wasn’t an answer. That was a polite deflection.

But before I could push further, I noticed something else. Another door on the opposite wall from the bathroom. A door that definitely wasn’t there in the other guest room I’d stayed in.

My stomach dropped.

"What’s that door?" I asked, pointing to it.

"Oh, that’s just a connecting door to the master’s bedroom."