CHAPTER 184: CHAPTER 184

Maxwell’ POV

"Sir, I think they kidnapped your son for money. They took him since yesterday and have refused to let him go." The driver continued, lying through his teeth.

I spun toward Greg - the driver, horror flooding through me. "That’s not true! They didn’t take me, I chose to go with them!"

But my father wasn’t listening to me. His attention was fixed on Kennedy and Olivia. He pulled out his phone, already dialing.

"Dad, no! You don’t understand..."

"Security," my father said into the phone, his voice cold. "I need you at the state library, back alley. Immediately. I have two minors who need to be detained until the police arrive."

"WHAT?" Kennedy’s face went white. "Sir, we didn’t..."

"Kidnapping a minor is a federal offense," my father continued, as if Kennedy hadn’t spoken. "Holding him against his will. Influencing him to lie to his family. I’ll be pressing full charges."

Two security men appeared at the alley entrance - my father’s personal security team that went everywhere with him. They moved toward Kennedy and Olivia.

"Dad, STOP!" I lunged forward, putting myself between the security guards and my friends. "They didn’t kidnap me! Greg is lying! I asked them if I could stay with them. They were helping me!"

"Maxwell." My father’s voice could have frozen hell. "Move aside."

"No!"

"Maxwell, I will not repeat myself again. I said move aside."

The security guards were trying to maneuver around me, reaching for Kennedy, who was backing up with his hands raised. Olivia had gone very still, her eyes huge and frightened.

This was wrong. All of this was wrong. These people had saved me, had shown me kindness, had made me feel like I mattered for the first time in my life.

And now they were going to be destroyed because of me.

"Please," I begged, my voice cracking. I dropped to my knees in front of my father, not caring how it looked, not caring about anything except protecting the Hoptons. "Please, Dad, listen to me. They didn’t do anything wrong. They’re good people. They helped me stand up to my bullies." I pointed at Peter and his gang, still on the ground. "Those are the ones who’ve been hurting me. Kennedy and Olivia were trying to help me fight back."

My father’s expression didn’t change. "One of my security team will take you to the car. We’re going home. And these children..." he gestured at Kennedy and Olivia with cold dismissal, "...will be dealt with appropriately."

"NO!"

Olivia’s POV - Back to the present

For the rest of the evening, I stayed locked in my room like a coward.

Every creak of the floorboards in the hallway made me tense, terrified it might be Maxwell coming to... what? Yell at me? Fire me? Throw me out of his house?

I didn’t know.

When Rita knocked to bring up my dinner, I asked her as casually as I could manage if Mr. Wellington had retired for the night.

"No, sir. He is working in his study," she’d explained, "And He requested not to be disturbed."

Perfect.

********

The next morning, I woke up early - earlier than yesterday. I’d barely slept, my mind too busy rehearsing the apology I needed to give Maxwell.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. You were a kid, and kids come in all shapes and sizes, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I just meant you’re healthy now, and that’s good. Not better. Just... different. God, why is this so hard?

I threw on Oliver’s clothes with speed, quickly putting on my disguise. I needed to catch Maxwell before he left for work.

But when I rushed downstairs, heart pounding with nervousness, Rita informed me that Mr. Wellington had already left.

"Already?" I checked my watch. It was barely 6:30 AM. "Isn’t that early, even for him?"

Rita’s expression remained neutral, "Mr. Wellington had an early meeting," she said smoothly.

Liar.

He was avoiding me. Running away before I could corner him with my fumbling apology.

"Right," I said, my stomach sinking. "Of course he did."

I spent the entire day searching for Mitchell with Jones, but my heart wasn’t in it. Every shelter we visited, every flyer we posted, every dead end we hit - all of it felt like going through the motions while my mind was stuck on Maxwell.

His cold dismissal. The way he’d looked at that photo of his younger self with something vulnerable and raw before I’d gone and stomped all over it with my thoughtless words.

I have to see him tonight. I have to apologize, no matter what.

When we returned to the mansion that evening, I practically ran inside, hoping to find Maxwell in the living room like yesterday.

But the room was empty.

"Rita?" I called out, finding her in the hallway. "Is Mr. Wellington home?"

"I’m afraid not, Mr. Oliver. He hasn’t returned yet."

"Do you know when he’ll be back?"

"He didn’t say."

The way she said it made my chest tighten.

Didn’t say could mean anything. Could mean he was working late. Could mean he was avoiding coming home while I was still awake.

Could mean he’d left the country to get away from his awkward assistant who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

"Has he... has he traveled?" I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

Rita hesitated. "Not that I’m aware of."

Not that I’m aware of wasn’t exactly reassuring.

That night, I had dinner alone in the massive dining room.

I’d considered hiding in my room again like I’d done the night before, but something about that felt wrong.

I needed to see him tonight.

So I sat at that ridiculously long table, eating food I couldn’t taste, and feeling more alone than I’d felt in months.

The house was so quiet. Oppressively quiet. The kind of quiet that made you hyper-aware of every small sound - the tick of a clock somewhere, the sound of your own breathing.

God, how does someone live here all alone? Doesn’t it get lonely?

Maxwell didn’t come home during dinner.

Didn’t come home after dinner.

By nine PM, I gave up waiting and retreated to my room, that familiar guilt gnawing at my insides.

What have I done?

I lay in bed, still in Oliver’s clothes because I was too tired and too miserable to bother with the effort of removing the disguise. I stared hopelessly at the ceiling, counting the tiny crystals in the chandelier.

The house was so silent I could hear my own heartbeat. It felt empty. Like a beautiful shell with no one inside.

I found myself thinking about Maxwell coming home to this silence every night. Eating alone at that long table. Walking through these empty hallways. Sleeping in that big bed with no one to talk to, no one to share his day with, no one to...

Stop. You’re being ridiculous. He’s a billionaire. He probably has a different woman here every night.

But somehow, I didn’t believe that.

I turned my head toward the connecting door, listening for any sound from Maxwell’s room.

Nothing.

I actually found myself missing yesterday’s embarrassing situation - at least then I’d known he was there. The moans had been mortifying, but they’d been something. Proof of life on the other side of that door.

Now there was just... nothing.

He’s fine. He’s probably at some fancy restaurant or club, living his best life, not thinking about you at all.

But the guilt wouldn’t leave.

Eventually, exhaustion enveloped me and I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

I was deep in some strange dream - something about Mitchell leading me through a maze while wearing a crown - when a loud CRASH shattered the silence.

My eyes flew open, my heart immediately racing.

Another crash. Then a string of curses - low and harsh and definitely coming from Maxwell’s room.

"Fuck. Goddammit. Piece of shit..."

Maxwell.

He was home. Thank God, he was home.

The relief that flooded through me was dangerous, completely unreasonable. But I couldn’t help it. The silence had been suffocating, and now he was here, and even if he was cursing and breaking things, at least he was here.

I sat up in bed, listening intently.

More sounds of something being moved. The crunch of what sounded like broken glass.

Maxwell muttering something I couldn’t make out.

I slipped out of bed and tiptoed toward the connecting door, my bare feet silent.

Don’t touch the door. Don’t repeat your mistakes from the other night.

I pressed my ear against it instead, listening.

I could hear him moving, could hear the sound of broken glasses, more muttered curses.

Was he hurt? Had he cut himself on the broken glass?

This is your chance. Go in there, help him clean up, and apologize. Just apologize and make this right.

Before I could overthink it, before my courage could fail me, I turned the handle and pushed the door open.

"Sir, I heard the crash and I just wanted to..."

The words died in my throat.

What the hell...