CHAPTER 189: CHAPTER 189

Olivia’s POV

Before I could take another step, his hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me back.

I nearly stumbled into him, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it.

"Are you okay?"

His voice was low, and way too close to my ear. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, could smell his essence, and it immediately brought back flashes of last night in vivid detail.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Look at me."

I couldn’t. If I looked at him, I’d remember everything. The way his hands had felt on my skin. The sounds he’d made. The way he’d whispered Olivia over and over like a prayer.

"Oliver." His grip on my wrist tightened slightly. "Look at me."

I forced myself to meet his eyes, and immediately regretted it.

Those green eyes were studying me intently, searching for something. Did he know? Could he tell just by looking at me that I’d been in his bed last night? That I’d...

"Come back to the table," he said, releasing my wrist. "We need to discuss your search for Mitchell today."

Thank God. Work. We could talk about work. That was safe. Professional. Normal.

"I was thinking I should join you today," he continued, already walking back toward the dining room like he expected me to follow.

I froze. "What?"

He glanced back over his shoulder. "You and Jones have been looking for days with no results. Maybe a fresh perspective will help."

"No!" I nearly screamed. Then tried to modulate my tone. "I mean, Jones and I have been doing fine. We have a system. You don’t need to..."

"Oliver." He stopped, turning to face me fully. "It’s my cat. I’m coming with you today. We can discuss the logistics over breakfast."

It wasn’t a request.

I followed him back to the dining room on shaking legs, my mind racing. Maxwell joining the search meant spending the entire day with him. In close quarters. After last night. While my body was still humming with the things he’d done, and my face kept trying to betray me with blushes every time I looked at him.

This is fine. Everything is fine. He doesn’t remember. He’s acting completely normal.

We settled into our seat - Maxwell at the head of the table, me several chairs down, maintaining as much distance as the seating arrangement allowed.

A staff member I hadn’t seen before brought out breakfast - eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, toast, coffee. My stomach churned at the sight of food, but I forced myself to take a few bites, trying to appear normal.

Maxwell ate with his usual controlled precision, not looking at me, and I started to relax slightly.

See? He doesn’t remember. It’s fine. Everything is...

"Rita," Maxwell called out suddenly.

Rita appeared in the doorway almost instantly. "Yes, Mr. Wellington?"

"Where’s my hangover soup? I need the soup to be real strong today. I was completely out of it last night."

My fork clattered against my plate. Completely out of it. Right. Because he was drunk. So drunk he doesn’t remember.

"Right away, sir," Rita said, disappearing into the kitchen.

I focused intensely on my eggs, trying to keep my expression neutral even as my heart rate spiked.

Rita returned moments later with a steaming bowl that smelled strongly of herbs. She set it in front of Maxwell and turned to leave.

"Wait."

She stopped, turning back with a patient expression. "Yes, sir?"

Maxwell was staring into his soup, his tone casual.

"Did I arrive home with anyone last night?"

I froze, my fork suspended halfway to my mouth, my entire body going rigid.

Oh God. Oh God, he knows. He remembers. This is it. This is where everything falls apart.

Rita’s expression remained neutral. "No, sir. You returned alone."

Maxwell lifted his eye from the soup to study her face. "Are you certain?"

"Yes, sir. Quite certain."

There was complete silence, thick and suffocating. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Could only sit there and pray that my face wasn’t as red as it felt.

Maxwell’s gaze swept briefly to me - so quick I almost missed it - before returning to Rita.

"Were you in my room last night?"

Rita and I gasped at exactly the same time.

I caught myself immediately, trying to cover it with a cough, but Maxwell’s eyes slid to me again. Just for a heartbeat before he looked back at Rita.

Rita’s composure cracked, her eyes widening with real fear. "Sir, I would never...Mr. Wellington please, I understood you the last time, and I was grateful you didn’t fire me. But I wouldn’t dare enter your room again without your permission. I swear..."

"That’s enough." His voice cut through her rambling. "You can go."

Rita practically fled, and I didn’t blame her.

I sat frozen, my mind spinning with questions I couldn’t ask. What had happened between them "last time"? Why would Rita have been in his room before? What had Maxwell almost fired her for?

Focus, Olivia. That’s not the important part right now.

"Are you alright?" I asked the question before I could stop myself.

He looked at me, "I’m fine," he replied. "Just a little out of it. Last night is... fuzzy."

Fuzzy. Not gone. Fuzzy.

That meant he remembered something. Maybe not everything. Maybe not clearly. But something.

My stomach dropped.

"Maybe you should rest today," I suggested, trying to keep my voice steady. "Let your body recover. I can continue the search with Jones..."

"No. I’m coming with you." His tone left no room for argument.

We fell into silence, both of us eating quietly - even though I was tossing my food around. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, and I was seriously considering faking a sudden illness just to escape when...

Footsteps on the stairs.

A staff member I recognized from previous mornings descended the grand staircase, her arms full of bundled bedsheets - dark silk that I recognized with a sinking feeling as being from Maxwell’s bed.

Maxwell had just lifted his spoon toward his mouth when he noticed her. The spoon hit his bowl with a sharp clang

that made me jump.

"What are you carrying?" His voice was sharp, commanding, with an edge that made the staff member freeze mid-step.

She looked down at the sheets in her arms like she’d forgotten she was holding them. "I just changed your sheets, sir. I’m taking these to the laundry room."

"Did I instruct you to change my sheets?"

The woman’s eyes widened. "I... no, sir, but I always change the sheets every morning. It’s part of my daily routine, just like you prefer..."

"Take those sheets back upstairs." His voice was ice. "Put them back on my bed. Exactly as they were."

The silence that followed was deafening.

The staff member stood frozen on the stairs, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I... sir?"

"Did I stutter?" Maxwell’s eyes were dark, and dangerous. "Take. Those. Sheets. Back. To. My. Bed. Now."

"But sir, they need to be washed. They’re... there are stains, and..."

"I don’t care." Maxwell stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Those sheets are not to be washed. Do you understand?"

The poor woman nodded frantically, holding the sheets tighter. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Right away."

She practically ran back up the stairs, the silk sheets trailing behind her.

I sat frozen in my chair, my face burning, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

He knows something happened. He doesn’t remember clearly, but he knows something happened in his bed, and he wants to preserve the evidence.

The evidence that would smell like me. That would have traces of me. That would prove someone had been in his bed last night even though Rita claimed he’d come home alone.

Maxwell remained standing, his hands braced on the table, his shoulders tense.

"Mr. Wellington..." I started, not even sure what I was going to say.

"I need to make a phone call," he interrupted, not looking at me. "Finish your breakfast. We leave in an hour to search for Mitchell."

He strode out of the dining room without another word, leaving me alone with my barely-touched breakfast and my spiraling panic.

I stared at my plate, my appetite completely gone.

He’s trying to piece together what happened. He knows someone was in his bed. He’s preserving the sheets to... what? To analyze them? To figure out who it was?

My hands were shaking as I picked up my coffee cup.

This was bad. This was so, so bad.

Tomorrow was my family lunch. Today I had to spend the entire day searching for Mitchell with Maxwell while pretending nothing had happened. And somewhere in between, I had to figure out how to get emergency contraception.

Oh my God. This was too much. Too damn much.

But one thing was clear: I have to destroy those sheets before it implicates me.