Olivia’s POV
By midnight, I couldn’t take it any longer. Every fiber of my being was screaming for relief. My chest binding felt like a torture device, cutting into my ribs with each shallow breath I was forced to take. The suit had somehow managed to find every sensitive spot on my body to irritate, and don’t even get me started on the boxers I’d hastily thrown on at the last minute - they were riding up in places I didn’t even know existed, creating the most uncomfortable wedgie situation known to mankind.
I lay there in the darkness, listening to Maxwell’s soft snoring, and seriously contemplated whether this job was worth slowly dying of discomfort. The man slept like a baby - a very attractive, very dangerous baby who could fire me with a single word.
Meanwhile, I felt like I was being slowly compressed in my suit.
My wig felt uncomfortable, my hair underneath itching like crazy.
That’s it. I couldn’t survive another six hours like this.
Slowly, and I mean glacially slowly, I eased myself up from the bed. The sheets rustled softly, and I froze, holding my breath. Maxwell’s snoring continued uninterrupted. Good. The man slept like the dead, which was probably the only thing saving my sanity right now.
I turned to look at him in the dim light filtering through the curtains. He looked so peaceful, so... normal. His dark hair was mussed, falling across his forehead in a way that made him look even sexier. His lips were slightly parted, and there was something almost vulnerable about the way he slept, like he was a cute little baby.
Focus, Olivia. Don’t get distracted by your sleeping boss. You know his true personality.
I tiptoed toward my suitcase like a ninja on a mission. My plan was simple: grab my bathroom essentials quietly and make a quick escape to the bathroom for some much - needed relief.
But as I approached the suitcase, I realized the fatal flaw in my plan. The thing had more zippers than a punk rock jacket from the 80s, and every single one of them would make noise. The kind of noise that would wake Maxwell up.
New plan.
I stared at the suitcase for a long moment, then at Maxwell’s sleeping body, then back at the suitcase. There was only one solution.
I would have to carry the entire suitcase into the bathroom.
I bent down and gripped the handle, saying a silent prayer to whatever deity protected cross-dressing assistants. Please don’t let this thing have squeaky wheels. Please don’t let Maxwell wake up and find me absconding with luggage like some kind of lunatic.
I lifted the suitcase as quietly as possible, and started walking towards the bathroom. Then I glanced back at Maxwell one more time - still sleeping, still snoring peacefully.
Good.
I made it to the bathroom, and once inside, I carefully set down the suitcase and immediately locked the door behind me.
Freedom. Finally
The moment - and I mean the very moment - I started removing my disguise, I let out the longest, most relieved sigh of my entire life. It started somewhere deep in my chest and worked its way up and out like a deflating balloon. If relief was a sound, this was its symphony.
"Oh my God," I whispered to my reflection in the mirror.
I looked like I’d been through hell and back. Everything was a complete mess.
I settled down and began peeling away each layer of my disguise - the padding, the binding, the ridiculous boxers that had been plotting against me all evening - I felt more human with each item I discarded.
Finally, I stepped into the hot shower. The water pressure was perfect, the temperature divine, and for the first time in hours, I could breathe properly. I stood under the spray and just breathed, letting the steam work its magic on my tortured muscles.
I even washed my hair using Maxwell’s delicious smelling shampoo and hoping I don’t get in trouble for it. The man’s toiletries was pure heaven. Did he get them from another planet or something?
I was living my best life right now, using his products, and breathing like a normal human being.
After what felt like hours of bliss, I reluctantly turned off the water and reached for a towel. The bathroom was filled with steam, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the fogged mirror. For a moment, I just looked like... me. Olivia. Not Oliver, just me.
I blow-dried my hair, before putting on my wig again, then reapplied my facial disguise.
Lastly, it was as time for the chest binding.
I held the cloth in my hands, staring at it like it was my mortal enemy. Which, to be fair, it kind of was. The pajamas I’d brought were largely oversized. Baggy enough to hide any suspicious curves.
There’s no need, I realized with relief. I can skip the binding tonight.
The pajamas would hide everything. I’d just wake up extra early - 5 AM, maybe earlier - and get properly dressed before Maxwell even thought about stirring. It was the perfect plan. What could go wrong?
I dressed quickly, marveling at how much better everything felt without the binding cutting into my ribs. I looked in the mirror one final time, adjusting myself and making sure everything was secure.
Perfect. I looked like Oliver. A comfortable, well-rested, properly-showered Oliver.
I packed up everything and began wheeling my suitcase out, already planning how amazing it was going to feel to sleep like a normal human being.
That’s when I opened the door and found Maxwell standing there.
Just... standing there. Leaning against the doorframe like some sort of sleep-rumpled sentinel, his dark hair even more disheveled than before, his eyes heavy with sleep but very much awake and very much focused on me.
I almost tripped over my own suitcase, stumbling backward in shock like I’d just encountered a sexy ghost.
"Sir! You’re... you’re awake." I gasped, trying to calm my racing heart that had almost flown from my body.