Maxwell’s POV
"WHO’S MAKING THAT NOISE?" I bellowed into the empty house.
Silence.
Then quiet, hurried footsteps as someone rushed to wherever the sound had come from.
I spotted another staff member - Jude, the new hire - walking across the far end of the hallway, his shoes making soft squeaking sounds against the floor.
"YOU!" I pointed at him, and he froze like a deer in headlights. "Not a single sound. Not one. You understand me? If I hear so much as a breath that’s too loud, you’re fired. All of you are fired if I hear anything!"
Jude’s eyes went wide, and he nodded frantically before disappearing around the corner so fast he practically left skid marks.
I made it to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me, immediately regretting it when the bang echoed through the house.
The shower. I needed a shower.
I stripped off my clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor - something I never did, something that would have bothered me any other day - and stepped under the spray before the water had even warmed up.
The cold hit me like a slap, and I welcomed it.
Turned it colder.
Let the icy water pound against my shoulders, my back, my head, washing away the hospital smell and the desperation and the fear.
But it couldn’t wash away the image of Olivia’s coldness when she’d told me the baby had to go.
It couldn’t wash away the sound of my own heart breaking.
I stood there until the water finally warmed, then turned it as hot as I could stand, letting it scald my skin.
Pain. At least pain was something I could understand. Something I could control.
Unlike everything else in my goddamn life.
Eventually, I forced myself out. Dried off. Put on sleep pants and collapsed onto my bed without bothering with a shirt.
The plan was simple: Sleep it off. Wake up tomorrow and see if Olivia showed up for work. If she didn’t, I’d call Kennedy and demand to know where she was.
I needed to put an end to all this misunderstanding and miscommunication once and for all.
I needed to fix this.
I had to fix this.
But as I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, all I could think about was Olivia’s voice - that terrible, calm voice - telling me she was going to abort our child.
******
I woke up the next morning feeling worse than I had the night before.
No rest had come during the few hours I’d managed to sleep. Just nightmares - Olivia walking away, Olivia at a clinic, Olivia disappearing into crowds while I chased after her and never got close enough to reach.
I dragged myself out of bed and went through the motions of getting ready for work.
Shower. Shave. Suit.
All of it felt pointless, but routine was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
I walked past the breakfast table the head chef had laid out, and kept going straight out the door.
"Mr. Wellington, you should eat something..." she started.
"Not hungry," I cut her off, not even looking at her.
The drive to the office was a blur.
I kept checking my phone, hoping for a message from Olivia. An email. A miracle.
Nothing.
When I walked into the office, I half-expected to see her at her desk. Half-prayed she’d be there, looking up at me with those beautiful eyes, ready to accept my apology.
But her desk was empty.
Of course it was.
I went through the day in a fog, signing documents I barely read, sitting through meetings where I contributed nothing, watching the clock and willing it to move faster so this nightmare of a day would end.
At three PM, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I pulled out my phone and called Kennedy.
He answered on the third ring. "Maxwell?"
"Have you heard from Olivia?" I asked without preamble.
A pause. "No. Kira and I went to check on her this morning," Kennedy said. "The hospital said she’d already discharged herself. We’ve been trying to call her, but she’s not picking up."
My chest tightened.
"If you hear from her..."
"I’ll let you know," he said reassuringly.
I ended the call and sat there in my office, staring at my phone.
She was out there somewhere. Alone. Possibly hurt. Definitely upset.
Possibly ending our baby’s life.
I couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t let myself go there.
Work. I needed to focus on work.
But the numbers on the spreadsheet in front of me might as well have been hieroglyphics for all the sense they made.
At five PM, I gave up pretending and left early.
From the office, I drove straight to the house I’d bought for her.
Mrs. Hillary answered the door.
"Mr. Wellington. I wasn’t expecting you."
"Has Olivia come back?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No, sir. Neither Miss Olivia nor Miss Kira have returned since they left yesterday."
Another dead end.
"If they do come back..."
"I’ll call you immediately," she promised.
I drove to their old apartment next, and there was Kira, loading bags into a taxi.
I pulled up fast, practically jumping out of my car before it had fully stopped.
"Kira!"
She looked up, and her expression immediately hardened.
"What do you want, Maxwell?"
"Where’s Olivia?" I demanded, walking toward her. "Where is she? I need to talk to her."
"I don’t know," Kira said coolly, hefting another bag into the trunk. "But wherever she is, I can guarantee it’s somewhere you can’t find her."
"Kira, please..."
"No." She cut me off, her eyes flashing. "You don’t get to ’please’ me. You don’t get to show up here acting desperate and concerned after everything you’ve done."
"I just need to know she’s safe..."
"She’s safe," Kira said. "From you."
The words hurt, but I swallowed them in.
"Where are you going?" I asked, noticing the bags, the taxi.
"Somewhere else," she said vaguely. "Staying with Kennedy for a while. Can’t really go back to that house you bought since, you know, it reminds me of what a manipulative asshole you are."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to defend myself. Wanted to explain that everything I’d done had been out of love, not malice.
But what was the point?
She wouldn’t believe me. Hell, I barely believed myself anymore.
"If you hear from Olivia..."
"I won’t tell you where she is," Kira interrupted. "Don’t even bother asking."
She climbed into the taxi, and I stood there watching it drive away, feeling that familiar sense of loss enveloping me again.
The same feeling I’d had at twelve years old when Olivia had run from me.
The same feeling I’d had at eighteen when I’d come home from boarding school to find she’d moved away.
The same feeling I’d been running from my entire life.
I drove home more frustrated and angry than I’d been the day before.
The staff scattered like frightened mice when they saw me coming, and I didn’t blame them.
I was a monster. A barely-contained storm of rage and grief and desperation.
Maybe I should just give up.
She didn’t want to talk to me. Didn’t want to see me. Couldn’t stand the sight of my face.
And I couldn’t force her to feel differently.
I’d tried force. Tried manipulation. Tried control.
And all it had done was drive her further away.
Maybe it was time to accept that some things - some people - were never meant to be mine.
But when I woke up the next morning, I knew I couldn’t give up.
Not yet.
Not when there was still one option I hadn’t tried.
Her parents.
Maybe they could help me.
Maybe they could tell me where Olivia was.
Maybe they could convince her to at least hear me out.
It was a long shot.
But it was the only shot I had left.
I got dressed with purpose for the first time in days.
Today, I was going to the Hoptons’ house.
Today, I was going to make everything right.