Olivia’s POV
I spent the rest of the afternoon deliberately out of sight, holed up in my bedroom with the door closed.
Let him wonder what I was doing. Let him imagine.
I could hear him moving around the house occasionally - footsteps in the hallway, the creak of the couch springs in the living room, the sound of the kitchen faucet running.
Each sound made me smile.
He was restless. Unsettled. Exactly where I wanted him.
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, planning my next move. This game required patience. Strategy. Perfect timing.
And I was going to enjoy every minute of it.
*****
By the time evening rolled around, my stomach was actually growling. I hadn’t eaten much during breakfast and I’d been so determined to remain in my room that I’d forgotten about lunch.
Time to make an appearance.
I checked my reflection in the small mirror above the dresser. My hair was still loose and slightly messy - bedroom hair, really. My tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of skin above my shorts. My lips were naturally pink, my cheeks flushed from lying in the warm room.
I looked like I’d just woken up from a nap.
Perfect.
I opened my bedroom door and padded down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Maxwell was in the living room, sitting on the couch with his back to me, staring out the window at the storm. The rain was still coming down, though it had lessened somewhat from this morning’s downpour. The sky was that heavy gray that came with late afternoon in bad weather, making it feel later than it actually was.
He looked lonely sitting there. Isolated.
Part of me wanted to go to him, curl up beside him, tell him everything would be okay.
But that part didn’t get a vote right now.
"Hi," I said, my voice deliberately soft.
Maxwell jumped slightly and turned around, his eyes finding me immediately.
His gaze traveled down my body before he seemed to catch himself, his jaw tightening as he forced his eyes back to my face.
"Olivia," he said, standing up quickly. "I didn’t hear you come out."
"Sorry," I said, not sounding sorry at all. "Didn’t mean to startle you."
He walked toward me, and I noticed the careful way he moved - keeping distance, being respectful of the boundaries I’d set.
Such a good boy.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. "Are you okay? You’ve been in your room all afternoon."
"I’m fine," I said, stretching my arms above my head in a move that I knew would make my tank top ride up even more. "But I wasn’t sleeping."
Maxwell stopped mid-step, confusion crossing his face.
"You... weren’t sleeping?" he repeated, like he needed to confirm what he’d heard.
"No," I said, lowering my arms and tilting my head at him. "Why?"
He opened his mouth, clearly about to say something, then seemed to think better of it. He shook his head.
"Nothing," he said. "I just... you were in there so long, I assumed you were resting."
"Just needed some alone time," I said with a small shrug. "To think."
His expression flickered with something that might have been hope or fear.
"And did you? Think, I mean?"
"A lot," I said vaguely, then moved past him toward the kitchen. "I’m going to make dinner. Are you hungry?"
"I... yes," he said, following me. "Can I help? Let me help."
I turned to look at him, one hand on the refrigerator door.
"I’m okay," I said. "I can manage."
"Please," he said, and there was something almost desperate in his voice. "Let me do something. Anything. I feel useless just sitting around while you..."
"Fine," I interrupted, taking pity on him. Or maybe just wanting him close. "You can chop vegetables."
Relief flooded his face. "Thank you."
We worked in silence for a while, moving around each other in the small kitchen.
I pulled ingredients from the fridge and pantry, deciding on a simple pasta dish.
Maxwell washed and chopped vegetables with the kind of intense focus usually reserved for brain surgery. Like if he concentrated hard enough on dicing the tomatoes perfectly, he could forget about everything else.
I put water on to boil and started the sauce, very aware of how close we were in the confined space. Every time I reached for something, our arms would brush. Every time I turned around, he was right there.
The air felt thick. Charged with electricity that made my skin tingle. I didn’t know if this was the right time to bring up intruder’s motive to kill me. He’d mentioned he was related to Maxwell, but for some reason, I didn’t want to open that discussion.
"How are you feeling?" I asked instead, breaking the silence. "Physically, I mean. After last night."
"Better," he said, not looking up from the cutting board. "Sore. My chest still hurts when I breathe too deeply. But better than this morning."
"You almost died," I said quietly.
His hands stilled on the knife.
"So did you," he said.
"But you chose to," I pointed out. "You could have saved yourself. You could have left me and swam to shore. But you didn’t."
He finally looked up at me, and the intensity in his eyes made my breath catch.
"I would do it again," he said simply. "A thousand times over. Without hesitation. Your life is worth more than mine, Olivia. It always has been."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning.
Instead, I turned back to the stove, stirring the sauce even though it didn’t need stirring.
"Don’t say things like that," I said, my voice not quite steady.
"Why not? It’s the truth."
"Because it makes this harder," I admitted. "And I need this to be... I need to keep my distance. For both of us."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him nod slowly.
"I understand," he said. "I’m sorry. I’ll stop."
We finished cooking in silence.