CHAPTER 151: CHAPTER 151

Maxwell’s POV

I was lying face-up on the hotel bed - if you could even call it a bed - with my feet still touching the floor, both arms spread wide on either side of me like I’d been crucified.

The ceiling above me had a water stain in the corner. The sheets beneath me smelled like cheap detergent and other people’s bodies. The entire room screamed "budget traveler" with its beige walls, scratchy comforter, and the kind of carpet that had probably witnessed things I didn’t want to think about.

If this were any other day, I wouldn’t be caught dead lying on these contaminated sheets. I’d probably burn my clothes after leaving and consider getting a tetanus shot just to be safe.

But right now, in this moment, I didn’t care about any of that.

The only thing I cared about - the only thing my battered, traumatized body and mind could focus on - was figuring out how the hell this disaster had happened to me.

What caused this? What did I eat?

I traced my memory back with great focus. Breakfast. I’d had breakfast this morning before coming to the office. The usual - scrambled eggs with herbs, whole grain toast, fresh fruit, coffee.

The same meal I’d eaten hundreds of times before without incident.

So why today?

I stared at that water stain on the ceiling, my mind churning through possibilities.

Was it the eggs? The toast? The fruit? The coffee?

Someone had poisoned me. Or at least served me something contaminated. There was no other explanation.

Once I get home, someone is getting fired.

I stayed like that for a while, just breathing, waiting for another round of disaster to hit me. My stomach was quiet now, but I didn’t trust it. This could just be the eye of the storm.

Then I remembered the drugs.

Oh. Right. The medicine.

I reached over to where I’d dropped my jacket, fumbling in the pocket until I found the packet Olivia had brought me. I pulled it out, prepared to take another dose even though the first one had done absolutely nothing.

And that’s when I actually looked at the packaging.

My eyes narrowed.

Extra Strength Pain Relief. For headaches, muscle aches, and pains.

I knew this drug. I had this exact brand at home.

This wasn’t stomach medication.

This was for pain.

Had the pharmacy sold Olivia the wrong medication by mistake?

I turned the packet over, examining it from every angle. No. This wasn’t some pharmacy error. The label was clear. The instructions were specific. This was explicitly for headaches and pain, not gastrointestinal distress.

Which meant...

She probably bought this on purpose?

The thought settled over me slowly, and with it came a realization that should have made me furious.

Olivia had deliberately bought me the wrong medication. She’d gone to the pharmacy, and knowingly purchased headache medicine instead of stomach. She’d watched me swallow it, watched me suffer, watched the "medication" do absolutely nothing to help my condition.

And she’d said nothing.

Of course she did. Typical Olivia.

She obviously hated me. Probably thought I deserved every second of today’s torture. And honestly? She’d enjoyed watching me suffer. I could picture her sitting at her desk, trying not to smile as I ran back and forth to the bathroom like a chihuahua.

I should be angry. Should be planning my revenge. Should be thinking of creative ways to make her pay.

Instead, I found myself smiling.

I was actually smiling, while lying here on this disgusting hotel bed after the worst day of my adult life, because Olivia Hopton had deliberately sabotaged my medication.

She’s finally showing her true colors. The wicked, vindictive side she’s been hiding.

This was good. This was progress.

Because the old Olivia - my Olivia, from before - she’d been capable of this kind of wicked revenge. She’d had a sharp edge beneath all that sweetness, a capacity for creative payback when someone wronged her.

And if current Olivia was starting to channel that energy, starting to remember how to fight back instead of just running away...

That means she might remember everything soon. And the sooner she remembers, the better.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Fabian, one of my security team members.

"Sir?" He answered on the second ring.

"Fabian. I need you to come pick me up." Then I told him the hotel address. "And on your way, stop at a pharmacy and get me stomach medication. The strongest they have. Something that will actually help with severe gastrointestinal distress."

"Right away, sir. Are you alright?"

"I’ve been better. How fast can you get here?"

"Twenty minutes, maybe twenty-five."

"Make it fifteen."

I hung up before he could protest and dropped the phone on the bed beside me.

My stomach made a warning rumble. Not urgent yet, but definitely a preview of coming attractions.

One more trip to the bathroom before Fabian arrives. One final exodus before I can leave this godforsaken hotel.

I pushed myself up off the bed, steadied myself against the nightstand, and made my way back to the tiny bathroom.

*****

Thirty minutes later

After Fabian had arrived with the medication, after I’d finally achieved some semblance of digestive stability, after the drive home that was mercifully smooth and incident-free, I walked into my mansion feeling like a survivor of some apocalyptic event.

I showered. Changed into comfortable clothes. Took more of the real medicine. Drank electrolyte water. Generally tried to recover some dignity after the day’s humiliations.

But I still didn’t have answers.

What caused this?

The breakfast. It had to be the breakfast.

I made my way down to the kitchen, trying to control the fury within me.

Mrs. Tote, my head chef, looked up from where she was prepping ingredients for dinner. Her eyes widened when she saw my expression.

"Mr. Wellington! We weren’t expecting you home so early. Are you feeling..."

"Assemble the kitchen staff," I said, my voice cold and flat. "Everyone who was involved in preparing my breakfast this morning. Now."

Mrs. Tote’s face went pale. "Of course, sir. Right away."

Within five minutes, they were all lined up in front of me - Mrs. Tote, three assistant cooks, and two prep assistants. All standing still, with confusion and growing fear on their faces.

I stood in front of them, arms crossed, my gaze moving slowly from one face to another.

"Someone," I said quietly, "is going to tell me exactly what went into my breakfast this morning. Every ingredient. Every spice. Every deviation from the usual recipe."

Silence. They all looked at each other nervously, but no one spoke.

"I’m not asking again," I continued, my voice dropping even lower. "What. Was. Different."

More silence. More nervous glances.

I let the silence stretch, let them feel uncomfortable for a while.

Finally, I asked again, this time with ice in my voice and what Alex liked to call my "laser eyes."

"What did you change about my breakfast?"

The youngest chef - Rita, I think her name was - broke first. She dropped to her knees right there on the kitchen floor, her hands clasped in front of her.

"I’m so sorry, Mr. Wellington! I’m so, so sorry! I just - I wanted to try something new! Something you might enjoy! I thought if I added some different herbs, some spices from my grandmother’s recipes, that maybe you’d like it."