CHAPTER 154: CHAPTER 154

Maxwell’s POV

I lay in bed, eyes closed, listening to the continuous beeping of my alarm without making any move to shut it off.

My body felt... better. So much better. The medication, plus a good dinner had actually worked, and my intestines had finally declared a ceasefire. I’d slept well - no midnight emergencies, no cold sweats, no traumatic bathroom visits.

But I wasn’t thinking about my recovered health.

I was thinking about revenge.

About Olivia.

She’d given me fake medication. Had watched me suffer, had enjoyed every second of my humiliation, and hadn’t said a single word to stop it.

The little minx.

I needed to respond in kind. Something that would make her uncomfortable, throw her off balance, remind her that two could play this game.

But it couldn’t be cruel. Couldn’t actually hurt her. Just... discomfort her. Rattle her cage a little. Make her wonder what I was planning next.

The problem was, every idea that came to mind was terrible.

Absolutely terrible.

I reached for the telephone on the drawer by my bed, and dialed Rita. Since I didn’t fire the girl, she should be useful for something.

She answered immediately, sounding a little nervous.

"Mr. Wellington?"

"Come to my room. Now. I have questions."

"Questions? Sir, it’s 5:30 in the morning..."

"Now, Rita."

I hung up and stared at the ceiling, my mind churning through different scenarios.

Five minutes later, there was a tentative knock on my bedroom door.

"Enter."

Rita stepped in, looking terrified and confused. She was wearing her chef’s whites already, probably having started breakfast preparations before I’d called.

"Sir? What did you need?"

I sat up in bed, not bothering to hide the fact that I was shirtless and my hair was a mess. Rita’s eyes widened slightly, her gaze darting away.

"I have a hypothetical question," I said. "If someone were to put hot pepper inside a woman’s sanitary pad, what would happen to her?"

Rita’s mouth fell open. "What... what? I don’t... I don’t understand the question, sir."

"Answer it," I said impatiently. "It’s a simple scenario. Hot pepper. Sanitary pad. Female anatomy. What happens?"

"It could KILL her!" Rita’s voice rose. "Sir, that would be... that would be assault! That level of burning and irritation in such a sensitive area could cause serious damage, infection, possibly even..."

"Right. Terrible. Got it." I waved my hand dismissively. Too dangerous. Next idea.

"What if..." I continued, ignoring Rita’s horrified expression, "what if my car was faulty - just hypothetically - and I told this woman to push it from behind. Alone. While she was, say, experiencing her monthly cycle."

Rita was looking at me now like I’d completely lost my mind. "Sir, that would be... that would destroy her. If she’s menstruating, she’s obviously dealing with cramps, fatigue, anemia from blood loss. Putting her through heavy physical labor could cause her to faint, or worsen any pain she’s already experiencing, or..."

"Damn," I muttered. Why were all my ideas so dangerous?

"Sir, may I ask what this is about..."

"One more scenario," I interrupted. "What if I were to spike her drink - nothing dangerous, just something to make her sleepy - then drive her to an unknown location and leave her there in the middle of the night, just to scare her? But I’d be watching from a distance, of course. Making sure she was safe."

Rita’s face had gone completely white. "Sir, that is dangerous. She could face real danger - wild animals, criminals, getting lost, hypothermia depending on the location..."

"Alright, alright!" I snapped. "Get out. Go make breakfast. And Rita?"

"Yes, sir?" Her voice was shaking.

"Not a word of this conversation to anyone. Understand?"

"I... yes, sir. Of course, sir."

She fled from my room, probably convinced I was planning to murder someone.

Great. Now my staff thinks I’m a psychopath.

I fell back against my pillows, frustrated. Every revenge scenario I could think of was either too mild to matter or too extreme to execute.

I need to provoke her. Need to push her until that memory - that violent, passionate, beautiful memory - finally breaks through whatever amnesia or psychological block is keeping it buried.

The sooner she remembered, the sooner we could stop this ridiculous charade and actually deal with what had happened between us.

The sooner she remembers me - really remembers me - the better.

I pushed myself out of bed and headed for the shower, letting the hot water soothe my messed up mind.

As I got dressed. my eyes landed on my phone sitting on the dresser.

I picked it up and opened my photos, scrolling through all of Olivia’s pictures I’d secretly taken, until I found the one I’d taken on Saturday.

She’d just stepped out of her ride and was walking into the restaurant, looking all hot and sexy like she wanted to show me what I couldn’t have. I stared at her beautiful figure, that delicate nose, those lips I’d kissed so hard in my car, the curve of her neck that I wanted to trace with my tongue. The memory of our passionate kiss in that car made me instantly hard even though I’d just taken a hot shower.

My beautiful girl. Olivia Hopton belongs to me.

And I was going to remind her of that fact. One way or another.

I smiled at the photo, running my thumb across the screen as if I could touch her face.

Then I locked my phone, pocketed it, and headed downstairs for breakfast.

The kitchen staff scattered immediately, as I entered the dining room. Probably still traumatized by yesterday’s drama. The breakfast they prepared was perfect - the exact meal I usually ate, with no creative additions or surprising ingredients.

When I was done, I stepped outside towards the car I’d be taking today.

My driver - the one who’d disappeared yesterday during my moment of crisis - was standing next to my car, looking professional and composed as he opened the back door for me.

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice cold. "Didn’t you get the message that you’re fired?"

His eyes widened in shock. "Fired? Sir, I... I don’t understand. I was here yesterday. I remained at the company until late, waiting for you. When you didn’t show up, I asked around and was told you’d gone home earlier."

"Where were you after lunch break?" I demanded. "When I needed you? When I called your phone repeatedly and it went to voicemail?"

"I stepped out sir. I wanted to run a quick errand. I had no idea..."

"I don’t have time for this," I snapped, pulling out my phone. "Fabian! Get out here. Now."

Fabian rushed out immediately. "Sir?"

"Take the keys from him," I gestured to my now-ex-driver. "You’re driving me today. And you..." I turned back to the driver, "...you have five minutes to be off my property. If you’re still here after that, you’ll regret it."

"But sir..."

"FOUR MINUTES!" I roared.

He scrambled away, still trying to defend himself.

Fabian took the keys without comment and opened the car door for me. I slid into the back seat, already feeling my mood improving.

"Drive," I told him as he got into the driver’s seat. "And Fabian?"

"Yes, sir?"

"No mysterious errands. No stopping for anything. Are we clear?"

"Crystal clear, sir."

As we pulled out of my estate and onto the main road, I leaned back against the car seat and smiled.

Today will be a good day.