CHAPTER 176: CHAPTER 176

Olivia’s POV

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," I breathed, my appetite vanishing in an instant.

The sound was low at first - so quiet I might have missed it if the mansion wasn’t so eerily silent. But it was definitely there. Definitely coming from Maxwell’s bedroom.

I sat frozen in my chair, my sandwich forgotten, my entire body going rigid with shock and discomfort.

Is he...? Is there someone...?

The moan came again, slightly louder this time. Definitely female.

"Oh my God." I pressed my hands over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut like that would somehow make this stop happening. "Oh my God, this is not happening. This is NOT happening."

But it was happening. And getting louder.

The woman’s moans were increasing, accompanied now by other wet slurpy sounds.

My face was on fire. My whole body burning with the embarrassing state of this situation.

This is what I get for taking the room with the connecting door, I thought hysterically. This is my punishment for every bad decision I’ve ever made.

The sounds were getting louder. More intense.

I jumped up from the chair and rushed to my bed, grabbing pillows and pressing them against my ears. But I could still hear it. Still hear her moaning, still hear the rhythmic sounds.

"Why?" I whispered into my pillow fortress. "What did I do to deserve this?"

Maybe I should go sleep in the bathroom. I considered.

But before I could move, the woman’s sounds reached climax, and then...

Silence.

Blessed, beautiful silence.

I stayed frozen under my pillow fort for a full minute, terrified that the silence was just a pause before round two.

But no. The silence continued. Became almost peaceful.

I slowly lowered the pillows, listening intently.

Nothing.

Just the sound of my own racing heartbeat and the blood rushing in my ears.

"Okay," I whispered to myself, my voice shaking. "Okay. That happened. That was a thing that happened. And now it’s over. And we’re never going to think about it again. Never. It didn’t happen. That was a hallucination caused by hunger and stress."

I looked at my sandwich, still sitting on the desk where I’d abandoned it.

My appetite was gone. Completely, utterly vanished.

But I walked over to the desk and forced myself to eat anyway, choking down the food, while trying desperately not to think about what I’d just heard. Not to imagine what had been happening on the other side of that door. Not to picture Maxwell driving into...

"Nope!" I said out loud, cutting off that train of thought. "Absolutely not. We are NOT going there."

I finished my sandwich, drank the lemonade, ignored the cake because my stomach was now filled with too many emotions to handle dessert, and climbed into bed fully clothed.

The wig and the hoodie stayed on, because I was not taking any chances of being caught unprepared in this house of horrors.

I pulled the covers up to my chin and stared at the ceiling, listening to the silence from the connecting door and wondering what it must’ve felt like.

Just find Mitchell quickly, I prayed. Please, universe, let us find Mitchell tomorrow. Or the next day. Anything before Sunday. I cannot survive this for a week. I cannot.

Just when I was about drifting off, the sounds started again.

And this time, the voice sounded different.

How many women are in there for crying out loud!

I went completely still, as this new woman’s voice became clearer.

"Yes! Yes! Oh God, yes!"

No. No, no, no. Not again.

But it was happening again. And this time, this particular woman wasn’t holding back.

"Fuck me, Daddy! Please, fuck me harder!"

My eyes went wide, my face burning so hot I was surprised the pillow didn’t catch fire.

What the actual fuck?

Maxwell was having sex in the other room with multiple women, while his assistant was supposed to be sleeping peacefully next door? What kind of person did that?

The woman’s voice continued, getting louder with every passing second.

"Yes, Daddy! Right there! Don’t stop! Oh fuck, don’t stop!"

I wanted to cover my ears again. Wanted to build my pillow fort higher and pretend this wasn’t happening. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe.

Because underneath the woman’s cries, I heard it.

Maxwell’s groan.

Low and rough and deep. I didn’t hear it the first time with the other woman, but it was clear now.

I knew that sound.

I’d heard it before, when he’d kissed me senseless in his car, almost taking me right there.

And hearing it now, in this context, did something to me that I absolutely did not expect.

My body was responding before my brain could even catch up. There was a sudden rush of heat low in my belly. My thighs pressed together. My breathing quickened despite my best efforts to stay calm and unaffected.

No. Absolutely not. You are NOT getting turned on by this.

But I was. God help me, I was.

The sounds continued - the woman’s pleas, and Maxwell’s deep groans that made something clench inside me.

"Fuck! Yes! Just like that! Harder!"

I should have been disgusted. Should have been horrified. Should have been thinking about what an absolute pig Maxwell was for doing this with someone while his assistant was next door.

But I wasn’t thinking of all those things.

Instead, I was angry. And jealous.

What? No. Why would I be jealous?

I had no right to be jealous. Maxwell could sleep with whoever he wanted. It was none of my business. I didn’t care. I didn’t.

So why did my chest feel tight? Why did the sound of that woman screaming make me want to punch her? Why did the thought of Maxwell touching someone else, making someone else moan like that, make me feel like I’d swallowed knife?

"Oh God! I’m so close! Please!"

I found myself standing up. Moving toward the connecting door like I was being pulled.

What are you doing? Stop. Turn around. Go back to bed.

But I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t turn around.

I wanted to hear Maxwell more clearly. Wanted to hear those groans without the woman’s voice overshadowing them. Wanted to hear what he sounded like when he completely lost control.

I reached the door and pressed my ear against it.

Better. I could hear him more clearly now - the rough timber of his voice, the harsh breathing, another one of those deep groans that made me drip harder with desire.

But it still wasn’t enough.

The woman was still too loud, her moans drowning out the sounds I actually wanted to hear.

Before I could think better of it, I plastered my whole body against the door. Both hands pressed flat against the wood, my ear firmly against the surface, my eyes closed as I focused on filtering out her voice and hearing only his.

"Yes, Daddy! I’m coming! Oh fuck, I’m..."

And then Maxwell groaned again - deeper this time, rougher, like he was right on the edge - and I pressed harder against the door, desperate to hear every nuance of that sound, and...

Click.

The lock disengaged.

The door swung open.

And I fell through.

My body pitched forward, my balance completely lost, and I hit the floor of Maxwell’s bedroom with a thud that knocked the breath from my lungs.

"Shit!" I gasped, my hands flying out to catch myself.

My heart was hammering so hard I thought it might explode. My face was burning with humiliation. Every muscle in my body was screaming at me to run, to escape, to disappear into thin air.

Get up. Get up right now and run back to your room and lock the door and never speak of this again.

I scrambled to my feet, my mind already forming a thousand excuses - I thought I heard someone breaking in, I thought there was a fire - when I finally looked up.

And froze completely.

There was no woman.

The bed was empty except for Maxwell.

Maxwell, who was sitting propped against a mountain of pillows, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs slung low on his hips. Maxwell, who was holding a tablet in one hand, the screen still glowing with whatever video he’d been watching. Maxwell, whose other hand was still holding his fully hard dick.

Oh my God. Oh my God. He wasn’t having sex. He was... he was masturbating.

But the worst part wasn’t Maxwell caught in this compromising position.

It was the fact that he wasn’t looking at me in shock.

He wasn’t scrambling to cover himself. Wasn’t shouting at me to get out. Wasn’t embarrassed or angry or surprised.

He was just... watching me.

With those green, intense eyes that seemed to see right through me.

And on the nightstand beside him, propped up where he could see it while he masturbated was a photograph.

I couldn’t make out the details from this angle, but it was definitely the picture of a woman.

Immediately he caught me staring at it, he put the picture away.