CHAPTER 179: CHAPTER 179

Olivia’s POV

I walked back into the mansion feeling utterly defeated.

The search today had been completely unfruitful. Jones and I had covered almost half of New York - visiting animal shelters, veterinary clinics, posting more flyers in surrounding neighborhoods, talking to anyone who would listen. But it was like Mitchell had vanished into thin air.

Completely disappeared off the face of the earth.

By 4 PM, exhaustion had won. I’d told Jones to drive me back, unable to face another hour of dead ends and disappointed faces.

The ride back had been uncomfortable and weird. James had been watching me the entire day - not obviously, but I’d caught him looking at me in the rearview mirror more times than was normal. Studying me. Like he was trying to figure something out.

It was unsettling, and I’d wondered if he suspected I was a fraud.

Now, standing in the mansion’s exquisite foyer, all I wanted was to collapse in my room, peel off this suffocating disguise, and maybe cry into a pillow for an hour or two.

I headed toward the living room, thinking I’d just sit and rest for a moment before climbing up those long tiring stairs.

But the moment I stepped through the doorway, I froze.

Maxwell was there.

Sitting on one of the sofas in casual clothes - gray joggers and a fitted black t-shirt that showed off his lean, muscular body in a way his suits never did. His hair was slightly mussed, and he looked... relaxed.

Comfortable.

Like he’d been waiting for me. What was he doing at home by this time anyway?

"Why are you back so early?" The question came out before I could stop it, my voice filled with surprise.

Maxwell looked up from his phone, his green eyes meeting mine. "Mitchell is missing. Did you think I could concentrate on work? I’m barely holding it together right now."

The vulnerability in his voice surprised me. For all his controlling behavior and manipulation, his love for that cat was truly genuine. He’d showed it yesterday too.

He patted the space beside him on the sofa. "Come. Sit. Tell me about the search."

God, when will I ever get to rest?

My feet were killing me. My body was exhausted from maintaining Oliver’s posture all day. And now I had to have a debriefing session with Maxwell immediately?

Well, it’s better I debrief him now as Oliver, then go up and rest as Olivia.

I walked over but deliberately sat on the opposite end of the sofa - as far from him as I could get while still technically being on the same chair.

I didn’t trust myself to be near him right now. Not after last night. Not with the memory of his mouth on mine still so fresh it made my skin tingle.

"The search wasn’t productive," I started, "we covered the Upper East Side, checked in with six shelters, three vet clinics, posted flyers everywhere. Nobody’s seen her. It’s like she just... vanished."

Maxwell’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. "Don’t give up. You’ll try again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. You’ll just keep trying until we find her. I’m sure you can do this."

I stared at him, caught off guard by the gentleness in his tone.

This wasn’t the cold, demanding Maxwell who’d threatened to throw me in jail. This wasn’t the arrogant CEO who’d forced me to stay at his mansion. This was someone else entirely - someone almost... nice?

What is happening? Did an angel fall on him or something?

I was about to stand up and escape to my room before this bizarre alternate-reality version of Maxwell could confuse me further when he spoke again.

"Have you eaten anything?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Food, Oliver. Have you had anything to eat since breakfast?"

The question was so unexpected, that I could only stare at him for a moment.

"I... yes. I ate at a restaurant about an hour before coming home."

The word slipped out before I could catch it.

Home.

Maxwell’s eyes sharpened. "Coming home?"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Here," I corrected quickly, my heart rate spiking. "Before coming here. To the mansion. Your home, not mine. Obviously not mine because this isn’t my home, it’s yours, and I’m just staying here temporarily until..."

"Oliver." Maxwell’s voice cut through my rambling. "It’s fine."

He leaned back against the sofa, studying me with an expression I couldn’t read. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping the screen a few times before shifting closer and turning it toward me.

"Do you know this boy?"

I leaned closer to look at the photo on the screen.

It showed a young boy - maybe twelve years old or thirteen - standing in what looked like a school cafeteria. He was overweight, with round, chubby cheeks and a big middle. He was holding a large snack in one hand and looking at the camera with an uncertain expression, like he wasn’t sure he wanted his picture taken.

I studied the image carefully, searching for any sense of recognition.

"No," I said finally. "I don’t know him. Why?"

Maxwell was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on the photo.

"That’s me," he said quietly.

I nearly choked. "What?"

"That boy. That’s me at twelve years old."

I grabbed the phone from his hand, bringing the screen closer to my face, squinting at the image like that would somehow make it make sense.

No way. Absolutely no way.

The boy in the photo - soft and round and looking uncomfortable in his own skin - couldn’t possibly be the same person as the lean, muscular, devastatingly attractive man sitting beside me.

"I don’t believe you," I said flatly.

"It’s true." Maxwell’s voice was matter-of-fact, but there was something underneath it - something raw that made my chest tighten. "I was overweight as a child. Significantly overweight. It wasn’t until high school that I started losing the weight."

I looked at the photo again, then at Maxwell, then back at the photo.

The eyes were the same - those green, intense eyes. And maybe the shape of the face, underneath all the extra weight. But everything else...

"You’ve done so well for yourself," I commended. "Losing all that weight. Getting fit. You should be proud."

I turned to look at him directly, nodding at his current physique. "You look better this way," I added softly.

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake.

Maxwell’s expression went completely blank. Not angry, not pleased - just blank. Like a door had slammed shut behind his eyes.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Go to your room, Oliver."

His voice was cold and dismissive.

I blinked, confused by the sudden shift. "What? I just meant..."

"I said go to your room." He turned away from me, picking up his phone and staring at the screen like I’d already disappeared. "We’re done here."

The dismissal was quite painful.

I stood slowly, my mind racing to figure out what I’d said wrong. I’d complimented him, hadn’t I? Told him he looked good now? That was a nice thing to say, wasn’t it?

But clearly, I’d stepped on some kind of landmine.

"Sir, I didn’t mean to..."

"Go.

"

The single word was sharp enough to cut.

I went.

I walked out of the living room on shaking legs, my mind replaying the conversation over and over, trying to understand what had just happened.

You look better this way.

What was wrong with that? It was true. He was hot and attractive now. Fit and healthy and...

Oh.

Oh no.

Better this way implied he’d been worse before. Implied that the boy in that photo - vulnerable and uncomfortable and clearly struggling - had been somehow lesser.

I’d meant it as a compliment. But he’d heard it as a judgment. Plus, it must’ve taken a lot for him to show me that picture of himself.

"Idiot," I muttered to myself as I climbed the stairs. "You absolute idiot."

By the time I reached my room, my exhaustion had been replaced by guilt.

I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, squeezing my eyes shut.

Day two in Maxwell’s mansion. And I’d somehow managed to make everything even more complicated.

From somewhere downstairs, I could hear nothing. No footsteps. No sounds of Maxwell moving around.

Just silence.

I changed out of Oliver’s clothes, finally removing the binding that had been torturing me all day.

But even as my body relaxed, my mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

Mitchell was still missing.

Maxwell just showed me a part of himself that had nothing to do with me.

And I was trapped in this mansion, playing a role I couldn’t maintain forever, with no exit strategy and a family lunch in less than three days that I had no idea how to attend.

I collapsed onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

What am I doing?

But I had no answers.

Only guilt and the memory of Maxwell’s face going blank when I’d said those words.

You look better this way.

Tomorrow, I’d apologize. I’d find a way to explain what I’d meant. I’d fix this.