CHAPTER 181: A GLIMPSE INTO OLIVIA’S AND MAXWELL’S PAST

Maxwell’s POV

I quickly changed in the shed, after Olivia left. Mr. Hopton’s old clothes fit me surprisingly well. And they smelled clean too, like laundry detergent and sunshine.

When I entered through the back door, I found myself in a kitchen that was nothing like the magazine-perfect kitchen at home. This one was lived-in, with mismatched pot holders hanging on hooks, children’s drawings stuck to the refrigerator with magnets, and the warm, incredible smell of home-cooked food.

The dining table was round - not long and formal like ours - and everyone was already seated. There was one empty chair next to Olivia, just as she’d promised.

"Oh, there you are, dear!" Mrs. Hopton said warmly as I hesitated in the doorway. "I was wondering what was keeping you." She smiled at me. "Your parents really brought you up well. Kennedy over here doesn’t mind being dirty and sitting at the dinner table."

"Mum!" Kennedy protested, his ears turning red as Olivia giggled into her napkin.

I smiled, as I took my seat. Mr. Hopton was at the head of the table, a mountain of a man with kind eyes and laugh lines around his mouth. He was wearing a flannel shirt that strained slightly across his broad shoulders.

He chuckled, a deep rumbling sound. "Those clothes look better on you than they ever did on me, son. You wear them well."

"Thank you, sir," I said quietly.

The family laughed - but not at me. Olivia was grinning at me from her seat, clearly pleased with herself.

Mr. Hopton leaned back in his chair, studying me with friendly curiosity. "So, young man, what’s your name? Can’t keep calling you ’son’ all evening, though you’re welcome to visit anytime."

"My name is Maxwell, sir."

He raised an eyebrow expectantly, taking a sip of his water. "Maxwell...?"

I hesitated, then added quietly, "Wellington."

Mrs. Hopton, who’d just taken a bite of pot roast, made a strangled sound. Her hand flew to her mouth as she coughed, eyes watering. Mr. Hopton reached over to pat her back, his own expression shifting from friendly to slightly alarmed.

"Wellington?" Mrs. Hopton repeated once she’d recovered. "As in... as in the Wellington family? The owners of Wellington and Sons Law Firm?"

I nodded, shrinking slightly in my chair, waiting for everything to change. For them to suddenly become formal, or worse - overly friendly in that fake way people got when they realized my family had money and power.

Kennedy had stopped eating, staring at me with wide eyes. "You’re that Wellington? Seriously?"

"I... yes."

Mr. Hopton set down his fork carefully, and I watched his expression become guarded. His jaw tensed slightly. "Does your father know where you are right now, son?"

I understood immediately why he was scared. Everyone knew my father - Robert Wellington III, the most ruthless attorney in the state. He was famous for crushing opposing counsel, for never settling when he could destroy someone in court instead. People joked that he could find a lawsuit in a greeting card. Cross him, and he’d bury you in legal fees even if you won.

I could see the calculation happening in Mr. Hopton’s eyes: If this boy gets hurt in my house, if something happens to him, Robert Wellington will ruin us. He’ll sue us for everything we have and everything we’ll ever have.

Mrs. Hopton had gone pale, gripping her fork like it might save her.

I couldn’t let them be afraid. Not these people who’d shown me more kindness in few hours than I’d received from anyone in years.

"I told them I was staying at a friend’s house," I lied. "They said it was fine. They know I’m here."

I watched as huge relief flooded both their faces. Mrs. Hopton’s shoulders dropped with a relieved sigh. Mr. Hopton’s jaw unclenched.

"Oh, well that’s... that’s good then," Mrs. Hopton said, though her hand still trembled slightly as she reached for her water glass. "You’re welcome here anytime, dear. Any friend of our children is always welcome."

I glanced at Kennedy, who was watching me with a strange expression. He knew I was lying. I could see it in the way his eyes narrowed slightly, in the small quirk of his mouth. But he didn’t say anything.

The only person at the table completely unaffected by my revelation was Olivia. She was happily sawing away at her pot roast with intense concentration, her tongue poking out slightly from the corner of her mouth. When she noticed everyone had gone quiet, she glanced up with innocent confusion.

"What?" she asked through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "Are we playing the quiet game? Because I’m really bad at that one."

The tension shattered like glass. Mr. Hopton laughed and suddenly everything felt normal again.

"No, sweetheart," he said, ruffling her hair affectionately. "Just having a conversation. Eat your vegetables."

Olivia wrinkled her nose at the green beans on her plate but dutifully speared one with her fork.

As dinner continued, I felt something inside me that had been frozen for so long begin to thaw. At home, dinner was either completely silent or filled with my father’s lectures about my grades, my weight. My mother would pick at her food while making comments about the amount of food I was eating. My brother Damien, when he was home, would try to play with me like we were cool, but I knew he only did that inside. He never liked being seen with me outside.

But here...

"So, Maxwell," Mr. Hopton said, passing me the basket of rolls, "your father’s a lawyer. Planning to follow in his footsteps?"

"Yes, sir. I want to be an attorney."

Mrs. Hopton’s face lit up. "Oh, how wonderful! You know, our Olivia has always said she wants to be an attorney too. Haven’t you, sweetie?"

Olivia nodded enthusiastically, having just conquered another green bean. "I’m going to be an attorney, and make sure bad people go to jail."

"That’s very noble," I said softly.

"Maybe it’s fate," Mrs. Hopton continued, her earlier nervousness completely gone now. "You two meeting like this. Though..." she hesitated slightly, "...I know your family’s firm doesn’t employ female attorneys, but perhaps by the time you’re both grown, things will have changed. And even if not, you could still help each other. Share advice, you know."

I felt my face heat up with the possibility of that happening. "I think Olivia would make an amazing attorney."

"Obviously!" Olivia declared, grinning at me. "And when we’re both lawyers, we can have cases together. Though I’m definitely going to win more than you."

"Oh really?" I smiled, actually teasing back. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because I’m going to work really hard. I’m going to read all the law books - even the boring ones - and I’m going to practice my arguing voice every single day." She demonstrated by making her voice as deep and serious as an eight-year-old could manage: "Your Honor, I object! That’s hearsay!"

Kennedy snorted into his water glass. "You’ve been watching too much late-night TV, Liv."

"Have not!"

"You have. I heard you practicing ’I rest my case’ in the bathroom yesterday."

"That’s because I need to get it perfect!" Olivia protested, her cheeks turning pink. "You have to sound confident or no one takes you seriously."

Mr. Hopton chuckled. "She’s not wrong there."

The conversation flowed easily after that. Mrs. Hopton told stories about Olivia’s early obsession with justice - how she’d set up a "court" in her kindergarten classroom and tried to prosecute a boy for "stealing" the best crayons. Mr. Hopton asked me about school, about books I liked, about normal things that no one usually bothered to ask me.

For the first time in my life, I felt like I actually belonged.

When Mrs. Hopton brought out the apple pie - still warm, with ice cream melting into golden pools on top - I thought I might cry from the simple joy of it all.

"This is the best meal I’ve ever had," I said without thinking, then immediately wanted to take it back. That sounded pathetic. Like I never ate well at home, which wasn’t true. We had a private chef who made great meals.

But this was different. This wasn’t just food. This was family.

Mrs. Hopton’s eyes softened. "You’re a sweet boy, Maxwell. You’re welcome at our table anytime."

After we’d finished dessert and helped clear the dishes - something I’d never done at home, where staff handled everything - Kennedy caught my eye.

"Hey, Maxwell. Need to talk to you. Privately."

Olivia looked up, concerned. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine," Kennedy said casually. "Just guy stuff. Boring training talk."

"Oh." She wrinkled her nose. "That is boring. I’m going to help Mum with the dishes anyway."

Kennedy jerked his head toward the back door, and I followed him outside. The sky had deepened to a dark purple now, stars beginning to peek through. The air had cooled considerably, raising goosebumps on my arms.

We walked to the far end of the yard, near the swing set where Olivia had been cheering me on earlier. Kennedy leaned against one of the support posts, arms crossed, studying me in the dim light.

I waited, nervous about what was coming. Finally, he spoke.

"Your parents have no idea where you are, do they?"