CHAPTER 187: CHAPTER 187

Maxwell’s POV - The next morning

I stared at her beautiful face as she slept, a huge smile spreading across my face.

She was finally here. In my bed. Exactly where I’d always wanted her.

I couldn’t believe my plan had actually worked.

Getting drunk had been calculated, of course. Not as drunk as I’d let her believe - I had far too much control for that - but drunk enough to seem vulnerable. Broken. Desperate for the woman I’d supposedly lost.

And she’d fallen for it completely. Had rushed to my rescue like the first day we met. Had helped me, comforted me, let me pull her into that shower and then into my bed.

And once I’d gotten her there? Once I’d finally had her beneath me, calling her name that I’d deliberately kept using - there had been no stopping.

My eyes traced over her succulent body now - the way the silk sheets had slipped down to reveal her bare shoulder. I could still see the visible marks I’d left there last night - something to remember me by. Her hair was a mess without the wig, dark and soft and spread across my pillow like she belonged there.

Which she did.

She absolutely did.

I wanted to touch her. Wanted to trail my fingers down that exposed shoulder, down the curve of her waist that the sheet was barely covering, wanted to wake her up slowly with my hands and mouth and show her exactly what the morning after could be like.

But I held back.

Patience, I reminded myself. This was just the beginning. If I pushed too hard too fast, she might bolt. Might panic and try to run, and I couldn’t have that. Not when I’d finally gotten her exactly where I wanted her.

No, I needed to play this carefully. Let her think she had some control. Let her think last night had been a drunken mistake that I barely remembered.

And then, step by step, I’d create more opportunities. More moments where her defenses were down, where she couldn’t resist, where she’d keep coming back to my bed until she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Because when it came to Olivia, I was the most patient man in the world.

I let my eyes roam over her hungrily one more time - the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her hip, those long legs that had wrapped around me so perfectly last night - and felt myself growing hard just from the memory.

Down, boy. Not yet.

I was still drinking in her morning glow, committing every detail to memory, when she stirred.

Fuck.

She was waking up.

Immediately, I closed my eyes and evened out my breathing, playing dead. Let her think I was still passed out, still sleeping off the alcohol. Let her think she could escape without confrontation.

Olivia’s POV

I smiled as I floated back from dreamland, my body feeling light and loose in a way it hadn’t felt in... God, I couldn’t even remember how long.

It was like all the tension and stress my body had accumulated over the past week - the binding, the exhaustion of maintaining Oliver’s identity, the electrocution, finding Mitchell - had suddenly evaporated.

I felt incredible. Relaxed. Euphoric.

Still riding that blissful half-asleep state, I opened my eyes with a big smile, and found myself staring directly at Maxwell’s sleeping face mere inches from mine.

AHHHHH!

I nearly screamed, my hand flying up to cover my mouth just in time to muffle the sound.

Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my GOD.

I’d thought... I’d been sure... that I’d snuck back to my room last night. I had a clear memory of gathering my clothes and tiptoeing through the connecting door. I remembered closing the door behind me, leaning against it in my own room, my heart racing...

But apparently that had been a dream. A very realistic, very convincing dream that my exhausted, post-sex brain had created while I’d actually been passed out in Maxwell’s bed.

Which meant I’d been here all night.

All. Night.

In Maxwell Wellington’s bed.

Naked.

Oh God.

I stared at his sleeping face - peaceful, relaxed and calm like the sea, and panic surged through me instantly.

I had to get out. Had to leave before he woke up. Before he saw me like this. Before...

I moved carefully, slowly, barely breathing as I eased myself toward the edge of the bed. The silk sheets slid against my bare skin, and I became hyper-aware of just how naked I was. How vulnerable.

Maxwell didn’t stir.

Okay. Okay, you can do this. Just keep moving slowly. Don’t make any sudden movements.

I slipped one leg out from under the covers, then the other, my eyes never leaving Maxwell’s face for any sign that he might wake up.

He remained perfectly still, his breathing even and deep.

Thank God.

My feet touched the soft fluffy carpet, and I stood up slowly, keeping my movements as smooth and silent as possible.

That’s when I caught sight of myself in the massive mirror across from the bed.

My hair was a complete mess - no wig, just my natural dark hair sticking up at odd angles. My body was covered in marks - subtle ones along my neck and shoulders, more obvious ones lower down that made my face flame with heat.

I didn’t even realized when he’d left those marks.

But then, every inch of my skin was glowing, and I looked thoroughly ravished.

Focus, Olivia. Clothes first, existential crisis later.

I turned from the mirror and scanned the floor frantically. There my hoodie, still slightly damp. My pants. My underwear scattered across the floor. The wig - thank God I remembered the wig.

I immediately rushed to the bathroom and picked up the still damp wig, but I didn’t care. I’ll simply blow dry it and use it again. I had no choice.

I moved around the room like a silent ninja, gathering each piece of evidence that I’d been here. Every few seconds, I’d glance back at Maxwell to make sure he was still sleeping.

He never moved.

With my arms full of damp clothes and my dignity in tatters, I tiptoed naked toward the connecting door.

Please don’t creak. Please, please don’t creak.

The door opened silently, and I slipped through, closing it behind me with excruciating care until I heard the softest click.

Safe.

I was safe.