Stranger in my Ass-Chapter 250

Maxwell’s POV

The stakeholders droned on about market analysis and the works, their voices blending into white noise.

I sat at the head of the conference table, nodding at intervals, but I wasn’t listening. Couldn’t listen.

All I could see was Olivia.

Olivia on her knees, begging for forgiveness.

Olivia’s face going pale.

Olivia running to my bathroom and vomiting like her body was trying to purge itself of poison.

Was she sick? What was wrong with her?

Oh God. Had my behavior - the way I’d continuously stressed her, played games with her, made her life hell as Oliver - had it made her physically ill?

The guilt twisted in my gut like a knife.

I pulled out my phone under the table, fingers moving quickly over the screen. Why would a woman throw up?

Google offered dozens of results. Food poisoning. Stomach flu. Motion sickness. Stress. Anxiety.

Pregnancy.

I stilled completely.

The word stared back at me from the screen, innocent and mind blowing all at once.

Pregnancy.

"Mr. Wellington?"

I looked up blankly.

One of the stakeholders - Bernard, I think - was staring at me expectantly. "Your thoughts on the new hiring policy? The one about employing female lawyers at Wellington and Sons?"

My mind was completely blank. "What?"

"The policy change you’ve been pushing for. The one that’s caused quite a stir with the board. Several of us have concerns about..."

"The meeting is adjourned." I stood abruptly, ignoring the confused looks around the table. "We’ll reconvene tomorrow."

"But Mr. Wellington, we’ve barely covered half the agenda..."

"Tomorrow." My tone left no room for argument.

I walked out, leaving a room full of bewildered stakeholders behind me.

My driver was waiting outside, immediately straightening when he saw me. "Back to the hotel, sir?"

"No. Pharmacy. Any pharmacy nearby."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "Are you alright, sir?"

"I’m fine. Just drive."

We pulled up to a pharmacy five minutes later - a clean, modern place that looked more like a boutique than a drugstore.

I walked in, heading straight for the counter where a young Japanese woman in a white coat stood organizing prescriptions.

She looked up and her entire demeanor changed. Her posture straightened. Her smile widened. Her eyes did a quick, obvious scan of my left hand, checking for a ring.

"Good afternoon!" Her voice was bright, almost flirtatious. "How can I help you today?"

I ignored the tone. "My girl is sick. I need medicine."

Her smile faltered slightly at "my girl," but she maintained her professional composure. "I see. What are her symptoms? Is she here with you?"

"She’s not here. But she was throwing up. Badly."

The pharmacist’s expression turned thoughtful. "I understand your concern, but without examining her or knowing more about her symptoms, I can’t responsibly prescribe anything. She really should come in for a proper consultation..."

"I’ll bring her." I cut her off. "But for now, I need something for her stomach. And..." I paused, the word feeling heavy on my tongue. "A pregnancy test kit."

Her smile returned, softer this time. Almost knowing. "Oh! Is this a happy occasion? Are you hoping for a positive result?"

"That’s none of your business." My voice came out sharper than intended. "Just give me what I asked for."

Her smile vanished. "Of course. Right away."

She moved immediately, gathering stomach medication and several pregnancy test boxes, ringing them up without further comment.

I paid and left without thanking her, my mind already racing ahead.

Back in the car, I stared at the pharmacy bag in my lap.

How the hell was I supposed to get Olivia to take a pregnancy test without looking suspicious? Without revealing that I’d been obsessing over her symptoms?

Different scenarios ran through my mind, each more ridiculous than the last:

Slip it into her purse with a note? No, too creepy.

Ask Gabriel to convince her she looked ill and should check? No, involved too many people. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Pretend I found it in her room and was just returning it? No, she’d know I’d been snooping.

Hire a doctor to do a surprise house call? No, way too obvious.

Stage a fake hotel health screening for all guests? No, insane but almost possible to pull off.

Just ask her directly? No, absolutely not, she’d think I’d lost my mind.

None of them were good. All of them would raise questions I couldn’t answer without revealing far too much.

"We’re at the hotel, sir."

I looked up to find we’d arrived while I’d been spiraling through absurd plans.

"Thank you."

I made my way through the lobby and up to my floor.

My room was clearly in sight. Safe. Private. Where I could think.

But Olivia’s room was calling to me. It was just right next to mine. So close.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I was standing outside her door, raising my hand to knock.

One sharp rap. Then silence.

No answer.

Maybe she wasn’t there. Maybe she’d gone out with Gabriel. Maybe...

An image flashed through my mind. Olivia and Gabriel. In that room. In that bed. Together. Having sex.

Hell no.

I knocked again. Harder this time. More insistent.

Olivia’s POV

I was deep in the most blissful sleep I’d had in weeks when the knock came.

Intrusive, and completely unwelcome.

I groaned and buried my face deeper into the pillow, willing whoever it was to go away.

The knock stopped.

Thank God. They’d gotten the message.

I was just drifting back under when it came again. Louder. More persistent.

"Are you KIDDING me?" I muttered into the pillow.

With a frustrated groan, I dragged myself out of bed. My hair was everywhere. My clothes were rumpled. I probably had pillow marks on my face.

I didn’t care. Whoever was interrupting my sleep deserved to see me at my worst.

I yanked open the door, ready to tell Gabriel or Kennedy or whoever it was to come back later...

Maxwell.

Maxwell was standing in my doorway, looking immaculately handsome despite his injury, his green eyes widening slightly as he took in my appearance.

"I didn’t know you were sleeping." His voice was neutral. "I’ll come back later."

He started to turn away.

And something in me panicked.

He’d come here. Alone. Without police. Without lawyers. Without that murderous rage from the plane.

If I let him leave now, he might not come back. Might decide this conversation wasn’t worth having. Might cut me out of his life before I even had a chance to explain properly.

"Wait!" I called out before I could stop myself. "You can come in. I’m done sleeping anyway."

It was a complete lie - I could have slept for three more hours - but I couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

Maxwell hesitated, his hand on the doorframe, clearly weighing his options.

"Please," I added, softer this time.

He turned back, studying my face, and then nodded once. "Alright."

The moment he stepped inside, self-awareness crashed over me like a wave.

I looked like I’d been dragged backward through a hedge. My hair was a rat’s nest. My clothes were twisted. I probably smelled like sleep and stress.

And Maxwell was standing in my room looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine.

"Just... give me one second!" I practically ran to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

I stared at my reflection in horror.

Yep. Absolute disaster.

I worked quickly - brushing out my hair until it looked less like a bird’s nest and more like intentional waves. Washing my face to remove the sleep marks and tiredness. Brushing my teeth because my mouth probably smelled.

When I finally emerged, looking more human, Maxwell was sitting in the chair by the window.

Not on the bed. The chair.

Maintaining distance.

I sat on the edge of the bed, facing him, my hands twisted in my lap.

He reached into a bag I hadn’t noticed before and pulled out a small pharmacy container, setting it on the table between us.

"For your stomach," he said simply. "You were sick on the plane. This should help."

I stared at the medicine, then at him, completely blindsided.

Of all the things I’d expected - anger, accusations, demands for answers - medication hadn’t even made the list.

"Thank you," I managed, my voice small. "That’s... really thoughtful."

"Just try to look after yourself better." His tone was even, impossible to read.

"I will. I promise."

Silence fell between us like a heavy curtain.

I waited for him to say something. Anything. To yell. To demand more explanations. To tell me he’d decided to press charges after all.

But he just sat there, his eyes on me, his expression unreadable.

The silence stretched. Became uncomfortable. Then unbearable.

"Maxwell..." I started.

"How long?" he interrupted.

"What?"

"How long have you been Oliver?" His voice was quiet, controlled. "From the beginning? Or did you replace him at some point?"

"From the beginning. I... I created Oliver. He never really existed except as my disguise."

Maxwell’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "And the interview? The resume? The references?"

"All fabricated. Well, mostly fabricated. The experience was real, just from my previous jobs. But the identity, the name, the male persona - all fake."

"I see."

More silence.

"Are you going to press charges?" I asked, unable to bear not knowing.

"I haven’t decided yet."

The honesty of it hurt more than an outright yes would have.

"For what it’s worth..." I started.

"Don’t." He held up a hand. "Don’t tell me again how sorry you are. Don’t make more excuses. I need to think, Olivia. I need to process what you’ve told me without you sitting there looking at me with those eyes."

"These eyes?" I touched my face self-consciously.

"Those eyes that make me want to forgive you even when I’m furious." His voice dropped lower.

My breath caught.

He stood abruptly, and I flinched. "I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do about this."

"Okay." I nodded, fighting back tears. "I understand."

He moved toward the door, then paused with his hand on the handle.

"The medication. Take it. And drink water. Lots of water."

"I will."

"And Olivia?"

"Yes?"

He turned to look at me, and the expression on his face was so complicated - anger and hurt and something that looked almost like longing - that I couldn’t breathe.

"Stop looking so terrified. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not that kind of man, regardless of what you might think of me."

"I don’t think you’re..."

"Get some rest. We’ll talk more later. When I’ve had time to think."

He left before I could respond, the door clicking shut.