Stranger in my Ass-Chapter 278

Maxwell’s POV

"She’s at the beach house you got back for us," Mr. Hopton added. "She went there to have some alone time. To clear her head."

Hope surged through me so powerfully I felt dizzy.

"Thank you," I breathed. "Thank you so much. I promise I won’t mess this up. I promise..."

"Listen to me, Maxwell." Mr. Hopton’s voice was firm, with an undercurrent of fatherly warning that made me straighten up. "I’m trusting you with my daughter’s location. Don’t make me regret it."

"I won’t..."

"I’m not finished." He leaned forward, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that reminded me he was still a father who would protect his child at any cost. "You hurt her again, you manipulate her, you play any more of your games, and I don’t care how much money you have or how powerful your family is. You’ll have me to answer to. Understood?"

I nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir. I understand. I won’t hurt her. Never again."

Mrs. Hopton stood and walked to a small desk in the corner, pulling out a piece of paper and writing something down.

She handed it to me.

The address.

"Make this right, Maxwell," she said softly, and there was something almost pleading in her voice. "I hate seeing my daughter like this. So sad and confused and hurt. I need my cheerful Olivia back."

"I’ll bring her back," I promised, holding the paper like it was the most precious thing in the world. "I swear to you both, I’ll make this right."

Mr. Hopton stood, and for a moment I thought he might throw me out despite having given me the address.

Instead, he extended his hand.

I shook it, and his grip was firm and strong and carried a warning all its own.

"Don’t let us down, son," he said.

"I won’t," I promised.

And this time, I meant it.

******

Olivia’s POV

The beach house was exactly as I remembered it from the scattered fragments of childhood memories that had survived the accident.

White clapboard siding. Blue shutters. A wraparound porch with a swing that creaked gently in the ocean breeze. The smell of salt air and pine and something indefinably nostalgic that made my chest ache.

I stood on the porch for a long moment after I arrived, just breathing it in, letting the peaceful isolation wash over me.

This was what I needed. Space. Quiet. Time to think without Maxwell’s presence overwhelming me, without Kira’s well-meaning concern, without my parents’ worried looks.

Just me and the ocean and a week to figure out what the hell I was going to do with my life.

I unlocked the door - my father had given me the key that morning with a gentle kiss on my forehead and no questions asked - and stepped inside.

The interior was just as beautiful as the exterior. Hardwood floors that looked worn out. Large windows that let in streams of golden sunlight. Furniture that was lived-in and comfortable.

A stone fireplace dominated one wall of the living room, and I could almost see my grandfather sitting there, reading his newspaper.

I set my bag down and started exploring. Although I spent most summers here before the accident, the house still looked new to me, and it felt like I was stepping into it for the first time.

The kitchen was small but functional, with white cabinets and butcher-block countertops. Someone - probably my mother - had stocked the fridge with basics: eggs, milk, bread, sandwich fixings, some fruit.

Enough to keep me fed for a week without having to venture into town - maybe that’s why she’d suggested I come here.

The bathroom had one of those old clawfoot tubs that looked perfect for long, contemplative soaks.

And the bedroom...

I stood in the doorway of the master bedroom and felt tears prick my eyes.

It was painted a soft blue-gray, with white curtains that billowed gently in the breeze from the open window. The bed was covered in a quilt that looked handmade - probably by my grandmother, if family stories were to be believed.

This was my grandfather’s house. My father’s sanctuary. The place where my family had built memories for generations.

And Maxwell had given it back to us.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, running my hand over the quilt, trying to reconcile the Maxwell I thought I knew with the twelve-year-old boy who’d somehow convinced his cruel father to return this house.

It didn’t make sense.

None of it made sense.

I spent the afternoon unpacking my things and settling in. Changed into comfortable clothes - leggings and an oversized sweater. Made myself a simple lunch of a sandwich and some fruit. Took a walk on the beach, letting the waves wash over my bare feet and the wind tangle my hair.

By the time evening approached, I felt more centered than I had in days.

I gathered firewood from the stack in the store, and started building a fire in the fireplace.

It took a few tries. I’d never been very good at this, and the kindling kept smoking instead of catching properly.

But eventually, I got a small flame going, then carefully added larger pieces of wood until I had a proper fire crackling away.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my music, looking for something that matched my mood.

Something soft and contemplative. Something that wouldn’t require me to think too hard.

I settled on a playlist of acoustic covers and let it play softly from my phone’s speaker.

Then I curled up on the couch with a blanket, watching the flames dance, and just... existed.

No thoughts about Maxwell or the baby or the past or anything.

Just the fire and the music and the sound of the ocean through the open windows.

It was peaceful.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like I could breathe.

I must have gotten lost in the moment because I didn’t hear anything over the music and the crackling fire until...

Creeeeeak.

The sound of the front door opening.

My entire body went rigid.

I hadn’t locked it. Stupid. So stupid. I was out here alone in the middle of nowhere and I hadn’t even thought to lock the door.

I turned slowly, my heart hammering in my chest, already calculating whether I could make it to the kitchen to grab a knife before...

A figure stepped through the doorway.

Tall. Male. Wearing dark clothes.

And holding something that glinted in the firelight.

A knife.

My breath caught in my throat.

An intruder.

I was alone in an isolated beach house with an intruder who had a knife.

Fear flooded my system, sharp and paralyzing. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

The figure stepped further into the room, and the firelight caught his features.

"Hello, Olivia," he said.