Stranger in my Ass-Chapter 296

Maxwell’s POV

I needed to know.

The question had been burning inside me since the gas station, growing hotter with every passing minute, every silent mile, every stolen glance.

Why had she said we were a couple?

Was she changing her mind about us? Did she want to be together? Was she falling for me the way I’d been falling for her - was already deeply, irrevocably fallen for her?

The uncertainty was killing me. Eating me alive from the inside out.

I’d followed her into the bathroom without thinking, driven by a desperate need for answers that overrode every rational thought about boundaries and personal space.

Olivia stood there, clutching her shirt to her chest, her eyes wide with surprise and something else - something that looked like conflict, like she was torn between running away and staying to face this.

"Maxwell..." she started, and I could hear the hesitation in her voice.

I opened my mouth to press the question again, to demand an answer that would either give me hope or destroy me completely...

RING.

We both froze.

The sound was so unexpected, so foreign after days of silent phones and no service, that for a second neither of us moved.

RING.

"That’s..." Olivia looked down at her bag on the bathroom counter, where the sound was obviously coming from, her expression shifting from shock to confusion. "That’s my phone. But how... the service..."

She dipped one hand inside and grabbed it, still holding her shirt with the other hand.

"Hello? Mom?"

I watched as relief flooded her face, then confusion, then something that made my blood run cold.

Fear.

Pure, undiluted fear.

"What?" Olivia breathed, her face going pale. "Mom, what are you..."

I drew closer immediately.

"What’s wrong?" I asked quietly, trying not to alarm her further but needing to know.

Olivia’s hand was shaking as she pulled the phone away from her ear and pressed the speaker button.

Mrs. Hopton’s voice filled the small bathroom, tinny but clear.

"...been trying to reach you for days, sweetheart. We were so worried..."

"Mom," Olivia interrupted, her voice strained. "What did you just say? About who’s at the house?"

There was a pause on the other end.

"Mr. Wellington," Mrs. Hopton repeated. "Maxwell’s father. He’s here right now, in our living room, having drinks with your father. He came to apologize. Said he wanted to right his wrongs and ask for our forgiveness after all these years."

The color drained completely from Olivia’s face.

I could see her start to tremble, her whole body beginning to shake like she was standing in a freezer instead of a warm bathroom.

She was terrified. For her parents. For what my father might do.

I took the phone from her shaking hands, my own fear clawing at my throat but forcing myself to stay calm.

"Mrs. Hopton," I said, keeping my voice as steady as possible. "It’s Maxwell. I’m here with Olivia."

"Oh, Maxwell!" She sounded relieved. "I didn’t know you two were still together. Your father didn’t mention..."

"Does he know you’re making this call right now?" I interrupted, my mind racing through possibilities, through dangers, through worst-case scenarios.

"No," she said, and I could hear rustling in the background, like she was moving. "I’m in the kitchen. He’s speaking to my husband in the living room."

"Good," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm even as my heart hammered against my ribs. "That’s good. He can’t know you spoke to us. Do you understand? It’s very important that he doesn’t know."

"Maxwell, you’re scaring me," Mrs. Hopton said, her voice rising slightly. "Is everything alright? Should I be worried?"

I glanced at Olivia, who was now sitting on the closed toilet lid, her head in her hands, her whole body shaking.

"Everything’s fine," I lied smoothly. "I just had a chat with my father earlier and told him I wasn’t in town. I don’t want him to know I’m actually here. It’s... complicated family stuff."

I hated lying to her. Hated it with every fiber of my being.

But I couldn’t tell her the truth - that her house was harboring a mentally unstable man with a knife who’d already tried to kill her daughter once. That would only cause panic, and panic would get someone hurt.

"Oh," Mrs. Hopton said, sounding uncertain but accepting. "Well, this is the first time I’m hearing of him, you know. Has he been living in another country?"

"Yes," I said quickly, seizing on the excuse. "He’s been away for a long time. But listen, Mrs. Hopton, I need you to do something for me."

With my free hand, I was pulling out my own phone, quickly dialing 911.

"Keep entertaining him," I said, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice. "Give him drinks, food, make him comfortable. Let him be at peace in your house. Can you do that?"

"Of course, dear. But..."

I handed my phone to Olivia, mouthing "Police" at her.

She took it with trembling hands, her eyes glazed with fear, but she raised it to her ear.

"Let me just go check on them," Mrs. Hopton was saying on the other line. "Make sure Mr. Wellington is feeling comfortable. He seemed a bit agitated when he first arrived..."

"Mom, wait..." Olivia started.

But then we heard it.

A scream.

Not a startled scream. Not a surprised scream.

A scream of pure, unadulterated horror.

"OH MY GOD!" Mrs. Hopton’s voice was shrill, panicked, beyond terrified. "HENRY, WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WHO DID THIS? HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!"

"MRS. HOPTON!" I shouted into the phone. "What’s happening? What’s wrong?"

But she wasn’t listening. Wasn’t answering.

Just screaming.

"HENRY, PLEASE! PLEASE WAKE UP! HELP! SOMEONE HELP US!"

The anguish in her voice was unbearable. The kind of raw, primal fear and grief that could only come from watching someone you love in mortal danger.

I turned to look at Olivia.

She had dropped my phone.

It lay on the bathroom floor, the emergency dispatcher’s voice coming through tinny and distant: "911, what’s your emergency?"

But Olivia wasn’t hearing it.