Stranger in my Ass-Chapter 251

Olivia’s POV

Two days.

Two entire days without a word from Maxwell. Without a glimpse of him. Without any indication that he even remembered I existed.

I tried to tell myself it was fine. That he needed space. That I should give him time to process everything I’d confessed.

But it was killing me.

Every knock on my door sent my heart racing with hope. Every time, I’d open it expecting to see those green eyes, that controlled expression, that presence that seemed to fill every room he entered.

And every time, it was someone else.

Room service delivering meals I’d barely ordered.

Kennedy checking in to make sure I was okay.

Gabriel appearing with suggestions for sightseeing I had no interest in.

Never Maxwell.

By the third day, I was getting agitated. Restless. The walls of my hotel room felt like they were closing in, and I couldn’t focus on anything except the man next door who was so close yet completely unreachable.

I missed him.

God, I missed him so much it physically hurt.

Even if we didn’t talk. Even if he just stood there glaring at me with that cold, unreadable expression. Just seeing his face would be enough.

I paced my room, trying to think of an excuse. A legitimate reason to knock on his door that wouldn’t make me look desperate or pathetic or like I was disrespecting his request for space.

And then it hit me.

His injury.

The wound needed proper care. Monitoring. I could check on him under the guise of concern for his health. It was perfectly reasonable. Not desperate at all.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I was in the hallway, standing outside his door.

I raised my hand and knocked once.

No answer.

Twice.

Still nothing.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he wasn’t even there. Maybe he’d checked out without telling anyone and I was standing here like an idiot...

The door opened.

And I forgot how to breathe.

Maxwell stood in the doorway, shirtless, his hair wet from a recent shower, water droplets still clinging to his shoulders and chest. His bandages were half-undone, hanging loose around his torso, and he was clearly in the middle of changing them. I couldn’t help but swallow.

His eyes widened slightly when he saw me. "Olivia. What are you doing here?"

I tried to speak. Failed. Tried again. "I... I was worried. About your injury. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Something flickered across his face too quickly to identify. "I’m getting better."

He stepped back, leaving the door open - not exactly an invitation, but not a rejection either.

I took it as permission and followed him inside.

His room looked organized. His laptop was open on the desk, papers spread around it. A coffee cup sat cooling on the nightstand.

Evidence of a life I wasn’t part of anymore.

"How have you been dressing the wounds?" I asked, watching as he moved to the mirror to assess his bandages. "Has Gabriel been helping you?"

"Gabriel helped a few times." Maxwell’s voice was even. "The hotel took over after that."

"The hotel?"

"They organized a private medical examination for interested guests. Part of their premium service package." He started unwinding the old bandages. "Nurses come to the room twice a day to check wounds, run tests, administer medication, that sort of thing."

"Oh." I didn’t know what else to say. "That’s... convenient."

"It is."

I watched him struggle with the bandages for a moment before stepping forward. "Let me help."

"I can manage."

"Your stitches are in an awkward place. You can’t see them properly in the mirror." I moved closer, my hands already reaching for the gauze. "Please. Let me help."

He hesitated, then nodded once.

I carefully removed the old bandages, trying not to think about how close I was standing. How I could smell his soap and shampoo. How warm his skin was under my fingers.

The wound looked better than I expected - still red and angry, but the stitches were holding well, no signs of infection.

"It’s healing nicely," I said quietly.

"Gabriel does good work."

Maxwell pulled on his shirt, his movements calm and controlled, creating distance between us.

"I need to head down for my examination," he said, gathering his wallet and phone. "They’re redressing the wound properly at the medical center."

"Right. Of course."

He moved toward the door, and panic seized me.

Two more days without seeing him. Two more days of this unbearable silence. I couldn’t do it.

"Actually," I heard myself say, "I’ve been feeling a bit dizzy. Maybe I should get checked out too."

Maxwell paused, turning to look at me. Really look at me. His eyes scanning my face like he was searching for something.

"Have you been taking the medication I gave you?"

"Yes. Every dose. But I’m still feeling... off. Dizzy. Tired." It wasn’t entirely a lie. "Maybe the medical center could help."

He studied me for a long moment, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Whether he believed me or saw straight through my excuse.

Finally, he nodded. "Alright. Let’s go."

The medical center was on the hotel’s ground floor, tucked away in a quiet wing that felt more like a spa than a clinic. Soft music played. The lighting was warm and gentle. Everything was designed to be soothing, calming.

It didn’t help my nerves at all.

A nurse greeted us at the entrance. "Good afternoon. Are you both here for examinations?"

"Yes," Maxwell said. "I have an appointment for wound care. She needs a general check-up."

"Of course. I’ll get you both registered for today." She handed us clipboards with forms. "Please fill these out and someone will be with you shortly."

We sat in the waiting area - plush chairs positioned far enough apart to give privacy but close enough that I was painfully aware of Maxwell’s presence beside me.

I filled out the forms accordingly. Name. Age. Medical history. Current symptoms.

Under "reason for visit," I wrote: Dizziness, fatigue, nausea.

All true, even if the root cause was probably emotional rather than physical.

"Ms. Hopton?" A young nurse appeared. "We’re ready for you."

I stood, glancing at Maxwell. He was still filling out his forms.

"I’ll wait for you," he said without looking up.

The words sent a flutter through my chest. He’d wait. That had to mean something, right?

The examination room was small and private. The nurse - her name tag read "Yuki" - was friendly and gentle.

"So you’ve been experiencing dizziness?" she asked, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around my arm.

"Yes. And fatigue. I threw up a few days ago."

"I see. Any other symptoms? Headaches? Sensitivity to light?"

"No. Just the dizziness and nausea."

She took my blood pressure - normal - and my temperature - also normal.

"When was your last menstrual period?"

The question caught me off guard. "I... I’m not sure. A month ago I think. I haven’t been keeping track."

Yuki’s expression remained neutral, but I saw something shift in her eyes. "I see. Would you be comfortable with a pregnancy test? Just to rule it out as a cause of your symptoms?"

"I’m not pregnant." The response was automatic. "I can’t be. I haven’t..."

I stopped.

Wait.

During my stay at Maxwell’s mansion, when I’d slept with him and then my stranger, I’d taken the pills Kira brought. Does it mean they didn’t work? Was I too late?

Oh God.

"Ms. Hopton?" Yuki’s voice was gentle. "Are you alright?"

"How long ago would it have been?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "If I was pregnant? How long until symptoms would show?"

"Nausea can begin as early as two weeks after conception. Some women experience it later. It varies."

Two weeks.

It had been almost three weeks since I’d had sex with Maxwell.

"I’ll take the test," I heard myself say.

Yuki handed me a small cup and directed me to the bathroom.

My hands were shaking as I did what I needed to do. My mind was racing through possibilities I hadn’t let myself consider.

I couldn’t be pregnant. I took the pills. I’d taken the damn pills!

What if I was pregnant for my stranger? Oh my God. That would be worse. I wasn’t even sure who he was.

When I emerged and handed the cup to Yuki, she smiled reassuringly. "It’ll take about five minutes for results. You can wait here or in the reception area."

"I’ll wait here."

Those five minutes felt like five hours.

I sat on the examination table, my mind spiraling.

If I was pregnant, whose baby would it be?

My stranger’s. The man who’d come to my room in disguise. One of the four men at that mansion.

But which one?

Maxwell. Damien. Gabriel. Alex.

My stomach twisted. What would I do? How would I explain this? How would I...

"Ms. Hopton?"

Yuki’s voice pulled me back to reality.

She was holding a test strip, her expression neutral.

"The test is positive," she said. "You’re pregnant."