Chapter 111: Chapter 111
Olivia’s POV
I went to the waiting room to wait. The place was surrounded by worried families and the constant beeping of medical equipment from nearby rooms. My mind kept replaying Maxwell’s fevered words about this mysterious Olivia from his past. The pain in his voice when he spoke about her betrayal, the cold determination when he talked about revenge - it painted a picture of a man haunted by his childhood first love.
An hour passed before a doctor finally approached me. "Mr. Hopton? I’m Dr. Harold. Your boss is stable now, but he has a severe case of pneumonia. His fever spiked to 104 degrees - he’s lucky you found him when you did."
Relief flooded through me. "So he’s going to be okay?"
"With treatment, yes. But he’ll need to stay here for several days while we get the infection under control. The antibiotics are working, and his fever is already starting to come down."
I nodded, trying to process this information. Maxwell would be in the hospital for days, which meant our business trip was effectively over.
"Can I see him?" I asked.
Dr. Harold nodded. "He’s awake now, actually. Still weak, but conscious. You can go in, but try to keep the visit brief. He needs rest."
I followed the doctor down the hallway, my stomach churning with anxiety. Would Maxwell remember anything he’d said in the car? And if he did, how would I explain why I’d been asking him about this other Olivia?
I knocked softly on the door before entering. Maxwell was propped up in the hospital bed, looking pale and exhausted but definitely alert. His eyes focused on me as I walked in.
"Oliver," he said, his voice hoarse but stronger than I’d expected. "What the hell happened? Where am I?"
"You’re in the hospital, sir," I said, pulling up a chair beside his bed. "I found you this morning with a high fever - you were completely unresponsive. The doctors say you have pneumonia."
Maxwell frowned, "I remember feeling terrible last night, but I thought it was just exhaustion. How did I get here?"
"I called the hotel staff to help carry you down, then we brought you here in a hotel car. You were delirious with fever the whole time."
He nodded slowly, then suddenly started pushing himself upright. "Well, I’m fine now. I need to get out of here. We have that conference to attend, and..."
"Sir, no!" I jumped up, placing my hands on his shoulders to gently push him back down. "You’re not fine. The doctor said you need to stay here for several days. Your fever was 104 degrees!"
Maxwell shrugged off my hands with surprising strength. "I’m not staying in a goddamn hospital, Oliver. I have work to do, obligations to meet. A little pneumonia isn’t going to keep me bedridden like some invalid."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and I could see he was determined to leave whether he was medically cleared or not. His face was still flushed, and he was clearly weaker than he wanted to admit, but his stubborn streak was as strong as ever.
"Mr. Wellington, please," I pleaded. "You could collapse again. You’re too weak to..."
"I am not weak!" he snapped, though the effort of raising his voice made him sway slightly.
Just then, two nurses hurried into the room, having heard the commotion.
"Mr. Wellington, you need to stay in bed," the first nurse said firmly. "Your body is fighting a serious infection."
"You can’t just discharge yourself against medical advice," the second nurse added. "It’s dangerous."
But Maxwell was having none of it. He stood up despite their protests, though I could see his legs trembling with the effort. "I’m an adult, and I’m leaving. Oliver, call us a car."
The nurses looked at each other helplessly. They couldn’t physically restrain him, and he was technically within his rights to leave if he insisted.
I was frantic, watching Maxwell sway on his feet while stubbornly refusing to listen to reason. In desperation, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"Who is Olivia to you?"
Maxwell stilled completely, his hand frozen on the hospital gown he’d been trying to untie. The color drained from his already pale face.
"What?" he asked quietly, his voice dangerously low.
"Olivia," I repeated, my heart pounding. "In the car, when you were delirious, you kept talking about Olivia just like you did last night. You said she was your childhood best friend who betrayed you, and that you’d been looking for her for years."
Maxwell stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"You said you finally found her," I continued, unable to stop now that I’d started. "You said you were going to make her suffer the way she made you suffer. You talked about love and hate being two sides of the same coin."
"That’s enough," Maxwell said sharply, but I could see something flickering in his eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or recognition.
"You were crying, sir," I added softly. "When you talked about how she broke your heart and left you with nothing. And then you said you loved her, even though you wanted revenge."
Maxwell sank slowly back onto the edge of the bed, his face now completely white. "I don’t... I would never... I don’t know anyone named Olivia."
But his denial was weak, and his hands were trembling - not from illness this time, but from something else entirely. The nurses had backed away, sensing this was no longer a medical situation but something far more personal.
"You do know her," I pressed gently. "And whatever happened between you two, it’s still eating at you. Maybe... maybe talking about it would help?"
Maxwell looked up at me with cold eyes. "I said I don’t remember saying any of that. The fever must have... must have scrambled my thoughts somehow."
But even as he denied it, I could see the truth written all over his face. He remembered this Olivia, remembered the betrayal, and remembered the pain.