Chapter 119: Chapter 119
Olivia’s POV
I sniffled, trying desperately to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. My eyes were burning, my throat tight with emotion, and every fiber of my being was screaming at me to run out of this house and never look back.
I was losing. Woefully, pathetically, completely losing at this stupid card game. And the worst part? The guys weren’t giving me any breathing space at all. It was like they could smell my desperation, and it only made them push harder.
The cards I’d been dealt in the last round were absolute garbage - not even a pair, just a random collection of numbers that mocked me from my trembling hands. When we all revealed our cards, there was no question about who had lost.
Me. Again.
"Well, well," Gabriel said, leaning back with a satisfied smile. "Looks like Oliver’s having a rough night."
"Time to pay up," Damien added, and something about the way he said it made my skin crawl.
Alex cleared his throat and sat forward, "Alright, Oliver. First dare. I want you to tell us - honestly, no bullshit - what you truly feel about your boss."
He gestured toward Maxwell, who was watching me with an unreadable expression.
My mind raced. What could I say? The truth was so complicated, so tangled up in confusion and attraction and fear and resentment that I couldn’t even fully articulate it to myself, let alone to these men.
"He’s... he’s a good boss," I said weakly, forcing the words out. "Fair. Demanding, but fair."
The room went completely silent.
Then Damien started laughing - not a friendly laugh, but a sound that made me want to sink into the floor.
"Oh, come on," he said, shaking his head. "That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve heard all night."
"Oliver," Maxwell said quietly, his voice cutting through Damien’s laughter, "we can all tell you’re lying."
I looked up at him, "I’m not lying," I protested weakly, but even I could hear how unconvincing I sounded.
"Moving on," Gabriel said, mercifully not pushing the issue. "My turn for a dare."
Oh God. What now?
Gabriel studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes calculating. Then he smiled, and it made my stomach drop. "Oliver, I dare you to punch the person you like the least in this group. Right in the face."
My jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"
"Completely serious," Gabriel confirmed. "Either punch someone, or take a shot."
I looked around the circle. Alex was watching with a smile. Gabriel was waiting for me to make a choice. Maxwell’s expression was blank. And Damien...
Damien was still watching me with that intense, unsettling stare that had been making me uncomfortable all evening.
The choice was obvious.
"Do I really have to do this?" I asked.
Gabriel just nodded toward the whiskey bottle.
I stood up on shaking legs, my mind made up. I had no choice. Damien had been giving me the creeps all evening with his constant staring, his weird comments, his unreadable expressions. And beyond that, he was indirectly putting my best friend Kira in danger with whatever shady business he was involved in.
I walked over to where Damien sat and, before I could overthink it, I readied my fist.
I summoned all the strength within me and punched him hard and good, my fist connecting with his jaw with a satisfying thud that made my knuckles sting.
Damien’s head snapped to the side, and for a moment, the room was completely silent.
Then he turned back to look at me, rubbing his jaw with one hand, and said with a smirk, "You punch like a little girl, Oliver."
My face burned with humiliation, but I forced myself to keep my expression neutral as I returned to my seat. I hadn’t heard that. I absolutely had not heard that comment that hit way too close to home.
"Damn," Alex said, looking between Damien and me with wide eyes. "I didn’t think you’d actually do it."
"Oliver’s full of surprises," Maxwell murmured, still watching me with that intense gaze.
"My turn," Damien said, and the satisfaction in his voice made me want to punch him again. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes locked on mine. "Oliver, I dare you to remove one item of clothing. Your choice what it is, but something has to come off."
The world tilted sideways.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
I looked down at myself, mentally cataloging what I was wearing. Oversized pajama top, pajama bottoms, my disguise, my wig. There was absolutely nothing I could safely remove without risking exposure.
If I were a real man, I would just pull off my shirt without a second thought. I knew that’s what they were all thinking - what they were expecting me to do. Just a casual, masculine gesture of removing my top, revealing whatever lay underneath.
But I couldn’t do that. Not when I was wearing nothing but a little camisole.
"Well?" Damien prompted. "We’re waiting."
"Come on, Oliver," Gabriel said, his tone almost gentle. "It’s not that big a deal. We’re all men here."
That phrase - "we’re all men here" - felt like a knife twisting in my gut. Because I wasn’t. I wasn’t a man at all, and every second I spent in this room, playing this game, pretending to be someone I wasn’t, was pushing me closer and closer to complete exposure.
"I..." My voice came out as a whisper. "I don’t..."
"What’s wrong?" Alex asked, "Are you okay? You look really pale."
Maxwell was watching me so intently I could feel his gaze like a physical touch.
"The shot," I said quickly, reaching for the whiskey bottle with a trembling hand. "I’ll take the shot."
I poured the drink into my glass, my hands shaking so badly that some of it splashed onto the coffee table. Then I brought the glass to my lips and downed it in one go.
The whiskey burned like fire going down my throat, making my eyes water and my stomach revolt. I’d never been much of a drinker, and the strong alcohol hit my system like a punch to the gut.
"Interesting choice," Damien said, and there was something in his tone that made me think he’d expected exactly that response.
"Alright, Maxwell," Gabriel said, turning to his friend. "Your turn. What’s your dare for our boy Oliver?"
Maxwell stood up slowly, and the room seemed to shrink around him. He walked over to where I sat, moving with a predatory grace that made my pulse race. Then he crouched down in front of me, putting us at eye level.
His eyes were searching my face, looking for something, though I couldn’t figure out what.
"Oliver," he said softly, his voice low enough that the others had to lean in to hear. "I dare you to let me check your pulse. Right here, right now. And you have to stay completely still while I do it."
My heart stopped, then started again at triple speed.
Check my pulse? That seemed... oddly harmless compared to the other dares. But the way Maxwell was looking at me suggested there was more to this than a simple medical check.
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Because," Maxwell said, reaching out slowly toward my wrist, "I want to see if you’re as calm as you’re pretending to be. Or if there’s something you’re nervous about."
His fingers wrapped around my wrist, his touch warm and firm. I could feel my pulse hammering against his fingertips - way too fast, way too hard. There was no way he couldn’t feel how panicked I was.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was when his other hand came up to my neck, his fingers finding the spot just below my jaw where another pulse point lay. His touch was gentle, like a tender caress, but it made me freeze completely.
Because his fingers were dangerously close to the edge of my disguise. One wrong move, one accidental brush against the spirit gum holding my fake Adam’s apple in place, and everything would be over.
"Your heart is racing," Maxwell observed, his voice still soft. "Why is that, Oliver?"
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. All I could do was sit there, frozen, while Maxwell’s fingers caressed my neck softly, my pulse betraying every terrifying and scandalous thought running through my mind.
"Maybe he’s just not used to being touched," Alex suggested from somewhere that sounded very far away.
"Or maybe," Damien said, his voice cutting through the fog in my brain, "there’s something our dear Oliver is hiding."
Maxwell’s eyes never left mine. His fingers remained on my neck for what felt like an eternity. Then, finally, he pulled back and stood up.
"Interesting," was all he said, returning to his seat.
I sat there, trembling, my wrist still tingling where he’d touched me, my neck still warm and hot from his fingers. The whiskey was making my head fuzzy, making it harder to maintain my composure.
"I think," I said, standing up on wobbly legs, "I need some fresh air."
"The game’s not over," Gabriel pointed out.
"I don’t care," I said, and I could hear the edge of hysteria creeping into my voice. "I need... I just need a minute."
I practically ran toward the doors that led out to a balcony, pushing them open and stumbling into the cool night air. My hands gripped the railing, and I took deep, gasping breaths, trying to calm the panic that was threatening to overwhelm me completely.
Behind me, I could hear the men’s voices, muffled through the glass.
"Should someone check on him?" That was Alex.
"Give him a minute." Maxwell’s voice. "He needs space."