Chapter 165

Chapter 165
Olivia's POV

I finally agreed to move into the room next to his, knowing it was best for both of us.

Maxwell had spent almost the entire day at the hospital with me and then overseeing the room arrangements back home. By dinnertime, he retreated to his study for an online meeting, instructing the nutritionist and cook to prepare meals according to my preferences.

I ate dinner alone in the dining room as usual. After finishing, I took my phone upstairs to video chat with Josie.

Even though I hadn't been out much lately, I was well aware that my best friend's relationship with Dylan was heating up by the day. Having some basic social awareness, I kept our conversation brief—about fifteen minutes—ending before eight o'clock. No sense in interrupting the couple's evening plans.

By 9:30 PM, after lying in bed for an hour without a hint of drowsiness, I opened my door and stepped into the hallway.

My new room was now separated from Maxwell's bedroom by just one wall, with his study directly across. Looking out, both rooms were within eyesight.

When I'd ventured to this part of the house before, both his bedroom and study doors were typically closed. Tonight, however, both were partially open, each with a gap about four inches wide.

Through the gap, his bedroom appeared completely dark. From his study came soft light and the occasional sentence in French discussing business matters.

I'd studied art in college but had taken French as an elective on a whim. Hearing Maxwell conducting a meeting in French triggered memories of my university days. Our French professor had been a notorious "hypnotist"—his monotonous lectures would put the entire class to sleep within minutes. Every class ended with half the students unconscious at their desks.

As I listened to this familiar "lullaby" filtering through the gap, I considered heading downstairs for fruit and some Netflix to pass the time.

Maxwell had left his door ajar.

After I'd been standing outside his study for nearly two minutes, he noticed my presence.

He turned toward me and gestured to the person reporting in French on the video call, indicating a brief pause in the meeting.

I panicked slightly when the French monologue suddenly stopped. Had I disturbed his meeting? The tiny spark of drowsiness I'd managed to cultivate immediately extinguished.

"Can't sleep now?" he asked.

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, can't seem to."

"Want me to call for a massage? Might help you relax," Maxwell suggested.

I paused. I'd tried that before—the results weren't exactly impressive.

Maxwell was already thinking of other options when I shook my head.

"No, it's okay. I'll just hang out here for a bit. Go back to your meeting."

But Maxwell had noticed something—how I'd wandered straight to his study and lingered outside his door.

"Is it the French that helps?" he asked. "Or just hearing people talk?"

I felt my cheeks warm slightly. "...Both, I guess."

He stared at me for a beat, then stepped back and opened the door wider.

"Well then, come on in."

I glanced into his study, then looked back at him, slightly arching my eyebrows before following him in.

Maxwell found a fresh blanket for me. After I was settled comfortably on the sofa, he returned to his desk and signaled for the meeting to continue.

I had enough social awareness to be a respectful guest. Wrapped in the blanket on his sofa, I remained silent, letting the familiar hypnotic French business jargon gradually lull me toward sleep.

Almost twenty minutes passed.

After yawning twice, I removed the blanket. When Maxwell looked over, I pointed toward the door and quickly returned to my room.

After closing the door and turning off the lights, I collapsed onto my bed and slept soundly through the night.

When I woke the next morning, my spirit felt completely refreshed.

Seeing how effective this method was for me, Maxwell instructed Andrew to schedule all international meetings online from 8:00 to 9:00 PM going forward.

With regular sessions with the psychologist and having discovered the perfect sleep aid, my anxiety lessened day by day.

And my mental state improved with each passing night.

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One morning, I came downstairs to find Maxwell still at home. I glanced at the clock—almost nine. That was weird.

"I've got a work trip coming up," he said, catching my confused look. "You okay staying here alone? Or do you want to crash at your parents'?"

I blinked, surprised. "Oh. No, staying here's fine."

"I can take care of myself," I added quickly. "And if I change my mind about my parents', I'll figure it out. Don't worry about it."

But as soon as I said that, reality hit me—no Maxwell meant no late-night French conference calls. No sleep aid. My stomach dropped a little at the thought of several nights staring at the ceiling.

I tried to sound casual. "When exactly will you be back?"

Maxwell nodded. "I'll return to Manhattan by the afternoon of the third day."

He reached for a tablet on the table and handed it to me.

"I've recorded two French business meetings for the nights I'm away," he explained. "Play one each night when you're trying to sleep. By the third night, I'll be back."

I stared at the tablet, genuinely surprised. I hadn't expected him to think of this.

The warmth I'd felt earlier came rushing back. I couldn't help but smile as I took the tablet from him.

"I've also spoken with the nutritionist, the family physician, and the housekeeper," Maxwell continued. "If you decide to stay at your parents', the nutritionist will go with you. If you remain here, they'll make sure you're properly taken care of."

I nodded. "Thank you."

With Maxwell having anticipated everything—even my unusual sleep aid—I felt something unexpected stir in my chest. Maybe this arrangement between us wasn't as cold as I'd initially assumed.