Chapter 167

Chapter 167
Maxwell's POV

Tonight's meeting ran unusually late.

I hadn't gone to bed yet when I heard Olivia calling my name through the door I'd purposely left ajar. My pen stopped mid-signature as I immediately rose and headed to the adjacent room.

The lights came on with a sharp click.

Olivia's eyes were glazed with tears, her body drenched in sweat that had soaked through her thin silk nightgown.

"Maxwell..." Her voice cracked with fear. "I think—I think it's happening. It hurts so much."

Despite my reputation for unwavering composure, I felt a moment of panic. I quickly regained control, calling the hospital we'd arranged weeks ago and instructing the staff to prepare the car.

After completing these tasks, I moved swiftly to her bedside, trying to keep my voice calm as I carefully lifted her.

"Try to breathe through it," I said, making my movements as gentle as possible while carrying her to the elevator. "The hospital is ready for us. Everything will be fine."

The drive to the hospital passed in a blur of tension. Once we arrived and Olivia was taken to the delivery room, I found myself pacing outside—something I never do. I thought about messaging her parents and brother but couldn't focus.

This was entirely new territory: worrying about Olivia while anticipating a new life. It felt surreal. Less than a year ago, I'd been dead set against marriage. Now I was about to become a father. With my condition, having a child had never seemed realistic.

The quiet months with Olivia had created something unexpected between us. I wondered how the baby's arrival would change that.

Her brother Marcus and parents, who had been traveling, arrived near dawn. Though the baby was two weeks early, everything had been ready for a month. I'd made sure of that.

After some tense hours, our son was born at 5 a.m.—healthy, good weight, strong lungs.

My grandfather had been in Manhattan for the past month, checking in every morning between 5 and 6 about Olivia's condition. I immediately texted him: [Successful delivery. Both doing well.]

Within half an hour, he replied with an excited "Wonderful!!!" and appeared at the hospital less than an hour later.

Olivia's POV

Waking up after the delivery felt like surfacing for air after 38 long weeks. I could finally breathe again. When I woke up after the delivery, I took a deep, satisfied breath, my mood instantly brighter.

By the time Josie arrived, I was happily eating fruit, looking far too energetic for someone who'd just given birth. Apart from my slightly pale complexion, you'd hardly know I'd been through labor hours earlier.

My grandfather-in-law, Steven, and my parents had just gone to see the baby in the nursery. Josie placed a fruit basket on my bedside table, visibly relieved to see me in such good spirits.

"Wasn't your due date still a couple of weeks away?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

I bit into a strawberry before answering. "I thought for sure I'd make it to next week. Last night caught me completely off guard, but..." I paused, feeling oddly cheerful. "I'm actually relieved. The long pregnancy was about to drive me insane. As soon as I've recovered, I'm going on a real shopping spree—not just browsing online catalogs."

Josie leaned back against the sofa. "What about the baby?"

She caught herself immediately, realizing how unnecessary the question was.

The Willows was fully staffed with nannies, housekeepers, and several childcare specialists. One baby with seven or eight adults dedicated to his care—not counting Steven, who treated his great-grandson like a treasure, or my parents, who were already completely smitten with their first grandchild.

Maxwell and I had taken the "I deliver, they raise" approach to its logical extreme.

"I don't need to be with him 24/7," I explained with a wave of my hand. "Between the nannies, housekeepers, and the childcare specialists Maxwell hired, little Avery is more than covered."

Avery Harrison—the name our families had chosen after hours of deliberation.

During my time in the hospital, I recovered quickly, thanks to the excellent care. After being discharged, I couldn't stand being confined at home, despite my need to recuperate. Apart from some yoga classes to get back in shape, I was constantly looking for excuses to meet friends, though I was admittedly more restrained than before my pregnancy.

One evening, I returned home from visiting my parents' house to find Maxwell already there, much earlier than usual.

As I entered, I spotted him in the living room, holding Avery. I hesitated at the doorway, surprised by the scene.

Maxwell looked up immediately, sensing my presence. "You're back?" he asked, his voice casual but attentive.

It was the same tone we'd adopted since Avery's birth two months ago.

And I'd stopped needing the sound of French meetings to fall asleep. Since returning home, I hadn't gone to Maxwell's study again.

My routine now involved spending an hour or so with Avery in the nursery each evening before retiring to my own room, where I typically fell asleep instantly.

Maxwell and I had largely returned to our former dynamic—polite and distant. Yet occasionally, because of Avery, there were moments that created an illusion of family, a brief flash of something that felt like a real marriage.

Like now.

Him holding our son, me coming home late—a casual glance, a simple exchange—it all created the impression that we were actually husband and wife.

But the contract remained. No matter how often these moments occurred, they couldn't change the reality of our arrangement.

"Has Avery been fussy today?" I asked, shaking off these thoughts as I walked into the room, still carrying my shopping bags.

Maxwell was still in his suit, clearly having just returned from work himself.

"Hannah mentioned he asked for you twice this afternoon," he replied, adjusting Avery in his arms. "He wasn't crying, just looking around for you."

I made a mental note to thank Hannah later. Our nanny had been invaluable these past few weeks.

I approached them, showing Avery the toy I'd bought. "Look what mommy brought you! A new toy for us to play with tonight."

Our little boy babbled happily, waving his tiny arms toward me from Maxwell's embrace, clearly wanting me to hold him.

I hastily set down my bags and reached for him, my movements still awkward and uncertain as I'd rarely held him myself, leaving his care to the nannies.

Maxwell was actually better at it than I was.

Avery, who'd been asking for me all afternoon, eagerly reached for me with his big dark eyes fixed on my face.

Seeing my clumsy attempts, Maxwell steadied the baby while guiding my hands into the proper position. "Try supporting his head like this," he said, his hand warm against mine. "It's more comfortable for him, and easier on your arms."

His palm was warm and dry against the back of my hand. I didn't look up at him, keeping my eyes on our son as I nodded at his instructions.

I was terrified of either holding Avery too loosely and dropping him or too tightly and hurting him. I kept my arms rigid, trying to maintain a consistent pressure, but after a few minutes, my muscles began to ache from the tension.

Maxwell didn't let me hold him for too long. After a short while, he took Avery back.

When our son resisted, Maxwell spoke gently: "Let's give mommy's arms a rest, buddy. You can hold her finger while I hold you. That way you get both of us."

I wasn't sure if Avery understood, but he stopped clutching at the edge of my blouse, allowing Maxwell to take him back without protest.

As I watched them together, I felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through my chest. For all the strangeness of our situation, there was something undeniably right about seeing Maxwell with our son.