Chapter 169

Chapter 169
Olivia's POV

When I returned to The Willows that evening, darkness had already settled over the estate. As usual, I found Maxwell and our son in the living room—but something felt different tonight. Unlike most evenings when Avery would be contentedly nestled in his father's arms, tonight my son looked utterly miserable, his little face showing clear signs of recent tears.

The atmosphere in the room felt off, charged with something I couldn't quite name.

I tossed my handbag onto the nearest chair and walked toward the sofa where they sat. "Was he fussy today?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Maxwell finally lifted his gaze to meet mine. His expression was the same as always—controlled, reserved—yet something had shifted. I couldn't pinpoint what exactly, but it was there, hanging between us.

I approached them as I normally would, gently taking Avery's tiny hand in mine. Up close, I could see the remnants of his distress—reddened eyes and that particular look of baby indignation that always made my heart clench.

"He cried for a while," Maxwell replied, his voice even. "He's better now."

Avery had clearly calmed after his bottle, but those eyes still held a trace of that 'abandoned by mommy' resentment as he stared up at me. I felt a pang of guilt.

"Is it because I came home so late?" I frowned, still holding his tiny fingers.

Maxwell's mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. He didn't ask where I'd been or why I was late. Instead, he looked down at Avery, who was still fixated on me, and said quietly:

"He'll have to get used to it eventually."

Those words hit me with unexpected force. My first thought went straight to the contract locked away in Maxwell's safe—our two-year marriage agreement. According to that document, Avery would indeed need to "get used to it."

While Maxwell had relocated some Harrison business operations to Manhattan after our marriage, the core of his empire remained in Boston. When our contract expired and our marriage ended, Maxwell would likely return there.

And I would stay in New York.

Boston and New York weren't worlds apart, but it meant Avery would have to adapt to having only one parent present at any given time. The reality of our arrangement suddenly felt more concrete than ever before.

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I slept restlessly and woke before seven the next morning, unable to stay in bed any longer. Dragging myself downstairs, I immediately noticed Maxwell's absence from his usual spot on the living room sofa.

"Has Mr. Harrison already left for the office?" I asked Martha, who was preparing breakfast in the kitchen.

"Yes, Mrs. Harrison," she replied, glancing up from her work. "He went upstairs to check on little Avery, then left before seven."

I couldn't quite identify the feeling that settled in my chest. Maxwell was always home until at least eight these days, especially since Avery was born. This early departure felt like another shift, another piece of evidence that something had changed between us.

Martha studied my face carefully, seeming to notice my unusual interest in Maxwell's whereabouts. "Would you like me to call Andrew, Mrs. Harrison? If you need to reach Mr. Harrison—"

"No," I cut her off, recovering quickly. "I was just asking. I'll go upstairs and check on Avery."

I turned away, not wanting her to see whatever emotions might be playing across my face. Yesterday's strange atmosphere, Maxwell's cryptic comment about Avery "getting used to it," and now his unusually early departure—it all pointed to something I wasn't sure I was ready to confront.

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Ryan's POV

The atmosphere on the executive floor was suffocating. We'd finalized the contract with an important partner yesterday, and today Harrison Group was officially launching the project, but you wouldn't know it from the oppressive mood hanging over the entire floor.

Project managers and VPs who came up to report seemed to physically shrink as they entered the office, holding their breath as if walking through a minefield. An invisible pressure pushed down on all of us, making every nerve ending stand at attention.

For those of us who worked directly with Mr. Harrison—Andrew and myself especially—these subtle shifts were glaringly obvious. After enduring the tense morning, I nudged Andrew with my elbow while using a folder to shield the gesture as we prepared to deliver our next report.

"Do something about yesterday," I whispered, nodding toward Mr. Harrison.

Andrew shot me a disapproving glance. Ever since that incident when I'd been shipped off to a Chicago subsidiary for three months, I'd developed a healthy fear of getting on Mr. Harrison's bad side. Andrew knew this and was clearly annoyed at my attempt to push him into the line of fire.

Mr. Harrison looked up sharply, his gaze dark and penetrating. "Is there a problem?"

Andrew straightened immediately, my nudging forgotten as he delivered his report flawlessly.

When he finished, he hesitated, glancing cautiously at Mr. Harrison before clearing his throat. "About yesterday, sir... Mrs. Harrison's schoolmate. Should we... intervene in some way?"

Mr. Harrison didn't even look up from his papers. His voice was cold, devoid of any emotion when he finally spoke:

"It's merely a contract marriage. What exactly would you be intervening in?"

My heart practically stopped at the words "contract marriage." I felt like I'd accidentally overheard a state secret.

I'd suspected there might be something unusual about the Harrison-Reed marriage, but after I reported Mrs. Harrison's pregnancy to his grandfather—before they were even married—I found myself suddenly transferred to our Chicago office. By the time I finally clawed my way back to headquarters, I was too traumatized to investigate anything about the marriage.

And Andrew, loyal as always, had never leaked a single detail in nearly a year.

During my first couple of months back, I had noticed the distance between them, how formal their interactions seemed. I'd privately wondered if there was something artificial about the arrangement.

But as Mrs. Harrison's pregnancy progressed, I'd witnessed a gradual shift. The awkward formality had given way to something that looked increasingly genuine. During her second and third trimesters, Mr. Harrison had conducted online meetings with international offices every night so she could sleep better, never missing a single day regardless of weather or how busy the New York office was.

He'd even recorded meeting audio for the one business trip he couldn't avoid, just so she wouldn't lose sleep.

After the baby was born, Mr. Harrison started coming home earlier and earlier.

Watching all this unfold over the past six months had convinced me that their relationship, whatever its beginnings, had developed into something real. I'd dismissed my earlier suspicions as paranoia.

And now, without warning, I'd heard the words "contract marriage" directly from Mr. Harrison himself.

A cold realization crept up my spine. I was, unofficially, Mr. Harrison Sr.'s eyes and ears in the company. If the elder Harrison ever discovered this marriage was some kind of business arrangement rather than the genuine union he believed it to be, would Mr. Harrison suspect I'd been the one to leak the information?

The thought made me physically unstable on my feet. I desperately wanted to disappear, to unhear those words and purge them from my memory completely.

Thankfully, Andrew quickly gathered the documents from the desk and headed for the door without another word about Mrs. Harrison or her admirer. I followed him out, silently vowing to forget everything I'd just heard—for my own survival.