LIAM:
The jet lag clung to me like a second skin, but my mind wasn't on the flight or the endless meetings in Italy.
It was on her.
Two weeks.
Two weeks since I last saw her body go limp in my arms. Two weeks of Julian's vague updates that she was "stable" but no more. Two weeks of silence.
And the silence had driven me mad.
The moment I stepped inside the house, the familiar scent of cedar and expensive leather wrapping around me, I didn't head to my room. I didn't pour a drink. I didn't even acknowledge the staff lining the hallway.
I went straight to the clinic.
I needed to see her.
"Mr. Hunter, you're back." A nurse said with a smile but I didn't acknowledge it.
"Where is Lauren?" I asked, watching the smile disappear.
"She checked out," the nurse told me.
I wanted to snap at the staff for letting her leave just a day after she regained consciousness but my urge to see her was stronger so I didn't wait anymore. I just turned and walked back to the house.
My heart kicked painfully against my ribs as I pushed open the door to the guest suite where she had been staying. The air inside smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender.
And there she was.
Lauren.
Sitting upright on the couch near the window, sunlight painting her hair in shades of gold. Her mask was still on, covering the part of her that I'd ached to see, but she was awake—alert. Alive.
Relief tore through me so fast it almost knocked me to my knees.
"You're here," I breathed, the words leaving me before I could stop them.
Her head lifted slowly, deliberately, like she'd known I was coming the moment I set foot in the house. "You're back," she said, her voice steady. Controlled. Too controlled.
I should've rushed to her. Pulled her into my arms. Demanded to know if she was in pain, if the wound still burned, if she needed anything—everything.
But instead, I froze in the doorway, my pulse hammering.
For the first time in two weeks, she was within reach.
And yet, something in her posture, something in the way her eyes lingered on me, made me feel like she was miles away.
For a second, I just stood there like an idiot.
Two weeks of rehearsing what I'd say, and now all the words had abandoned me.
"You should still be resting," I finally managed, stepping further into the room. "Why the hell did you check yourself out of the clinic?"
Her head tilted, her mask catching the light. "Because I'm fine," she said simply, almost dismissively, as if she hadn't been lying unconscious when I left for Italy.
"You're not fine." My voice cracked with more anger than I meant. More fear than I wanted her to hear. "I saw you bleeding out, Lauren. You could've died."
Her gaze held mine, steady, unreadable. "But I didn't. And besides I was just doing my job."
That calmness—it infuriated me. It scared me. I crossed the room until I was right in front of her, close enough to grab her shoulders if I dared. Close enough to rip off the mask that stood between me and the truth.
My hand lifted instinctively, fingers twitching just inches from the edge of it… but I stopped myself.
Because I remembered her voice the night she collapsed. "Don't take off the mask."
And if I betrayed that? If I broke that last piece of trust she'd given me… I wasn't sure she'd ever forgive me.
"Why?" I asked instead, softer now, my hand falling to my side. "Why won't you let me see you? After everything… why still hide?"
For a flicker of a moment, something shifted in her eyes. A crack in the wall. A truth that hovered on the edge of spilling out. But then, just as quickly, it was gone.
She leaned back against the couch, arms folding. "Maybe it's better that way," she murmured. "Some masks aren't meant to be removed."
Her words cut deeper than any blade.
I wanted to shake her, to scream that I deserved answers, that she owed me more than riddles. But all I could do was sit on the coffee table across from her, my heart pounding like it was begging her to just… let me in.
"Lauren…" I whispered, my voice hoarse. "Don't shut me out. Not after everything we've been through."
She said nothing. Only stared. And in that silence, I realized,she was testing me. Watching me. Waiting to see just how much I already knew.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I shut the study door harder than I meant to, the echo rattling the shelves. My father looked up from the desk, expression calm, composed,like always. As if nothing in this house could ever shake him.
"We need to talk," I said, my jaw tight.
His brows arched faintly. "About?"
"You know what about," I snapped. "This ridiculous engagement with Beatrice. I don't want it."
Father leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "You don't always get to want, Liam. Our family's alliances are built on necessity. Beatrice is a suitable match,her father's business secures ours. This is bigger than your emotions."
The calm in his voice made my blood boil. "You're talking about a business merger, not a marriage. You want me chained to someone I..."I stopped, breathing hard. Careful, don't say too much. Don't say her name.
His eyes narrowed. "You what? Don't love?"
"Yes." I forced the word out like it was poison. "I don't love her. And forcing me into this is just setting us all up for disaster."
For the first time, his composure cracked,just slightly. "And who, exactly, do you love, Liam? That bodyguard of yours?" His tone dripped with disdain.
The breath hitched in my throat. He didn't know. Not the truth, at least. But even his assumption made my fists clench.
"She saved my life," I said, low and dangerous. "She's the reason I'm standing here at all. And Beatrice…..your perfect bride-to-be,would've left me to rot. She doesn't care about me. She never did."
Father's expression hardened, but I pressed on, my voice rising.
"You can't keep treating my life like another one of your deals. I'm not a pawn on your board, Father. And if you push me into this marriage…" I leaned forward, my words sharp, final. "…you'll lose me. For good."
The silence that followed was thick, heavy. His eyes bore into mine, searching, calculating.
But for once, I didn't look away.
The silence stretched, a storm brewing beneath my father's stony gaze. Then, finally, he leaned forward, his voice dropping low, sharp as a knife.
"Don't you dare threaten me, Liam. Don't forget who put that roof over your head, who built everything you enjoy. I have broken men stronger than you for less insolence."
I stiffened, but he pressed on, each word like iron.
"You think you can walk away? From me? From this family? You won't last a day. Everything you own, everything you are, exists because of me. You spit on this engagement, and I'll make sure you regret it. I'll strip you of everything....your inheritance, your place in this family, even your name. You'll be nothing."
My fists curled so tight my nails bit into my palms.
He leaned back, his calm façade slipping into something colder, more lethal. "And as for your… bodyguard," his lip curled, "if you value her life, you'll stop this childish rebellion and do exactly as I say. Otherwise, I won't have to lift a finger, but history is going to repeat itself."
My breath caught, rage and horror twisting in my chest. He knew. He just knew how to strike where it hurt most.
"I'm warning you, Liam," Father finished, his voice a low growl. "You'll marry Beatrice. Or you'll lose everything."
I didn't answer. Couldn't. My jaw ached from holding it shut, my body shaking with fury I barely kept contained.
And for the first time in years, I saw it clearly—this wasn't about family. It was about control. About power.
And I couldn't let him win.
The words rattled in my skull, burning hotter than fire. Beatrice will finish what she started years ago. My father's calm cruelty twisted my stomach until I couldn't breathe.
"Enough," I ground out, my voice shaking—not from fear, but from fury. "You can control businesses, alliances, money. But you don't control me."
His eyes narrowed, dangerous. "Watch yourself, boy...…."
"No." I cut him off, standing so abruptly the chair legs screeched against the floor. "I've watched myself all my life. I let you pull my strings, let you turn me into something I'm not. But this...this is the last line. I will not marry her. And I will not be your pawn anymore."
His face turned red, but I didn't wait for the explosion. I shoved back from the desk, storming toward the door before the walls suffocated me. My footsteps echoed like gunshots through the halls.
I didn't even know where I was going....just away. Away from his voice, away from the poison in this house.
And in the back of my mind, a single thought anchored me through the storm of rage: If I don't find my own way out, I'll lose everything. And not just myself… her too.