Liam's POV
The whiskey burned down my throat, a familiar sensation in the last twenty-four hours. I sat in darkness, blinds closed against the afternoon light. Shattered glass from a broken tumbler still littered the floor near the wall where I'd thrown it.
My phone lay dead on the coffee table. I'd turned it off after the fifteenth call—a mix of Damian, Evelyn, and board members wanting updates about the security breach.
I didn't care. Let it all burn.
The image of Hazel's tear-streaked face haunted me. Her pleading green eyes, her trembling voice as she swore innocence. For a fleeting moment, I'd almost believed her.
Almost.
The whiskey wasn't working anymore. The numbness I craved remained elusive, leaving only rage and pain.
A key turned in the lock. I didn't move. Only two people had access to my apartment besides me.
"Jesus Christ, it smells like a distillery in here." Damian's voice cut through the darkness. Light flooded the room as Evelyn flipped the switch.
