Alicia's POV
The morning feels too bright, too quiet and far too normal for everything burning inside me. The moment I step into KnightCorp's marble lobby, I feel the eyes. Curious, judgmental, whispering eyes. The weight of a hundred unspoken questions follows me all the way to the elevator.
I should feel relieved to be back, but I don't. Anger sits beneath my ribs like a trapped fire. At Selena. At Liam. At the twisted mess of it all.
Selena Hart.
The name alone sounds like poison. When Liam mentioned her earlier, I never imagined it could be her, my stepsister. My tormentor. My shadow. The girl who stole everything she could from me, even my mother's peace. But then again, how would Liam ever know? I never told him about my family. Not the real story, not the darkness we endured. And with her last name changed from Blake to Hart, there is no way he could have guessed.
Still, it burns. It burns that fate brought her here, into the same building, under the same roof as him.
When I reach my floor, Ms. Delacroix's heels are already clicking toward me. She looks like a hawk wrapped in silk. Elegant, controlled, but sharp enough to draw blood with a glance.
"Alicia," she says softly, her voice warm enough to disarm. "Dear, what happened to you? I tried reaching your number, but it wasn't going through."
I straighten. "I had to take an emergency leave. I'm sorry if that caused any confusion."
Delacroix smiles, though her eyes stay calculating. "Confusion, yes. And concern. Especially when a detective came by, saying your friend reported that you'd been kidnapped inside KnightCorp."
The words hit me like a slap, though I know it's bait. The detective never said that. Delacroix is fishing, trying to see if I'll flinch.
I force a small, nervous laugh. "That's a misunderstanding. I told Mr. Knight not to tell anyone about my leave because it was… personal. I didn't even tell my friend before I left, so when she couldn't reach me, she panicked."
Delacroix tilts her head slightly, as if weighing my words. "Hmm. I see. Well, next time, be careful. People worry."
Her tone softens, but I can feel the disbelief lingering beneath her polite concern. She's not buying it. Still, she nods and walks away, her perfume trailing behind her like false warmth.
I exhale slowly and head to my cubicle. My desk looks untouched, neat as the day I left. But I can feel the invisible fingerprints of gossip everywhere. Whispers cling to the walls here, thick and sticky.
The intercom buzzes.
"Miss Blake," Liam's voice hums through the speaker, deep and calm. "Bring me the file from Vellora Fashion Group, from Ms. Delacroix to my office."
Vellora. I blink in mild surprise. The company name brings back memories, my father's old business partners before everything fell apart. And fashion… it's my world. My heartbeat. I studied Fashion Design and Brand Management at New York Institute of Art and Design.
I went to Ms. Delacroix ypick up the file and walk to his office, clutching it like a shield. When I enter, he's at his laptop, typing with perfect, cold focus.
"Sit down and go through the proposal" he says without looking up. "Then give me a few minutes."
I obey silently, sitting on the edge of the couch. Reading the proposal in my hand. Fifteen long minutes crawl by, the only sound being the faint rhythm of his fingers on the keyboard. When he finally closes the laptop, he leans back and studies me.
"Did you find anything wrong with the proposal?" he asks.
"Not yet," I reply carefully. "I'm still going through it. But I've noted a few things they should refine, the cost breakdown on material sourcing, the sustainability report and their projected annual growth ratio. It feels slightly exaggerated."
He nods slowly, proud. "Good. That's what I wanted to hear."
But I'm not smiling. My hands are cold. My pulse is too loud in my ears.
He notices.
"What's wrong?" His tone shifts, soft, coaxing. "Did I do something?"
I stare at him for a moment, then shake my head. "No. Not exactly."
He stands, moves to the door and quietly locks it. My heart jumps. For a moment, I think he's about to kiss me, here, in his office, in broad daylight. We've done things before, touches, private moments that left me trembling, but something about today feels different.
He walks back to me and sits, patting his thigh. "Come here."
I hesitate. But his eyes leave no room for refusal.
When I sit on his lap, his hand slides around my waist, pulling me close. His breath brushes against my neck, calm yet intoxicating.
"Now," he murmurs. "Tell me what's really wrong, Alicia."
I swallow. "Selena Hart," I whisper. "She's my stepsister."
He stills. His brows draw together slightly. "Your stepsister?"
"Yes. She used to be Selena Blake before they left New York. I didn't recognize you are talking about her until this morning that i saw her."
Liam leans back, silent for a long moment. Then a small, humorless smile touches his lips. "So that's her game."
I look at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
He meets my eyes, dark and steady. "When I saw her in the interview, I knew she was scheming, but now I see why. She came here for me, because of you."
I freeze. "What?"
He nods slightly. "I ran a background check on you before hiring you. Your stepsister's name came up. Her mother, too. Always wanting what you had. Always trying to outshine you."
Hearing that twists something sharp in my chest. He knows. He really knows.
I try to smile, but it fades fast. "I'm not scared of her taking you away," I say softly. He looked shocked, but quickly masked it. "I'm scared she'll find out about my mother. If she and her mother know that she's sick, they'll torment her all over again. I can't let that happen."
My voice shakes. I hate it, but I can't stop it. The memories flood in, my stepmother's voice, Selena's mocking laughter, the years of cruelty that bled into every quiet corner of my childhood.
Liam's hand tightens around me. He doesn't speak, but I can feel his heartbeat thudding hard beneath his suit. Something dark passes through his eyes. A flicker of pain.
"I understand," he says finally, his voice low. "More than you think."
His expression softens in a way I rarely see. "My father had a mistress. She made my mother's life hell. Until I made sure she would never smile again."
The coldness in his tone sends a chill through me. But beneath it, there's a raw truth, a wound that mirrors mine.
He cups my face gently, his thumb brushing a tear from my cheek. "You won't suffer like that again," he whispers. "Not while I'm alive."
Before I can respond, he kisses me. Deep, slow, claiming. His lips taste like power and promise. For a moment, the world disappears.
Then, just as suddenly, he pulls back. "Go," he says quietly. "Get back to work."
He smooths my hair, straightening the strands with surprising tenderness before unlocking the door.
When I return to my cubicle, my hands still tremble. My lips still remember his. I sit down, trying to breathe, trying to think, but my thoughts are scattered.
The rest of the morning drags. By lunch, the questions start.
"You've been gone for weeks, Alicia!" someone whispers. "Did you really go on leave or did the CEO kidnap you?"
A few others laugh nervously, glancing around. I give them the same answer I gave Delacroix, smiling politely. "I went on an emergency leave. That's all."
But laughter ripples through the air again and Selena's voice cuts through it like poisoned sugar. "Oh, Alicia, there you are! I heard all sorts of crazy things about you. What really happened?"
Her tone drips with false concern. "Your poor friend must have been worried sick."
I ignore her, focusing on my screen. The last thing I want is her attention. But she doesn't stop.
"How's your mother?" she asks sweetly. "And your brother? Still struggling, I assume?"
That's when I snap. I turn, voice sharp. "Selena, leave."
She blinks, feigning innocence. "I was just asking a question."
"I said leave."
The few people left on the floor turn to watch. Selena's smile fades, replaced by the glint of fury she used to wear at home whenever she lost control.
"You shouldn't talk to me like that," she hisses. "Not if you want to keep your job."
I look up at her, steady and cold. "Then maybe you should stop giving me reasons to."
Her mouth opens, but no words come. She spins on her heel and storms off. The silence she leaves behind is electric.
I exhale shakily and turn back to my work. My pulse is still racing when I catch sight of a shadow behind the glass wall of Liam's office. He's standing there, watching me. And for the briefest moment, he smiles.
A proud, dangerous smile.
"That's my tigress," I see him mouthed.
And though I hate to admit it, the soundless words make my heart ache. Because even in my anger, even in my fear, part of me still belongs to him.