Anne's POV
I met Liam a year before my husband died. I had been spending time with a friend at the popular Cassa Club, a sleek, upscale lounge in the heart of the city where the lights were dim, the music sultry, and the drinks a little overpriced, but oh well, it was well worth. It was the kind of place where people went to be seen, to escape, or to find something—or someone—to fill a void.
That night, I was there with my friend Carla, trying to shake off the worry that came with Marcus not always being available. Marcus was away on another business trip, and I was lonely and restless, I craved something to break the cycle of waiting for him to come home. Even though the club was buzzing, it did nothing to fill the void in my soul.
Carla was dancing with a man she had just met, while I just sat there and let my eyes kept drifting to a man across the room. He stood out, not just because of his sharp jawline or the way his tailored suit hugged his frame, but because of the way people reacted to him. Everyone he came across seemed to avoid him—not out of fear, but with a kind of cautious respect, like he was someone you didn't cross. He moved through the crowd with an effortless confidence, his presence commanding attention without demanding it. I couldn't look away.
"That's Liam King," Carla whispered, leaning close to my ear. I could tell the alcohol was already taking over her. "He's got a reputation. Runs some kind of private security firm, but people say he's into shadier stuff. Nobody really knows the details, just that he's not someone you mess with."
I raised an eyebrow, sipping my martini. "Shady how?"
Carla shrugged, her eyes glinting with gossip. "Depends who you ask. Some say he's connected to arms dealers and drug lords and is known to provide security for them, so much that even they know not to mess with him. Others say he's just a businessman with a knack for getting what he wants. Either way, he's trouble wrapped in charm."
"Trouble wrapped in charm." I murmured echoed, more to myself than to her. "My kind of man."
I watched him from across the room, intrigued. He was talking to a group of men in suits, his smile easy, handsome, but calculated, like he was always three steps ahead. When his gaze met mine, it felt like a jolt of electricity. He didn't look away, and neither did I. For a moment, the noise of the club faded, and it was just us, locked in a silent conversation.
"Careful, Anne," Carla teased, nudging me. "You're married, not dead."
I laughed it off, but something stirred inside me—a spark I hadn't felt in years. Marcus and I had been together for nearly a decade, and while I loved him, our marriage had unfortunately settled into a predictable rhythm. He was always working, always chasing the next deal, leaving me to fill the empty spaces.
That night at the Cassa Club, I wasn't looking for trouble, but trouble found me. Liam approached our table later that evening, a glass of whiskey in hand. Up close, he was even more striking—green eyes that seemed to see right through me, a faint scar above his left eyebrow that only added to his allure.
My oh my, I am already wet between the legs. I had thought to myself.
He introduced himself with a disarming smile, his voice low and smooth, like he was sharing a secret meant just for me. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, though it felt less like a question and more like a statement, he was already joining.
Carla raised an eyebrow but gestured to the empty seat. "Be our guest."
He doffed an imaginary hat and sat down.
The moment he did, I noticed for the first time that there were about five men scattered strategically about the night club, I could already tell they were his security.
"Don't mind them," He said waving his hand carelessly.
Something about the way he did it had put me at ease, and then I relaxed and opened up. We talked for hours, the conversation flowing effortlessly.
He was witty, attentive, and dangerously charismatic. He asked about my life—not in a prying way, but like he genuinely wanted to know. I told him about my kids, Shelley and Dustin, and even mentioned Marcus, though I skirted around the details of our strained marriage. Liam listened, his gaze never wavering, and when he spoke, it was with a quiet intensity that made me feel like I was the only person in the room.
By the end of the night, he slipped me his card. "In case you ever need a change of scenery," he said, his tone teasing but with an edge of promise. I didn't call him right away, I was even surprised as to how I had easily given out information about me when I knew very little about him, except that he was a security contractor.
I concluded that I wouldn't call him, and for weeks, his card sat in my purse, a temptation I wasn't sure I wanted to entertain. But the loneliness crept in, and Marcus's absences grew longer.
One night, after another missed dinner and a curt phone call from him, I dialed Liam's number. That was the beginning. Our affair started slowly—coffee meetings, late-night texts, stolen moments that felt thrilling and forbidden. Liam was everything Marcus wasn't: present, attentive, intoxicating. He made me feel alive in a way I hadn't in years. I wondered how someone like him, a supposed commander of the underworld would have so much time in his hand.
I loved the attention, but with every touch, every whispered promise, the guilt grew heavier. I told myself I deserved this, that Marcus's neglect justified it, but deep down, I knew I was betraying the man who had built a life for us.
Now, standing in my kitchen a year later, with Marcus gone and the weight of his death pressing down on me, those memories felt like a knife twisting in my chest. The funeral was over, the kids were still grieving, and I was drowning in a sea of guilt and secrets. Liam had been there for me in the immediate aftermath, but his presence only complicated things. I couldn't lean on him without confronting the truth of what we'd done.
I glanced at the vinyl player on the counter, one of the few items salvaged from Marcus's car. It was the one he'd bought for me, the one I'd mentioned wanting years ago during a rare moment of connection. I hadn't even known he'd remembered. Next to it sat the envelope with his letter, now creased from how many times I'd read it. His words—full of love, regret, and promises—haunted me. He had been trying, in his own way, to make things right. And I had been too wrapped up in my own resentment to see it.
The doorbell rang, pulling me from my thoughts. I wasn't expecting anyone. Shelley and Dustin were upstairs, finally asleep after another tearful night. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and walked to the door, my heart heavy with exhaustion.
It was Liam.
He stood on the porch, his coat dusted with snow, he had a shallow expression. "I thought you might need company," he said simply.
I hesitated. "Liam, I… I don't know if this is a good idea."
He stepped closer, his voice low. "You don't have to go through this alone, Anne. Let me help you."
I wanted to send him away, to tell him that his presence only made things worse, but the truth was, I was tired of carrying the weight alone. I stepped aside, letting him in. We sat in the living room, the Christmas tree still standing in the corner, its lights dimmed. The silence between us was heavy, charged with everything we weren't saying. I could feel his gaze on me, steady and searching, but I couldn't meet his eyes.
"I keep thinking about him," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. I just wanted something to break the heavy silence. "About how I failed him."
Liam leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "You didn't fail him, Anne. You were both doing the best you could."
I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. "No, I wasn't. I was selfish. I was angry. I thought he didn't care, but he did. He was trying, Liam. And I… I was with you."
He reached for my hand, but I pulled away. "Don't," I said sharply. "I can't do this right now."
He nodded with a tightened jaw. "I get it. But I'm here, Anne. Whether you want me to be or not."
I wanted to scream at him, to tell him to leave, but I didn't. Instead, I stood and walked to the window, staring out at the snow-covered street. The world outside looked peaceful, untouched, but inside, everything was chaos. "I need to tell the kids the truth," I said, more to myself than to him. "Not about us, but about Marcus. About how much he loved them. They deserve to know that."
Liam stood and moved behind me, not touching but close enough that I could feel his warmth. "You'll find the right words," he said. "You always do."
I turned to face him, searching his eyes for something—reassurance, absolution, I wasn't sure. "What if I can't do this? What if I can't be what they need?"
"You're their mother," he said simply. "You're already what they need."
For a moment, I let myself believe him. But the guilt was still there, a constant shadow. I thought of Marcus's letter, of the gifts he'd bought for the kids, of the life we could have had if I'd been more patient, more understanding.
"I need time," I said finally. "To figure out who I am without him."
Liam nodded, his expression softening. "Take all the time you need. I'll be here."
He left shortly after, and I stood alone in the quiet house, the weight of my choices pressing down on me.
I walked upstairs to check on Shelley and Dustin, pausing at their bedroom doors. They were asleep, their faces peaceful in a way mine hadn't been in days.
The snow kept falling outside, a silent promise of a new beginning. I wasn't sure how to move forward, but I knew I had to try. For my kids. For the man I'd loved, despite everything. And maybe, one day, for me.