Let's start...
The photograph felt heavy in Ava's hand, a thin piece of glossy paper that held the power to shatter the gilded cage she was trapped in. "The King has many secrets."
The words stared back at her, mocking her ignorance. Who was the King? Liam? Or was there someone else pulling the strings from the shadows?
She spent the next hour sitting on the edge of her bed, the gold dress still clinging to her, cold and suffocating. The mansion was silent, but it was a predatory silence the kind that makes you hear things that aren't there. Every creak of the floorboards felt like a footstep. Every gust of wind against the window sounded like a whisper.
Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't stay in this room waiting for the ghost in the photo to come to life. She stood up, grabbed a silk robe to cover her dress, and stepped out into the hallway.
Her destination was Liam's study. If there were secrets, that's where they would be buried.
The hallway was a tunnel of shadows. The moonlight filtered through the high arched windows, casting long, skeletal patterns on the carpet. Ava moved like a ghost, her bare feet making no sound. As she approached the heavy oak doors of the study, she saw a sliver of light bleeding from the bottom.
He was still awake.
She hesitated. Her mind told her to run back to her room, to burn the photo and pretend she never saw it. But her heart the part of her that had started to care for the monster in the tuxedo needed to know the truth. She pushed the door open, just a fraction.
Liam was sitting behind his desk, but he wasn't working. The office was dimly lit, the only light coming from a single lamp and the dying embers in the fireplace. He had a glass of scotch in one hand and a small, worn-out velvet box in the other. He looked older, tired, and profoundly alone.
"I know you're there, Ava," he said without looking up. His voice was gravelly, worn thin by whatever demons he was fighting. "Come in or go away. Don't linger in the doorway like a spirit."
Ava pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air in the study smelled of old books, expensive tobacco, and regret. "I couldn't sleep," she said, her voice steady despite the hammer of her heart.
Liam finally looked at her. He didn't look angry this time. He looked hollow. He set the velvet box on the desk and leaned back, watching her with an intensity that made the room feel smaller.
"The gold suits you," he murmured, his gaze tracing the silk robe over the gown. "It makes you look like you belong in this mausoleum. But your eyes... they still have too much life in them."
Ava walked toward the desk, her hand trembling inside the pocket of her robe where the photo was hidden. "Who is watching this house, Liam? And why did someone send me a photo of my life before I met you?
The glass in Liam's hand stopped mid-air. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. He set the glass down with a slow, deliberate click. "What are you talking about?"
Ava pulled out the envelope and slid it across the mahogany surface. Liam stared at it for a long moment before picking it up. As he saw the photo and the message on the back, a mask of pure, unadulterated coldness settled over his face. It was worse than his anger; it was a total shutdown of emotion.
"Where did you get this?" he asked, his voice a low, vibrating hum of danger.
Under my door. Just a few minutes ago," Ava replied, leaning over the desk. "Liam, what's going on? Who is Viktor Volkov to you, really? And what are these 'secrets'?"
Liam stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor. He walked to the fireplace, staring into the red embers.
You were supposed to be a simple arrangement, Ava. A girl from a bar with no ties, no history that mattered to my world. But it seems the past is a debt that never gets fully paid.
He turned back to her, and for the first time, Ava saw fear in the Ice King's eyes. Not fear for himself, but something deeper.
"Twenty years ago, this house wasn't a palace. It was a battlefield," Liam began, his voice distant.
"My father didn't just build an empire; he took it. And he took things that didn't belong to him. The Volkovs think I have something that belongs to them. A piece of history that could destroy the Moretti name forever."
"And the photo?" Ava asked, stepping closer. "Why target me?
"
"Because you've become my greatest liability," Liam rasped, taking a step toward her until they were inches apart. He reached out, his hand hovering near her face but not touching. "They know I paid twenty million for you. They know you aren't just a contract anymore. To the world, you are my fiancée. To my enemies, you are the blade they can stick in my heart."
"Is that why you were so cold in the car?" Ava whispered. "To protect me by pushing me away?"
Liam didn't answer with words. He closed the distance, his hand finally connecting with her cheek, his thumb tracing her lower lip. The touch was desperate, a silent admission of everything he refused to say.
"I told you not to dream of freedom Ava," he murmured, his forehead resting against hers. "Not because I want to keep you a prisoner. But because once you step into my light, the shadows will never let you go. You're in the crosshairs now. And I don't know if even thirty million dollars can buy your safety.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the sound of a distant, muffled explosion near the gates. The lights in the study flickered and died, plunging them into total darkness.
Liam's grip on her tightened instantly. "Stay behind me,"
he growled, his voice no longer that of a businessman, but of a man ready to kill. "It's started."