Emily was halfway through her morning coffee when the penthouse door clicked open and Liam walked in—phone pressed to his ear, suit perfectly tailored, face unreadable as ever.
He didn't glance at her as he passed, just muttered into the phone, "I said no lawyers. Not until I see the full file myself."
She stared at him from the kitchen counter.
Last night's conversation clung to her like perfume—light, but impossible to ignore.
"Then you're playing a dangerous game, Emily."
What did that even mean?
She didn't have much time to dwell on it.
A minute later, Liam ended his call and headed straight for the private office. Emily didn't follow—but curiosity gnawed at her. She waited until his footsteps faded, then crept toward the hallway.
The door wasn't fully closed.
She stood just beside it, listening.
"Clean it up quietly," Liam said to someone on speaker. "No names. No press. Make sure he doesn't talk."
Emily's breath hitched. Who doesn't talk?
There was a rustle—papers, maybe—followed by Liam's voice again. "If this ties back to me, it's not just my name on the line. It's the girl's too."
The girl? Her pulse jumped.
A chair scraped against the floor. Emily darted away just as the door opened behind her.
Liam stepped out and spotted her instantly.
She froze. "I—uh—was looking for the laundry room."
He didn't blink. "The laundry room is downstairs."
Right. Of course it was.
Liam stepped closer, slow and measured.
"Are you eavesdropping, Emily?"
"No," she said too quickly.
He tilted his head slightly. "There are two kinds of lies. The kind that hide something, and the kind that protect someone. Which is yours?"
"I wasn't lying."
His jaw clenched, but he didn't argue. Instead, he walked past her and picked up his coat.
"I have meetings," he said, voice clipped. "Try not to wander into fire."
She waited until the elevator door shut behind him before sinking into the nearest chair.
What the hell had she just overheard?
---
Later that afternoon, Carmen arrived with a tablet full of appointments and a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Mr. Ashford asked me to schedule a media shoot. Couples photos. You're trending on Westwood Gossip as the mysterious Mrs. Ashford."
"Great," Emily muttered. "Can't wait to be photographed like a pet in a designer leash."
Carmen hesitated. "He's...protective. In his way."
Emily arched a brow. "Is that what you call it?"
"I've worked for him for five years. You're the first woman he's ever let into his private space. That means something."
Emily wasn't so sure. Maybe she was just a pawn. A shield. A name to flash when the press got too close.
Still, something flickered in her chest. Hope? Fear? She wasn't sure anymore.
---
That night, she wandered into the library—her favorite room in the penthouse. It smelled like aged paper and cedarwood, like memory and mystery.
Books lined the walls in perfect rows. A large velvet chair sat by the window. She sank into it and picked up the first book within reach.
But she didn't read.
She just stared at the city below, lights flickering like fireflies in concrete.
Then came the sound of footsteps.
Liam.
Of course.
"You always sit in the dark?" he asked, his voice softer than she expected.
"It's quieter in the dark," she said. "Things feel...less fake."
He sat across from her, uninvited but not unwelcome.
"Tell me something true," he said after a pause.
"What?"
"You said everything feels fake. So give me something real."
Emily studied him—his sharp jaw, the way his sleeves were rolled to his elbows again, exposing a line of ink on his wrist she hadn't noticed before. A symbol. Wings? A blade?
"Okay," she said quietly. "Something true."
She set the book aside. "When I was eight, my dad left. He said he'd come back with ice cream. He never did."
Liam didn't react.
Emily gave a tight smile. "Since then, I've never really trusted people who leave."
He leaned back slightly. "I don't leave."
"You don't stay either."
He looked out the window. "You want another truth?"
She nodded.
"My father was murdered. Shot in front of me when I was sixteen. No witnesses. No one ever charged."
The silence that followed was different—sharp-edged and full of weight.
Emily swallowed. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It made me who I am."
"And who is that?"
He looked at her now. Really looked. "A man who gets what he wants. No matter the cost."
The chill in his voice wasn't fake. But underneath it, she saw something raw. Something broken.
Their eyes locked.
The moment stretched.
And for a second, Emily thought he might kiss her.
But he didn't.
He stood.
"Get some rest," he said. "The press shoot is at ten."
And then he was gone.
Leaving her with truth, half a story, and a heart that beat way too fast for a man who only spoke in shadows.
-