Chapter 39

Chapter 39
   “What? Are you suddenly mute?”, he asked. 
   His presence flooded the elevator, making the space feel smaller. Aria sneered.
   “I’m clocking out, sir.” 
   She adjusted the strap on her handbag, and watched as his eyes bounced to her hand. 
   His eyes darkened.
   Ha!
   “We have a meeting at 3pm, no?,” he raised an eyebrow, his jaw clenching. Aria squinted. There was something more restrained about Liam today. 
   This was typically the moment where he would grab her and threaten her in his low voice, and Aria from before would shiver after being affected.
   “Miss Rothschild clocked out a while ago, sir. According to my role, I should be clocking out now too.”
   “Stop being so distant, Aria. Don’t call me sir,” he stepped closer, his voice lowering into something gentle and raspy.
   “What would you prefer I call you? Brother?,” she asked, her voice clueless.
   He huffed a little breath of laughter. Aria furrowed her brows. The man in front of her seemed more like the Liam she knew years ago, the mischievous tyrant that had forced his way into her heart.
   She didn’t like that.
   She wanted her singular memory of him being how he left her to the wolves.
   “That’s all I am to you? Brother? How about the father of your bastard son?,” he asked, stepping closer and tilting his head downward to put them at eye level.
   Aria reflexively clenched her fist, but she bit back her anger. 
   Liam was not Aston, or Devan. He had been raised like a precious tyrant. He couldn’t withstand her anger. The tabloids would talk about how she assaulted their precious prince.
   “Dream on. You think you can father my som? You’re not even half the man his father is,” she snapped, intending to irritate him.
   It seemed like she had irritated him a bit too hard, because he all but growled and shoved her against the elevator walls.
   He looked at her with that infuriating, possessive angry gaze, the one that assumed everything in his line of sight was his by birthright.
   "You’re lying," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her cheek as he shook her violently with every sentence. "You’re lying! Everything you own is mine. You are mine. I see it in the way you look at me. You're still that little girl who followed me around the estate, Aria. Stop lying.”
   Aria felt a cold, sharp laugh bubble up in her throat, as well as a headache rising behind her eyes at the force of the shaking. She didn't suppress it. The sound was jagged and rough, cutting through the hum of the elevator.
   "The little girl you threw to the curb to save your own reputation?" she asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous, icy velvet. "That girl died on the floor, Liam. Don't mistake my presence for nostalgia. I'm here because I have a job to do, and currently, you're an obstacle to my commute."
   The elevator dinged. Level 5.
   Someone else wanted to get in. 
   Liam’s hand shot out, slamming against the panel, holding the ‘close’ button down while his other arm boxed her in against the railing.
   “You think that freak you married is going to protect you? Roland Beaumont is a stupid ghost. I’m the one who’s here. I’m the one who can actually touch you. You can’t be stubborn all the time , Aria. Stop this bullshit. Come back home!"
   Aria’s hand, still hidden by her side, gripped the hilt of the small ceramic blade she kept tucked in her waistband. She didn't pull it. She wouldn’t pull it.
   All the years they had spent together in the Rothschild’s home flashed behind her eyes. She would let it go this once. She would forgive him this once, on account of him being the only thing that had saved her from Camille’s ire when they were growing up.
   She would not forgive it next time.
   She looked him dead in the eye, her expression shifting from annoyance to a blank slate, like Aston facing Arthur.
   "Keep touching me, and you’ll be the ghost," she whispered.
   The tension was a physical weight, thick enough to choke on. Liam’s eyes flickered, a brief flash of genuine uncertainty. He was used to her fire, her spitting defiance. He wasn't used to this calculated stillness.
   He pulled back just an inch, his lip curling into a sneer to mask his momentary lapse. "You’ve changed, Aria. But not for the better. You’ve become—“
   "Let go of me, Liam.”
   The elevator finally hit the Ground Floor. The doors slid open with a cheerful ding that felt entirely inappropriate for the murder-adjacent atmosphere inside it.
   Aria didn't wait. She shoved past him, her shoulder hitting his chest with enough force to make him stumble back. She didn't look back. She had a son to kiss and a psychopath to plot with.
   Aria hurried toward the parking structure, her heart still hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
   She heard footsteps behind her. Liam was following her, the fucker was following her.
   “Aria!”
   “No, leave me alone! What’s your problem?!,”she asked, turning to glare at him and continuing to her car without stopping her walking.
   As she reached her car, Liam did too. 
   He cornered her against the driver seat window, his hands bracing against each of her sides.
   “Are you insane?!”
   “You’ve always been so stubbo—“
   A hand suddenly grabbed his neck. Aria and Aston’s eyes widened.
   Two pairs of eyes traced down the hand into the driver’s seat window which had been rolled down at some point, revealing the sharp profile of a man who looked like he had been carved out of obsidian.
   “Manners make man, Mr. Rothschild. You have no manners.”
   Liam made a vague choked sound, his hands leaving Aria’s side to grab at Aston’s hands in vain.
   Aria escaped from her position, her chest heaving as she stared.
   Aston was back already? And in her car?!
   Aston’s forearm flexed as Liam slowly turned blue, and Aria’s eyes were transfixed on the bulging of the veins on his hand.
   His face was impassive, save from the tiny quirk of irritation on his mouth.
   Another choked sound snapped Aria out of it. Liam couldn’t die. Her plans would fall through.
   “Let him go,” she breathed.
   Aston furrowed his brows and immediately released Liam, a series of coughing sounds following his release.
   “You…” Liam attempted talking with his nearly crushed vocal cords.
   He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and watering, staring at the man in the driver’s seat. This wasn't the "ugly, hiding ghost" the rumors spoke of. This was a predator.
   "Roland... Beaumont..." Liam wheezed, the name coming out as a mangled rasp.
   Aston finally turned his gaze to Liam. It was like a winter frost settling over the parking lot. "I’d tell you to keep my name out of your mouth, but it seems you’re having enough trouble using it at all." He looked at Aria, his eyes scanning her for any signs of disarray. 
   “Get in, my lady. Before I decide that his neck is more interesting than our dinner plans."
   Aria didn't need to be told twice. She bypassed the driver's side, rounding the car to the passenger door. She felt Liam’s eyes on her, they were full of shock, betrayal, and a lingering, pathetic spark of possessiveness, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of a glance.
   She hopped into the scent of expensive leather and Aston’s distinct scent of sandalwood.
   She had missed that scent.
   Her heart fluttered and she imagined a miniature version of herself trying to shoot down all the butterflies causing the ruckus.
   Her mini wasn’t succeeding.
   As they drove off, the tires screeching slightly against the concrete, Aria watched Liam in the side mirror.
   He was standing alone in the middle of the lot, a small, shrinking figure in an expensive suit, looking like a king who had just realized his crown was made of cardboard.
   Aston suddenly made a rough turn, causing her to sway and grab onto her seat, Liam forgotten.
   “I didn’t think sentimentality was a luxury you could afford,” Aston said, his smooth velvety voice betraying a hidden hint of roughness.