Chapter 16
Elise's POV
He fell silent for a few seconds.
Then he reached out and pinched my cheek.
"You," he said, the corner of his mouth curving upward again, "sometimes say things that make it impossible to dislike you."
He withdrew his hand, stepped back, and leaned against the opposite wall, resuming that casual, devil-may-care posture of his.
"Alright, stop looking so grim. There's a cocktail party tonight—my friend's hosting it at that new club in Downtown. You're coming."
"I don't really want to—"
"It's not an invitation, it's a notification." He cut me off. "You've been in a bad mood lately. You need to get out and get some air. Cooped up in this broken-down warehouse all day, it's no wonder you're going stir-crazy."
He glanced at me, then at the surroundings.
"Besides, this studio really does need renovating. I'll find you a designer later."
"No need—"
"I said it's not an invitation."
He winked at me.
Then he turned and headed toward the door.
When he reached the iron door, he suddenly stopped and turned back.
"Oh, and dress nicely. There'll be a few single rich kids among my friends—don't embarrass me."
"Won't bringing me embarrass you even more?"
"Doesn't matter." Liam shrugged. "Let them look. You're my person."
With that, he picked up the paper bag he'd been holding the entire time and walked out of the studio.
The iron door closed behind him with a soft click.
I stood there, staring at that door.
"You're my person."
When those words came from Liam's mouth, they sounded like possession.
But I heard another layer of meaning.
He was reassuring me.
After the humiliation from the Sterling parents, he'd made a special trip here—not to apologize, because he felt the Sterlings didn't need to apologize—but to confirm I hadn't run away.
To confirm I was still that obedient, compliant Elise who wouldn't cause him trouble.
I looked down at the rolled-up rose design in my toolbox.
Victor's tattoo appointment still hadn't been scheduled.
But tonight, I had to accompany Liam to a cocktail party first.
Different roles, different masks.
I was already used to it.
---
The cocktail party started at eight.
I changed clothes—not some expensive gown, but a black dress Liam had left in the paper bag. Silk, with clean lines and an open-back design.
The tag was still attached, the price scribbled out with a ballpoint pen, but the feel told me it probably cost four figures.
I put it on.
Not because I wanted to.
But because at occasions like this, clothes were armor.
At seven-thirty, Liam came to pick me up.
He didn't come by car.
He came on a motorcycle.
Black, with sharp lines, the engine rumbling low at the alley entrance like a beast poised to strike.
I walked out of the studio and looked at the motorcycle, frowning.
"You came on this?"
"What's wrong?" Liam took off his helmet and shook out his hair. "Don't like it?"
"Riding a motorcycle to a cocktail party in a dress?"
"Who says you can't wear a dress on a motorcycle?" He handed me a spare helmet. "Get on."
I looked at the silk dress, then at the back seat of the motorcycle.
Hesitated for a second.
Then took the helmet.
"Hold on tight."
When Liam said this, his tone was light, carrying a trace of barely detectable satisfaction.
I got on the back seat and wrapped my arms around his waist.
The engine roared suddenly, and the motorcycle shot out of the alley.
The night wind rushed at my face, scattering my hair, the silk hem of my dress billowing in the wind. Liam rode fast, weaving through the city traffic like a fish slipping through water.
He deliberately took the most bustling route.
The coastal boulevard, flanked by brightly lit office buildings and high-end shops, pedestrians on the sidewalk turning to look.
I could feel those gazes.
Some curious, some envious, some contemptuous—a woman in a black dress sitting on the back of a man's motorcycle, passing through the city's most prosperous district late at night, looking every bit like some unseemly relationship.
But Liam didn't care.
He even deliberately stopped at a red light, took off his helmet, turned his head toward me and said, "Are you cold?"
His voice wasn't loud, just enough for people in the nearby cars to hear.
Then he smiled, put his helmet back on, and the moment the light turned green, he gunned the throttle and sped away.
I held his waist, pressing my face against his back.
Not out of affection.
But because the wind was too strong—I couldn't keep my eyes open.
At least that's what I told myself.
---
Anna's POV
I saw them.
Coming out of the alley, turning right, getting on a black motorcycle. Elise sat in back, wearing a black dress, her hair whipping wildly in the wind, arms wrapped around Liam's waist.
Liam.
My Liam.
No, not mine.
At least not yet.
My nails dug into the leather of the steering wheel.
I drove behind them, maintaining a two-car distance, not too far, not too close.
It was because they were too conspicuous, not because I was following them—a roaring motorcycle tearing through the city district, impossible not to notice.
Liam rode wildly.
He deliberately took the coastal boulevard, passing those brightly lit malls and bar streets, as if showing off something.
Look, this is my woman. She's sitting behind me on my bike. She's holding my waist.
Every person who passed them couldn't help but turn back for another look.
Men looked at Elise, women looked at Liam.
And Elise just quietly held his waist, pressing her face against his back, like a docile cat.
I stared fixedly ahead, my face reflected in the windshield.
I knew what expression I had now.
Not good.
Very not good.
What Mom and Dad said last night was still spinning in my head—
"Instead of fighting with Elise, why not steal Liam away?"
"If she can rely on Liam, why can't you?"
"Find a chance to get close to Liam, make him notice you."
I'd been thinking about how to do it.
But I hadn't expected the opportunity to come so quickly.
Liam and Elise finally stopped in front of a newly opened private club in Downtown.
I knew the place—"The Atrium," opened just last month, members only, membership fee reportedly six figures. Ordinary people held their cocktail parties in banquet halls; rich people held theirs in places like this.
I parked my car across the street in a parking spot, far enough away, and killed the engine.
Through the car window, I watched Liam park the motorcycle in front of the club entrance, take off his helmet, shake out his hair. He got off the bike, turned around, and extended his hand to Elise.
Elise took his hand and got off.
She stood under the streetlight, smoothing out her wind-tousled hair and dress.
The black silk dress, open back, revealing a stretch of pale spine.
She wasn't wearing makeup. Or rather, her makeup was very light—just defined brows, mascara, and a touch of lip color.
But it was precisely this effortless refinement that was more lethal than those heavily made-up women.
Liam put his arm around her waist, and together they walked into the club entrance.
The attendant at the door bowed and pulled open the door for them, his manner as respectful as if welcoming royalty.
After the car door closed, the silence inside suddenly became very loud.
It was the sound of my heartbeat.
Thump, thump, thump—fast, as if about to leap out of my chest.
I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes.
Mom and Dad were right.
Fighting was useless.
Fighting with Elise would only make her stand more firmly by Liam's side.
But if I could find evidence of her betraying Liam...
If I could make Liam see with his own eyes that she was with another man...
Then everything would be different.