Chapter 16 You're Lying
Claire
I didn’t even know when I’d drifted off to sleep, and this bastard hadn’t seen it fit to wake me up at all.
When I finally stirred and sat up, I realized he was no longer in the room. I quickly dragged the tangled sheets up to cover my breasts and glanced around me, my heart sinking.
The place was a complete disaster. It reeked of sex, the faint polish of wood, some lingering paint from who-knows-where, and—oh God—the sharp, unmistakable smell of my own pee. My pee. The humiliation hit me like a slap.
I scrambled off the bed in a panic, my legs still wobbly, and right at that moment the massive door swung open. In walked Liam, dressed in a fine, tailored suit I’d never seen him in before. He looked nothing like the wild man from earlier; now he was all sharp lines and polished edges, like a high-powered businessman straight out of a magazine. His hair was neatly styled, and his scent—clean, expensive cologne—was the only thing cutting through the heavy air in the room, intoxicating in its own way.
“I need to have my bath,” I blurted out, my voice hoarse and urgent.
He nodded calmly, as if this was all perfectly normal. “You sure do.” He glanced down at his watch. “Ten minutes from now, the maids will come in here to clean up. Come on, let me show you to your room—you’ll need to shower properly.”
My room? The words echoed in my head, but before I could question it, he turned and started walking. I followed him without a word, clutching the bedsheet around me like some kind of makeshift robe, dragging it behind me as we left that cursed red room.
We walked through hallways I barely remembered until we finally reached the door he’d referred to as my room. He pushed it open and stepped aside so I could enter first. The space was pristine: soft, warm lighting, a massive king bed with crisp white linens, and laid out neatly on top of it—a dress. Simple, elegant, black, and clearly chosen for me. It was my exact size.
He pointed to a door on the far side. “That’s the bathroom.” He looked at me then, and there was a faint, knowing smile on his lips. I couldn’t figure out why he was smiling like that—like he knew something I didn’t.
Without another word, he turned and started walking toward the exit. Just as he reached the door, he paused and glanced back. “Hurry up, Mrs. Claire.” Then he slowly closed the door behind him.
I let out a long, shaky breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding.
Turning to the side, I froze in place. There was a full-length mirror by the dresser, and what I saw made my stomach drop. I couldn’t believe this was me. My hair was a wild, tangled mess, the ponytail half-undone and frizzy. My face was flushed, lips swollen, mascara smudged into dark streaks under my eyes. I looked like I’d been through a storm.
I let the sheet fall from my body and gasped.
Almost every inch of me was red—bites, hickeys, fingerprints blooming across my neck, shoulders, breasts. My ankles were raw, circled with angry red cuff marks. My ass still throbbed from the cane, the welts raised and tender. He had marked me. Visibly. Everywhere.
I couldn’t go home like this. What if Riette saw? What if anyone saw? My face went pale at the thought.
And oh Riette. What time was it, anyway? My phone and bag were already on the bed beside the dress. I grabbed my phone and my heart sank—it was past evening, approaching midnight. I was completely screwed. The drive here had taken more than an hour on that isolated, bush-lined road. How the hell was I supposed to drive back in the dark? Liam should’ve woken me up hours ago.
Just then, my phone rang. The name on the screen: Riette.
I cleared my throat, my hands trembling slightly as I answered. “Hello, sweetie—”
He didn’t even greet me back. “Mom, tell me where you are. You know how long I’ve been calling?”
Guilt twisted in my chest. “Well, I—”
“I just called to tell you that Dad is home,” he cut in, his voice tight. My eyes widened. “And I told him exactly what you told me—that something came up at the office. But he called your office, Mom. They said no one was there. You’re lying.”
My heart felt like it had dropped straight out of my chest. “No, I’m not, Riette,” I said quickly, trying to keep my voice steady. “Probably the person he called didn’t know I had something urgent to do. I’m currently with a client, so stop talking nonsense.”
He sighed heavily on the other end. “I’m sorry I said that. But Dad called, and that’s what they told him.”
I pressed a hand to my forehead, stress building. “No, honey, I’ll be coming home soon. Tell your dad that too.”
With that, I hung up before he could say anything else and immediately scrambled into the bathroom to wash up.
Everything I did was in a frantic hurry—I needed to get out of here as fast as possible. I showered in record time, scrubbed every trace of him off my skin, threw on the dress he’d left for me, grabbed my phone and bag, stuffed the phone inside, and bolted out of the room. My legs carried me as fast as they could go.
From somewhere down the hall, I could hear footsteps and the light, casual voices of women—probably the maids he’d mentioned. If they saw me here, they’d know. They’d know I was the one who’d trashed that red room with their boss. My legs moved even faster.
But there was a problem: where the hell was the front door? I had no idea where I was at this point—the house was a maze of corridors and turns.
Just then, his voice came from behind me, calm and amused: “Where are you going?”
I spun around quickly. “Home, of course. Where’s the entrance?”
He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a soft sigh. “As you know, Mrs. Claire, the path to my place was a bit lonely even during the day. It’s far worse at nighttime.”
I shook my head frantically. “You don’t understand—I need to be home!!”
He walked slowly toward me, that infuriating grin spreading across his face. “I do understand, Mrs. Claire. Your husband is at home, isn’t it?”
I swallowed hard, but then a sharp hiss escaped my lips. “If you think I’m going home because of him, then you’re wrong. I’m going for my son.”
He stared at me for another beat, then laughed—low and mocking. “Oh, please, Claire. It’s not like he’s a child.”
He stepped closer, close enough to reach out and brush his thumb across my lower lip. “You shouldn’t have slept off like that. I just can’t let you drive home by yourself, Mrs. Claire,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, his eyes locked on my lips. “If that’s the case, then you take me home.”
His eyes widened, amusement sparkling in them like he’d just heard the most ridiculous request in the world.
“You want me to take you home, Mrs. Claire?” he asked, voice dripping with mock disbelief.
I nodded firmly, chin high despite everything.
He let his thumb linger on my lower lip for a second longer, then dropped his hand and looked down at me, slow and deliberate.
“Mrs. Claire,” he said, calm, almost gentle, “there are bite marks all over your body. Your lips are swollen. Your neck looks like a battlefield. Do you really want to walk through your front door like this?”
The words hit like ice water.
He was right.
I’d seen myself in the mirror.
Even if I spun some wild story about an accident and Riette bought it, sweet, trusting Riette, Ian wouldn’t. He’s not a fool. He’d know exactly what happened.
I don’t feel guilty about cheating anymore.
Not really. Not after everything. But if my kids found out? If they learned it wasn’t just their father sneaking around, but me too? They’d be devastated. Riette would look at me like I was a stranger.
Isabella and Max would never speak to me the same way again.
I couldn’t let that happen.
“So, Mrs. Claire,” Liam murmured, leaning in until his breath brushed my cheek, his voice low and coaxing, “why don’t you just… stay here with me, huh?”