The heavy oak door of Liam Callahan" 's penthouse swung open with a resounding thud, the sound echoing through the vast and sparsely furnished living room. Liam, his typically immaculate suit rumpled and his dark eyes burning with a stewing rage, stalked across the polished marble bottom with his steps echoing like thunder in the silence.
Isabelle, her face pale and tense stood firm by the grand window overlooking the spangling cityscape. The opulent chamber lights of the gala they had just attended still danced in her vision with their sparkle mocking the storm brewing inside her.
"Isabelle." Liam's voice, generally smooth as velvet, was now laced with scorn. "did you learn nothing from what I told you before?"
Isabelle squinched at the icy tone. She turned to face him, her fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of her expensive gown. The delicate fabric hung limply on her, a stark discrepancy to the sharp lines of Liam's crisp suit.
"Liam, I..." Her voice, generally light and bubbly, faltered under his eyes.
"I saw you." Liam snarled, his jaw tightening. "I saw the way you were looking at him. You did not indeed try to hide it," he said, his voice rising with each syllable.
"Liam, there is nothing to hide," she whispered, her eyes pleading. "It was just a casual discussion. We were just..."
"Just what, Isabelle?" Liam slammed his fist against the sleek mahogany table beside her, a sharp crack echoing through the apartment. A crystal clear vase filled with fantastic orchids quivered on the edge of the table its delicate blossoms shaking in the wake of his rage. "Just what?"
"We were just talking." she stammered, her voice slightly audible. "Max was just being friendly, that is all."
"Friendly?" Liam scarfed, his wrathfulness reaching a top. "Friendly? You were virtually in each other"s arms! The way you were looking at him, Isabelle, the way you were laughing it was..." He choked back a strangled cry, the rage in his eyes shortly transcended by a flicker of pain.
Isabelle's heart sank. He knew. He'd seen the way Max had looked at her, the way his eyes had dallied too long on her, the way he'd smiled it had been a moment of vulnerability, a lapse in her precisely constructed facade. But it had been just that, a moment.
"Liam." she began, her voice shaking. "I am sorry, I..."
"Sorry?" Liam's voice was a low scowl that transferred chills down her spine. "Sorry? Is that what you have to say? Do you suppose a simple "sorry" can fix this? Can undo the betrayal?"
Betrayal. The word, thrown into the air like a poisoned outrage pierced Isabelle's heart. Betrayal? She had not betrayed him. She had not done anything.
"Liam." she pleaded, her voice rising a notch. "I do not know what you suppose you saw, but it was not what you thought. I didn"t..."
"Do not you dare play the innocent with me." he roared, his voice grating on her nerves. "I know the way you look at him, I see the way you act around him. Your eyes, Isabelle, they betray you, they tell me everything."
Isabelle's tears welled up, threatening to slip down her cheeks.
"Liam, please," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Just let me explain. I..."
"Explain what, Isabelle?" Liam's voice, however loud, was now laced with a nipping quietness that transferred a shiver down her spine. He stepped closer, his face elevated from hers, his eyes burning with a fury that made her fear for her safety.
"Explain how you can be so careless, so unconscious to the peril you are putting yourself in," he said, his breath warm on her face. "Do you not understand that this is about more than just our contract? This is about my business, my family, my character!"
"Liam, I..."
"You what?" He roared, his fist clenching, his knuckles turning white. "You" 're supposed to be my woman, my mate. You"'re supposed to be loyal. But you, you..." His voice cracked, and for a moment, a flicker of something akin to pain crossed his face.
"Liam," she begged. "I do "t I did"t..."
"Did not what?" He leaned closer, his voice a dangerous roar.
The weight of his wrathfulness and the fear that gripped her heart was too much to bear. She could not hold back the tears any longer. They revealed down her cheeks like a cascade, blurring her vision. She turned away unable to look at him, unable to face the storm that raged within him.
"Just go," she whispered, her voice slightly audible. "Go to your study, or... or the bar. Just..." She could not finish the sentence, her voice choked with emotion. She turned and ran, her steps echoing in the cavernous living room, towards the sanctuary of their bedroom.
Liam watched her flee, his wrathfulness shortly replaced by a swell of remorse. He had not meant to scare her. But the thought of his kinsman and his blood, fighting for his woman's affections fueled a blaze of covetousness that consumed him.
He gripped the edge of the mahogany table, his fingers digging into the smooth face. His wrathfulness, raw and unyielding coursed in his veins. He'd been advised, he'd seen it coming, but the thought of Isabelle, his fiancee in the arms of someone else burned a wave of fury that threatened to consume him.
He knew he should calm down. He loved Isabelle, in his way, and the thought of hurting her indeed unintentionally, brought a cold dread to his heart. But the images of her talking with Max, the way she had looked at him, the way Max had looked at her those images visited him, fueling the conflagration that raged within him.
He forced himself to take a deep breath, to steady his hands, to quell the storm that raged within him. He needed to relax, to clear his head. He knew he could not continue this way.
Turning away from the shattered remains of the vase, he walked towards the mini bar that sat discreetly in a corner of the living room. His fingers traced the smooth face of the mahogany bar, the wood cold wave under his touch. He seized a crystal clear glass, its delicate hem cool against his skin, and poured a double shot of a drink, the amber liquid shimmering under the soft gleam of the bar lights.
He took a long gulp, the whisky burning a fiery trail down his throat. He needed to recapture his composure. He needed to find a way to make things right.
The echoes of Isabelle's sobbing, faint but audible through the unrestricted bedroom door only served to heighten his anxiety. He'd pushed her too far, he knew, and the fear that he might have driven her away, that he might have lost her was a cold dread that tensed its grip around his heart.
He finished his drink, the whisky doing little to ease the knot of anxiety that tensed in his stomach. He needed to talk to her, to apologize, to explain. He needed to find a way to repair the damage he'd done.