Chapter 36
Liam's POV
I killed that man.
Killed him over and over in my mind.
From the moment I saw him in that hallway.
He appeared at the far end of the corridor—a tall figure in a dark suit, broad-shouldered, walking with the kind of ease that suggested he was strolling through his own living room. Three men I didn't recognize followed behind him, standing quietly in place like statues.
He didn't even glance in my direction.
He walked straight toward that door.
The door I had personally locked Elise behind.
I knew what was happening inside.
No, I didn't know. I only knew he went in. Knew he stayed inside for about three minutes. Knew that when he came out, he was carrying someone in his arms.
Elise.
She was wrapped in his coat, face buried in his shoulder, her entire body limp in his arms as if every bone had been extracted.
I wanted to chase after them.
But my first step forward was stopped—not by anyone else. It was stopped by the blank explosion that detonated inside my skull.
Who was that man? How did he get in? How could he open that door? Why were those paid actors standing aside as if they hadn't seen anything?
"Get out of my way!"
I roared, the sound loud enough to startle even myself.
The man in the red demon mask looked up from behind the bar, his smile freezing for an instant.
"Mr. Sterling, you—"
"Who was that man?"
My voice was shaking. Not from fear. It was from something more primal than fear, something rampaging through my body, unable to find an exit.
He was silent for two seconds.
"I don't know."
"You don't know? You rented this villa! All the actors were hired by you! And you're telling me you don't know?"
"Really don't know." His voice dropped, carrying a calm that made me even more furious. "He's not one of ours. He wasn't wearing a mask, didn't show any access credentials... but the way he walked in made everyone feel they shouldn't stop him."
Shouldn't stop him.
Those words lodged in my temple like a thorn.
"His car? License plate? Any information—"
"Nothing. Nobody noticed when he arrived. When he left... everyone was looking elsewhere."
I looked around at those masked faces. Every single one conveyed the same message: don't want trouble.
I exhausted every method I had.
Threatened to blacklist the entire industry. Promised ten times the payment in exchange for information. Even physically struck one of the extras who looked most timid—the sound of my fist hitting his cheekbone was crisp, followed by sharp pain from my own knuckles.
Got nothing.
Not a single name.
---
In the thirty hours after that night, I called Elise forty-seven times.
All went to voicemail.
Her phone wasn't with her—the last time I'd seen her, it was still on that small table in the cocoon room, screen facing up, red recording indicator light still blinking.
I had taken that phone with me. It was in my suit's inner pocket now, the device growing hot, but I hadn't touched it again.
I went to her apartment.
No one there.
The bed was made. Not a single piece of clothing missing from the closet. Skincare products on the vanity arranged by height in a row, exactly as they'd been when she left.
She hadn't returned.
At three in the morning, I parked my car at the mouth of that alley in the old district.
The tattoo shop's iron gate was tightly shut. One of the streetlights at the entrance was broken, leaving only a dim yellow glow illuminating the gravel on the ground and a few crushed cigarette packs.
I got out of the car and leaned against the opposite wall, lighting a cigarette.
How many was this tonight? I didn't know. The pack in my pocket was already empty, so I'd opened a fresh one from the glove compartment.
She would come here.
I knew it too well.
This rundown tattoo shop was the only thing she truly cared about.
It was the thing that made her say "this is proof I'm alive" with light shining in her eyes. If she was still safe—she would definitely return here.
Even if only to confirm it was still okay.
I waited.
One cigarette after another.
Occasionally a stray cat ran through the alley, the iron gate emitting slight creaking sounds. In the distance, a drunk passed by, humming a tuneless song. The sky changed from pitch black to deep blue, then to grayish white.
When the sun rose, I looked down at my feet.
Cigarette butts everywhere.
Slender white cigarette bodies with red circular logos, particularly conspicuous against the gray cement ground.
Looking at that carpet of cigarette butts, I suddenly felt very tired.
Not the physical kind of tired. It was a deeper exhaustion, seeping out from the cracks between my bones.
What the hell was I doing?
Hiring actors. Renting a seaside villa. Designing this entire farce.
Tying up a woman I claimed to "care about" against a wall and recording it for the family to see—
For what?
To prove I could control her? To reassure Grandfather? To shut Isabella up?
If I truly cared about her, what should I have done?
Protected her.
Kept those thugs away from her shop. Given Isabella's people no opportunity. Actually listened when she said "this is proof I'm alive," instead of only hearing the words "shut down this shop."
I tossed the cigarette butt in my hand to the ground and crushed it with my toe.
As the red glow of the cigarette extinguished, my phone rang in my pocket.
The house number.
I stared at the screen for two seconds, then answered.
"Liam." The butler's voice came from the other end, tone respectful but urgent. "The master wants you to return home immediately."
The master. Edwin Sterling. Current head of the Sterling family, my grandfather. An eighty-three-year-old man who appeared in his study at exactly six every morning and could make you feel like a waste of space with just a look.
"Now?"
"Yes, young master. As soon as possible. He said regarding last night's incident—and Miss Isabella's side—he needs to discuss it with you."
I closed my eyes.
Last night's incident.
So he already knew.
Of course he knew. In this family, nothing could be hidden from Edwin Sterling for more than twelve hours.
"Alright." I said. "I'll be right there."
Before hanging up, I looked at the tattoo shop's iron gate one more time.
Still tightly shut.
Still no sign of anyone appearing.
I got in the car, started the engine, and drove out of the alley. In the rearview mirror, that iron gate grew smaller and smaller, finally disappearing into the morning mist.
[What I didn't know was—Less than five minutes after I left, a figure slowly emerged from around the street corner.]