Chapter 44
Liam's POV:
"Isabella's father called this morning."
Edwin finally looked up at me. The eighty-three-year-old man's hair had gone completely white, but those gray eyes remained as sharp as knife blades.
"His exact words were—'If the Sterling family can't even clean up their own child's mess, there's no point in continuing this marriage arrangement.'"
I said nothing.
"The charity gala is on Saturday." Edwin returned the photographs to the drawer, his movements slow, as if giving me time to process. "You will formally announce your engagement to Isabella in front of both families' elders. I'll handle the photo situation. But on one condition—you give me a respectable outcome."
Respectable.
That word again.
"I don't care what you do outside." Edwin's voice neither rose nor fell, maintaining that tone he'd perfected over decades of managing the entire Sterling family—commanding without anger, brooking no disagreement. "But you will not tarnish the Sterling name."
I stood there.
The study was quiet, the fire in the fireplace burning low, occasionally emitting a soft crackle.
I knew I should nod.
I knew I should do what I'd always done—perhaps grumble a bit, but ultimately comply.
Because I knew that without the Sterling name, I was nothing. Because I knew Isabella was the path the family had paved for me, and all I had to do was walk it.
"No."
The word surprised even me as it left my throat.
Edwin looked up.
"What did you say?"
"The gala—postpone it." My voice was steadier than I'd expected. "The engagement—let's wait."
The air in the study solidified.
Edwin studied me, his expression not angry but something more complex, as if he were re-examining an exhibit he'd thought he'd already understood completely.
"Your reason."
I opened my mouth. My reason? What could I say? That I didn't know where Elise was? That she hadn't answered my calls for three days? That every time I dialed her number, I heard only that cold mechanical voice—"The number you have dialed is currently switched off"?
That I'd seen a tall dark figure enter that door in the hallway that night, emerging three minutes later carrying her in his arms—and I didn't even know who he was?
That I had this gut feeling that if I announced my engagement to Isabella now, Elise would truly be gone—not just gone from my side, but gone to a world I couldn't reach?
Once the engagement hammer fell, that thread between us, already fraying, would snap completely.
Then I wouldn't even be able to call her—no, I already couldn't reach her—but at least, nominally, she was still "mine."
Once engaged, even that nominal claim would vanish.
But I couldn't voice any of this.
Because saying it would mean admitting that my obsession with Elise had exceeded the bounds of what a Sterling should allow himself.
It would mean admitting that I was gambling the entire family's interests on a possibility that might not even exist.
"I need time to handle some matters," I said.
Edwin's silence stretched long.
The fire crackled again.
"You have three days," he finally said. "Give me your answer by Friday."
He lowered his head, picking up another document from the desk, no longer looking at me.
By the time I left the estate, darkness had fallen.
The autumn night wind cut through my collar, cold enough to make me shiver.
The butler held the car door open for me at the entrance. I slid inside but didn't start the engine.
The interior was dark, the instrument panel's glow illuminating my hands—the same hands that had fastened handcuffs on Elise in the cocoon room.
I pulled out my phone.
Opened the call log.
Scrolled down. Down. Further down.
All the same number.
Canceled. Canceled. Canceled. Canceled.
Every single call, the same.
Not "missed"—"canceled." Not that she didn't want to answer my calls, but that her phone simply wouldn't connect.
From that night until now, three days. How many times had I called? I hadn't counted. Fifty? Sixty?
I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, leaned back into the chair, and closed my eyes.
In the darkness, I saw it again—that image from the end of the hallway. That tall dark figure in a dark suit with three attendants.
He'd pushed open that door and entered, then emerged three minutes later carrying Elise.
The way he held her was steady, practiced, like carrying something that belonged to him.
I pressed the accelerator, the headlights cutting through the darkness before the estate gates.
I didn't know where I was going.
But I knew I couldn't just sit here doing nothing.
---
Isabella's POV:
The message arrived at 3:17 PM.
The sender was my father's secretary.
The wording, as always, was impeccably careful: "Mr. Sinclair has been informed of the Sterling side's latest developments regarding the charity gala. Please contact us if needed."
Translation: Liam had refused.
He'd postponed the engagement.
I set my phone on the coffee table and took a sip of soda water.
The bubbles burst on my tongue, slightly astringent.
The apartment was quiet. Thirty-seventh floor, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of half the city's skyline. I'd designed the interior myself—minimalist, cool-toned, devoid of any unnecessary decoration.
The bookshelf held not fashion magazines but copies of the Harvard Law Review and The Economist. A grand piano occupied a corner of the living room, its closed lid bare of photographs, vases, or any ornamentation whatsoever.
I didn't like excess.
Including excess emotion.
So after setting down my phone, my first action wasn't anger, wasn't calling Liam to demand answers, wasn't responding to my father's secretary.
It was walking to the window and beginning my analysis.
Liam Sterling. Twenty-five years old. Heir apparent to the Sterling family. Raised from childhood under Edwin's indulgence, lacking genuine talent or capability, deeply insecure at his core, masking vulnerability with money and power.
No real respect for women—he viewed them essentially the same way he viewed luxury goods. Possession, display, replacement.
This was my complete assessment of Liam.
Within this assessment existed one variable—Elise.