Chapter 62
Chapter 62
Liam's POV
My hand moved faster than my brain.
The slap landed on her face with a sharp crack. Anna's head snapped to the side, a few strands of hair falling loose to obscure her features.
The room fell silent for two seconds.
Then she slowly turned back to face me. A red mark bloomed across her left cheek, stark and vivid in the dim light.
"Remember who you are." My voice was low, but each word was bitten off with clarity. "If you weren't Elise's cousin, you wouldn't even have the privilege of seeing me."
Anna's lips trembled.
"And I," I leaned closer to her face, staring into her eyes, "am the heir of the Sterling family. You think you can control me with a one-night stand? Dream on. I've slept with more women than you've ever met. Don't think too highly of yourself."
Anna said nothing.
She was shaking—whether from pain, anger, or fear, I couldn't tell. But her expression had changed. That crazed defiance vanished, replaced by something submissive, almost ingratiating.
The speed of her transformation was almost amusing.
"Liam..." Her voice suddenly softened, carrying a hint of grievance. "That's not what I meant. I'm just... standing up for you."
Standing up for me?
"How could Elise treat you like this?" Anna's eyes reddened again, though this time it looked more like an act. "You've been together so long. You've been so good to her. How could she—how could she choose someone else right in front of you? And do that kind of thing on the phone..."
As she spoke, her voice took on a slight sob.
Not a bad performance.
If I hadn't grown up in the Sterling family, I might have fallen for it. But I'd seen too many faces like this—Isabella had used similar expressions during negotiations. Gentle, aggrieved, "I'm thinking of you." Behind it all was always an exchange of interests.
But I wasn't going to call her out.
Because she was right about one thing—Anna was Elise's cousin.
What did that mean? It meant she knew everything about the Miller family. She knew Benjamin and Margaret's weaknesses. She might know things about Elise's past. And at certain times, she could be used as a chess piece.
A chess piece against Elise.
Or a chess piece against Victor.
Or—purely as a tool for release. After all, she'd already proven her willingness.
I pulled a key from my pocket.
It was to an apartment I'd rented six months ago, in the old district not far from here. Originally a place to occasionally escape for peace and quiet, I'd barely used it once things got busy. The furniture was all there, and only I had the key.
I tossed the key to Anna.
She fumbled to catch it, looking bewildered.
"Stay there tonight." I turned toward the door without looking back. "I'll send you the address. Don't bother me again."
Behind me came Anna's voice—this time genuinely surprised, mixed with poorly concealed delight.
"Liam, I—"
The door was already closed.
The cold wind in the corridor hit my face, dispersing some of the alcohol haze. I leaned against the wall for a few seconds, taking a deep breath.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was Elise's number.
No. It was her number now. It used to be her number.
I didn't answer.
I powered it off and shoved it back in my pocket.
When I walked out of the bar, the sky outside was already turning light. Gray-blue dawn spread across the streets, and the air carried the damp scent of earth. An early morning taxi drove past me, its headlights cutting through the dim pre-dawn darkness.
I stood by the roadside and raised my hand to flag down the next one.
---
Elise's POV:
When I woke up, sunlight was already streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I lay in a bed covered with deep gray sheets, the fabric smooth and cool to the touch. The pillow height was just right, and the mattress firmness was perfect—not the kind of softness you sink into, but a supportive medium that let my spine relax.
It took me several seconds to remember where I was.
Victor's home.
More precisely, this house he'd brought me to. Hidden deep in the dirty, chaotic streets of the old district, unremarkable from the outside, but another world within.
I'd been staying here for two days now.
Two days. Forty-eight hours. No harassment from Benjamin. No cold mockery from Margaret. No passive-aggressive looks from Anna. No Sterling family dinners and gatherings that always came with ulterior motives. And I didn't have to check my phone every day for Liam's messages, wondering where he'd spent the night, whether he might suddenly appear at the tattoo shop door today.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
So quiet I wasn't quite used to it.
I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow, taking a deep breath. The pillow carried a faint cedar scent—Victor's scent. Over these two days, it had seeped into all the bedding, the towels, even the air itself.
I didn't dislike this smell.
I could even say... I liked it.
This realization made me frown into the pillow. I shouldn't like it. Victor was a dangerous man. Someone I hadn't fully figured out yet. Someone who could mobilize underground forces, access Zurich bank accounts, arrange for loan sharks to collect on a house—
"Awake?"
The voice came from the doorway.
I lifted my head. Victor leaned against the doorframe, holding a cup in his hand. He wore a black loungewear set, collar open, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone. That half-finished rose tattoo was right there, its color vivid and striking.
He didn't look like a underworld figure. More like an ordinary man who'd just woken up and was drinking coffee.
If you could ignore that coldness in his eyes that was constantly assessing everything.
"What time is it?" My voice was a bit hoarse.
"Ten-thirty."
Ten-thirty. Almost unbelievable for me. Every day at the Miller house, I'd have to get up by seven at the latest to prepare breakfast. Margaret wouldn't make breakfast herself, and Benjamin certainly wouldn't. So that task was always mine.
But here, no one would wake me up.
"Hungry?" Victor walked in and placed the cup on the nightstand. It was warm water. "Lunch is being prepared in the kitchen. Ten more minutes."
I sat up, the blanket sliding down to my waist. I realized I was wearing his shirt—I had no memory of when I'd changed into it. The shirt was oversized, sleeves rolled up twice, the hem nearly reaching mid-thigh.
Victor's gaze lingered on me for a second.
Just one second. Then he looked away, his tone flat: "Go wash up first."