The way Liam's composure faltered when she walked into the room—the tightening of his jaw, the way his gaze skimmed over her dress like he wanted to devour it and erase it all at once—was everything she had planned for.
She had chosen this dress for a reason. For years, Liam Alcaraz had dictated her story, cut it apart with one cruel choice. Tonight, she would remind him: she wasn't a pawn on his board anymore. She was her own weapon.
And by the way every man in the restaurant turned his head, by the way Liam nearly cracked his glass under his grip, she knew her protest had landed.
"Appropriate?" she repeated, voice laced with ice, her neckline daring him to look again. "You drag me out at your convenience, demand I bend to your hours, your whims, and now you want to dictate what I wear?"
She leaned forward, letting the light catch the silk of her dress, knowing it pushed him further to the edge. "You don't own me, Mr. Alcaraz. Not my time. Not my choices. And certainly not my body."
She saw it then—the war inside him. His composure fraying at the edges. The same Liam who had once walked away from her without hesitation was struggling now. Struggling because she had taken the control he craved and turned it against him.
And God, it felt good.
Every word should have enraged him. Instead, it consumed him.
Her defiance, her fire, the taunt in her neckline—all of it clawed under his skin until he was burning alive. She was wild, untamable, intoxicating.
God help him, he wanted to smother that fire. Yet he wanted to burn in it, too.
"You've gotten sharper," he said finally, his voice low, almost dangerous. "The Mia I knew before would have walked away in silence. Now you fight."
Her chin tilted higher, her eyes sparking with fury. "Maybe I learned to stop letting men like you write my story."
The words cut deeper than she knew. His jaw flexed. His grip on his glass tightened until his knuckles whitened. He forced himself to smirk, though the taste of her defiance lingered like smoke in his mouth.
"Careful, Attorney Villaruiz," he murmured. "The last time you crossed me, you paid dearly."
Her expression flickered—just for a heartbeat. But then she smiled, sharp as a blade.
"And this time, Mr. Alcaraz," she said, her voice silk over steel, "you'll be the one who regrets it."
The first course arrived—delicate amuse-bouche served on porcelain so fine it barely seemed real. The waiter set the plates down between them with a bow, retreating quickly under the sharp weight of the tension at their table.
Mia didn't touch hers. She sat with her back straight, eyes locked on him, every inch of her polished steel. "Shall we get down to it, then?" she asked coolly. "Contracts. Terms. You said you wanted clarity."
Her voice was steady, crisp, purely professional. But he wasn't listening.
Not to the words, at least.
He was watching the curve of her mouth, the way the silk of her dress shimmered faintly in the candlelight, how her eyes burned even brighter when she was angry. God, she was beautiful like this—untouchable and untamed.
"Not tonight." His voice came out lower than he intended, rough, final.
Her brows lifted sharply. "Excuse me?"
"I didn't bring you here for business." He leaned back in his chair, sipping his wine slowly, deliberately, knowing it would drive her mad. "I wanted your company. Nothing more."
For the first time all evening, her composure cracked—disbelief sparking into outrage.
Her pen hovered over the notes she had prepared, and for a split second, she wondered if she'd misheard him. But the smug tilt of his mouth told her otherwise.
"You dragged me here," she said slowly, her voice cutting like glass, "demanded my time outside working hours, dictated what I wear, ordered food I didn't want—and now you're telling me this isn't even about business?"
He didn't flinch. "I said I wanted your company."
Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her blood burned. He thought this was a game. Just like before. He thought he could manipulate the board, pull the strings, and she'd move where he wanted.
But not this time.
"Let me make something clear, Mr. Alcaraz." She leaned forward, her neckline daring him again, her eyes sharp enough to cut. "If this is another one of your games, you will never win. Not this time. I'll make sure of it."
Her words landed like a blade driven straight into the table between them.
She rose, silk sweeping as she gathered her bag. Chairs at nearby tables scraped as men glanced over again, but Mia didn't care. Let them look. Let Liam burn.
For a moment, he was frozen.
Her words hit harder than he expected, sharper than the most ruthless boardroom attack. Watching her walk away was like watching fire slip through his fingers—wild, blazing, unstoppable.
Every instinct screamed at him to move. To rise. To follow. To grab her wrist and make her stay, make her hear him out, make her understand that he wasn't playing at all. That this wasn't just about control.
But he didn't.
He sat there, glass still in his hand, torn between fury and something far more dangerous—regret.
Her last words echoed in his head long after she vanished through the doors.
Not this time. I'll make sure of it.
The city glittered below, endless and indifferent, but Liam couldn't see any of it. He stood before the glass wall of his penthouse, jacket discarded, collar undone, a glass of scotch untouched in his hand.
Mia's voice haunted him.
"You don't own me. Not my time. Not my choices. And certainly not my body."
She had said it like a verdict, her eyes burning, her silk dress daring him to defy her. And damn her—she'd been right. Every man in that room had stared at her like she was theirs to consume, and he had nearly lost himself in the fury of it. He should have made her cover up. He should have taken control. Instead, he'd faltered.
She'd seen it too. She'd used it against him.
Liam slammed the glass down on the counter, amber liquid sloshing over the rim. He hated this feeling—this loss of control. He was Alcaraz. No one dictated the terms. No one walked away from him.
And yet she had.
He could still see the sweep of her dress as she left, the way her chin lifted like she had already won.
And God help him, it didn't just infuriate him. It made him want her more.
Her heels clicked against the pavement as she strode away from the hotel, silk dress whispering against her legs. She kept her chin high, her back straight, her pulse hammering. She wanted the world to see her victory. To see that Liam Alcaraz hadn't broken her.
But when she finally slipped into the backseat of a cab, her breath hitched, and the adrenaline cracked into something shakier.
Her reflection in the window stared back at her—painted lips, flawless hair, the plunging neckline that had stolen the room's air. She had chosen it to provoke him, to remind him she wasn't afraid. And it had worked.
But why, then, did her chest ache?
She closed her eyes, her mind betraying her with images she'd fought to bury—Liam's hand in hers years ago, the heat of his kiss, the way he had once looked at her like she was the only woman in the world. Before he had cut her open with betrayal.
Her nails dug into her palm. No. She couldn't go back there. Not now. Not when he was circling her again, trying to control the pieces of her life she had just begun to stitch back together.
"This time," she whispered to the empty cab, "he won't win. I'll make sure of it."
And yet, as the city lights flickered across her reflection, she couldn't ignore the truth clawing at her: he had already rattled her more than she wanted to admit.
"Hey! Are you okay?"
Josh's voice rang out the moment Mia barged into his massive house, slamming the door shut behind her. He blinked at her in surprise, his eyes sweeping over her from head to toe. For a moment, his jaw actually dropped.
"I've never seen you wearing something like this," he said, half-stunned, half-teasing. But the way his eyes softened—warm, proud, a little dazzled—was enough to tell Mia exactly what he was thinking. She looked stunning.
Mia dropped her bag onto the couch and kicked off her heels with a groan. "Blame Liam," she muttered, anger tightening her tone. "I was so pissed. He thinks he can play with me like I'm still that same girl who let him walk all over her."
Josh's brows arched as he folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Oh, I bet his jaw did drop the moment you walked in like that."
Mia snorted, tossing her hair back. "No. He was furious. He actually told me to dress appropriately next time."
Josh shook his head, disbelief and irritation mixing on his face. "Of course he did. Typical Liam—wants the whole world, but the second it stares at you, he can't handle it." His gaze softened again as it swept over her. "Mia, listen to me. I may be gay, but I know beauty when I see it."
He stepped closer, his tone more deliberate now, his eyes locking on hers. "And right now? You look absolutely stunning. Beautiful. Hot. The kind of breathtaking that could stop a man like Liam dead in his tracks—and it clearly did, or he wouldn't have lashed out."
Mia's lips curved into a small, reluctant smile. The tension in her shoulders eased just a fraction at his words, and she reached up to squeeze his arm in silent thanks.
She let out a sigh and flopped onto his couch. "I came straight here. Do you have anything to eat? I'm starving."
Josh burst out laughing, throwing his hands up. "Unbelievable! Your pride—you actually walked out on one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, in a five-star hotel, and left all that food behind?" He shook his head, amused and exasperated all at once.
"Honestly, only you, Mia. Only you could go to war with a billionaire in a silk dress, break his ego in half, and then show up at my place asking for leftovers."
She laughed despite herself, and the sound lightened the air between them.
Josh grinned, reached for her wrist, and tugged her to her feet. "Come on. Let's raid the kitchen. I'll feed you before you faint from all that righteous fury."
As she let him pull her along, Mia couldn't help thinking that maybe, just maybe, she hadn't lost herself at all. Not to Liam. Not to her anger. She still had her pride, her fire—her friends who reminded her of it.
And when they were seated at his kitchen island with plates between them, Josh leaned on his elbows and looked at her seriously. "By the way... if you ever decide you've had enough of Vale's law firm—if you ever want out—you know my office is always in need of an additional legal counsel. I'd pay you every cent Vale does, maybe more. Because, Mia..." His voice softened, sincere. "I don't need you to bend. I just need you to be you. And that's worth everything."
Her chest tightened at his words, warmth blooming where only anger had been before. She smiled, small but real. "You're the best, Josh."
He winked. "Don't you forget it."