The city stretched out beneath him, glittering and endless, but Liam barely saw it. His penthouse windows framed the skyline like a painting, all steel and glass and light. He should have felt powerful standing here—he always did. Tonight, he only felt hollow.
A half-drunk glass of scotch sat untouched on the counter. His jacket was thrown carelessly over the arm of a chair, his tie discarded somewhere on the floor. None of his usual precision mattered because all he could see, all he could hear, was her.
Mia, in that dress.
The silk clinging to every inch of her, the daring neckline, the way every man in the restaurant had turned to stare. He'd wanted to cover her, shield her, tear that damned dress off just so no one else could see. His fingers had twitched toward his jacket, the urge burning through him. But he'd stopped himself. Control. Always control.
And she had seen it.
She had known.
"Appropriate," she had repeated, eyes blazing. You don't own me. Not my time. Not my choices. And certainly not my body.
The words seared through him now as sharply as they had at the table. No one spoke to him like that. No one defied him without consequence. And yet... he hadn't stopped her. He hadn't even followed her when she walked out, silk sweeping behind her like a victory banner.
For the first time in years, Liam Alcaraz had been left sitting still.
His jaw ached from clenching. He hated the way she unsettled him, hated that she still had this power to strip his composure bare.
But beneath the anger, beneath the humiliation, was something darker. Something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Need.
Her fire had consumed him. Her defiance, her sharp words, the curve of her mouth when she smiled in triumph—it was intoxicating. Infuriating. Addictive.
And her lips—God, her lips. Painted red, curved with mocking sweetness, daring him to try and tame her. He could still see them parting around every word of defiance, still remember the ghost of their softness against his years ago. He wanted to silence them with his own, to erase the memory of her smile by tasting it again, by taking it until it was his.
He pressed his palms against the cool glass of the window, staring down at the glittering city below. She thought she had won tonight. She thought walking away had put her above him.
But Mia Villaruiz had no idea who she was dealing with.
Liam's reflection in the glass was sharp, dangerous, a man unraveling. His voice dropped into the empty penthouse, low and certain.
"You'll regret walking away, Mia."
But when he closed his eyes, it wasn't revenge that filled him. It was the memory of her fire. Her lips. Her mouth curving in defiance.
And the unbearable truth that for the first time in years, Liam Alcaraz wasn't sure if he wanted to conquer her... or fall to her flames.
The Vale & Associates lobby was usually quiet at eight a.m.—just the hum of phones, the soft clack of heels against marble, and the low shuffle of papers being organized for the day's grind. But this morning, the air felt different. Electric. Heavy.
Because Liam Alcaraz was standing in the middle of it.
Tall. Impeccably dressed. His presence commanding so much attention that even senior partners who rarely blinked in boardrooms stole glances at him like nervous interns. His sharp gaze scanned the floor once, and people froze mid-step, uncertain whether to speak or bow.
Mia stepped off the elevator with a stack of files in her arms, her pulse stuttering. She hadn't expected to see him—not here, not now, not under her firm's roof where she thought she held the advantage.
But of course, Liam Alcaraz never played fair.
Before she could move, Lisbeth from litigation breezed forward, her smile dazzling, her hand brushing her hair back as she approached him. "Mr. Alcaraz," she purred, her voice dripping with a practiced sweetness. "What a surprise. Do you need assistance? I'd be more than happy to help with whatever you—"
"Where is Mia Villaruiz?"
The words cut through her flirtation like a blade. Liam's tone was low, clipped, not unkind but undeniably final. His eyes didn't waver from their path, didn't even glance at Lisbeth. It was as if she weren't standing there at all.
Lisbeth faltered, her smile stiffening, but she tried again, placing her hand lightly on his arm. "Well, if you'd like, I can find her for you. In the meantime, perhaps I could—"
He looked down at her hand, then back into her eyes, his own gaze so piercing that Lisbeth dropped her touch as though burned. "I'm not here for you," Liam said simply, his voice carrying across the lobby like an edict.
And then his gaze shifted—straight to Mia.
Their eyes locked.
Every sound in the office seemed to fade, every breath caught between them. The entire room knew in that instant who he had come for.
Mia's heart slammed against her ribs, her grip tightening on the files until the edges bit into her palms. She forced herself to straighten, to meet his stare with the same defiance she'd carried last night.
Because if Liam Alcaraz wanted a battle on her turf, in broad daylight, she was ready.
Mia closed the door behind them, the faint murmur of voices from the lobby still carrying in her ears. She set the stack of files onto her desk with deliberate care, refusing to let him see the tremor running through her fingers.
"You had no right to come here," she said evenly, turning to face him. Her voice was calm, but her pulse thundered.
Liam didn't bother to sit. He prowled the room instead, hands tucked loosely in his pockets, gaze sweeping over her office as though it were a courtroom he already owned. Finally, his eyes returned to her, sharp and unrelenting.
"I warned Vale," he said quietly, dangerously. "My counsel moves when I say, where I say. And when I want to see you, Mia, I will."
Her chin lifted. "This isn't one of your boardrooms, Mr. Alcaraz. You don't get to bark orders here and expect me to kneel."
He stopped in front of her desk, close enough that the faint heat of him pressed against her space. "Funny," he murmured, his gaze flicking over her face, pausing at her lips. "Because last night, you did show up when I called. And you didn't look like someone who hated playing the game."
Her breath caught. For a fraction of a second, memory flickered—the way his eyes had burned over her dress, the way she'd felt his restraint like a live wire between them. But she forced the heat down, burying it beneath steel.
"That wasn't obedience," she shot back. "That was protest. And don't mistake the difference. I won't let you pull me around like a puppet again."
His jaw tightened. For a moment, silence stretched—thick, charged, dangerous. Then, with a sudden movement, he leaned across her desk, bracing his palms against the wood. The space between them vanished.
"You keep saying that," he said, his voice a low growl meant only for her. "You keep telling me I don't own you. And yet every word out of your mouth, every fire in your eyes—" his gaze dropped once more, lingering on her lips, "—screams that you're still fighting me. Still thinking about me."
Mia's nails dug into the edge of her desk, fury and something far more treacherous warring inside her. She met his stare head-on, refusing to back away even as her pulse betrayed her.
"You're wrong," she whispered, her tone deadly calm. "I don't think about you, Mr. Alcaraz. I think about winning. And this time, I will."
His smirk curved slowly, though his eyes betrayed something harsher, rawer beneath the surface. "Careful, Attorney Villaruiz. Every time you swear you've won against me... you only end up deeper in my world."
Before she could reply, a knock at the door shattered the thick silence. A junior associate poked their head in, stammering something about signatures.
Mia seized the moment, straightening to her full height. "Thank you, I'll handle it," she said briskly, dismissing them. When she looked back, Liam was still there, still leaning over her desk, his gaze dark with something that unsettled her to her core.
But she held her ground. "This meeting is over, Mr. Alcaraz. You may leave my office."
For a long beat, he didn't move. Then he pushed off the desk, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Not over," he said softly, a promise more than a warning. And with that, he turned and left, his presence lingering like smoke in the room long after he'd gone.
Mia exhaled shakily, her hand trembling as she reached for her pen. But her lips curved into a cold, dangerous smile.
Because whatever game Liam thought he was playing, she would make sure this time—this time—she wouldn't lose.
The stares followed him all the way through the glass doors of Vale & Associates. He could feel them—every whisper, every wide-eyed glance—as if the entire firm had witnessed his undoing.
Liam's steps were steady, precise, but inside he was anything but. Her voice still rang in his head, sharp as steel: "You don't own me." The way she'd leaned across her desk, fire in her eyes, daring him to break.
His driver opened the car door, but Liam didn't get in right away. He stood at the curb, the sunlight glaring against the steel towers around him, his reflection staring back at him in the glass façade of the building.
She thought she'd won. She thought sending him out of her office like some unimportant client proved she held the power.
And God help him, maybe she had. Because instead of fury alone, all he felt was need. The memory of her lips inches from his, the stubborn lift of her chin, the defiance that made him want to crush her and worship her in the same breath.
By the time he slid into the car, his jaw was set like iron. "Back to the tower," he ordered flatly.
But as the car pulled away, his reflection in the tinted glass betrayed him—a man not in control, but unraveling.
Mia Villaruiz, he thought grimly. You're not done with me. Not by a long shot.
The door closed behind him, and for a long moment, Mia just stood there, staring at the empty space he left behind. Her office felt smaller, charged, as though his presence still clung to the air.
When she finally stepped out into the corridor, every head turned. Conversations cut off mid-sentence, papers shuffled nervously, and she caught the unmistakable sting of whispers following her.
Lisbeth was waiting—of course she was. She leaned against the reception desk like a queen surveying her court, arms crossed, lips pursed in something between curiosity and smug delight. Her eyes glittered as she looked Mia up and down.
"Well," Lisbeth said loudly, making sure everyone within earshot caught it. "Vale's golden girl gets a surprise visit from Liam Alcaraz himself. That's not exactly... normal. He doesn't come unannounced unless something's wrong." She tilted her head, her smirk sharpening. "Tell me, Mia, what did you do to make him storm into your office?"
A ripple of whispers ran down the hall. Colleagues exchanged wide-eyed glances, some pitying, some eager for scandal. Lisbeth's smile widened, the kind of smile that belonged to someone waiting for a rival to stumble.
"Careful," she added, voice dripping with faux concern. "High-profile clients like him don't tolerate mistakes. One wrong move and—" She snapped her fingers, the sound sharp in the charged silence. "—you'll fall harder than anyone here."
The heat of twenty pairs of eyes burned into Mia's back. But she refused to let them see her flinch. She drew herself up taller, her expression smooth and professional, even though her pulse still hadn't steadied.
"You can rest assured," Mia said evenly, her voice slicing through the whispers, "that there's nothing wrong with the way I'm handling the Alcaraz account. And if Mr. Alcaraz decided to walk into this office unannounced, then perhaps he wasn't here to find fault at all." She allowed herself the faintest smile, calm and precise. "Perhaps he just hoped to get another glimpse of me after our first meeting."
Gasps rippled across the hall. Lisbeth's smirk faltered, if only for a moment.
Mia wanted to say more—wanted to shut her up with the truth burning inside her chest. That the man Lisbeth fluttered her lashes at had once been hers. That he had been her first everything—first kiss, first love, first heartbreak. That the connection Lisbeth dreamed about was already written in her blood and bone.
But Mia swallowed the words, locking them where they belonged. Her personal life was hers. Her past with Liam was not for this office, not for gossip, not for Lisbeth's hungry smirk.
Still, as she turned away, she caught the other woman's expression—sour, uncertain, her envy showing through the cracks. And God, how Mia longed to tell her the truth just to watch her choke on it.
Instead, she walked back into her office, shutting the door firmly behind her. Only then did her shoulders sag for a heartbeat, the weight of the encounter pressing in.
Because no matter how she dressed it up as business, Liam's gaze still lingered—dark, consuming, impossible to forget.