LIAMS POV
Some mornings feel wrong from the moment I open my eyes.
Today is one of them.
The sunlight that leaks through the blinds is too bright. The room feels too quiet. And the air—light, cold—reminds me of a day I try not to think about. A night, actually. A breaking point I buried years ago and still haven't managed to outrun.
I sit up in bed and scrub a hand over my face.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand. A message. Probably Edward, asking if I'm still alive. Or Becka, pretending she's checking in about work when she's really sniffing around for validation.
I ignore it and swing my legs out of bed.
The hardwood floor is cold under my feet as I walk into the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess. My jaw is tight. My eyes look like I haven't slept in weeks.
Maybe I haven't—not properly.
I brush my teeth, wash my face, and throw on a suit without thinking about it. Black. Sharp. Intimidating. People behave better when they feel a little afraid of you.
My phone buzzes again.
Then again.
I finally look.
It's Becka.
Becka:Good morning, sir. I've organized the files for your 8 a.m. meeting. Sophia from Finance requested to confirm your attendance—
I lock the phone before finishing the message.
I don't want to read anything she sends. Not today. Not when the ground beneath my thoughts feels thin and fragile.
I grab my keys and head out.
When I walk into Global Legacy Inc., the lobby is already buzzing, workers moving fast, voices low. They straighten the moment they see me.
Fear. Respect. A mix of both.
I don't care which one it is.
Edward is waiting at the end of the hall, leaning against the wall with a coffee in hand. He looks too awake. Too put together. Too steady for my liking.
"You look like hell," he says.
"Thank you for the warm greeting."
He pushes off the wall and hands me the coffee he brought for me—black, no sugar, no nonsense. I take it without a word.
"What happened?" he asks.
"Nothing."
"Liam."
"Drop it."
He studies me with those annoyingly perceptive eyes. For a moment I think he'll keep pushing, but he sighs and lets it go.
"Fine," he says. "But you're scaring the interns."
"I scare the interns every day."
"Today seems worse."
I take a drink of the coffee. Hot. Bitter. Strong. Exactly how I need it.
"Good," I say.
He huffs a laugh, but it's not amused. "Try not to bite anyone's head off before lunchtime."
"No promises."
He shakes his head and walks with me toward the elevator. He doesn't ask again. He never does—not until he knows I'm ready.
As the elevator doors close, the silence presses in.
For a moment, I see something—something sharp and unwelcome—flash in front of my mind.
A small apartment.
Dim lighting.
A woman's laugh that used to feel like home.
A man's voice in the background that didn't belong there.
I clench my jaw and force the memory away.
Not today.
By 9 a.m., I've already dismissed two employees, snapped at one of my project heads, and walked out halfway through a presentation because the numbers weren't where they should be.
Global Legacy is the best because I demand it.
But today, the leash on my temper is too thin.
Becka stands outside my office, hugging a pile of folders like a shield.
"Sir," she starts carefully, "the interior proposal from Starlight Enterprises—"
"Not today."
She swallows. "But Leonard is expecting—"
"I said not today."
She flinches at my tone, then tries again, quieter. "Of course. I'll relay that."
I walk into my office without waiting for her to finish.
The door closes behind me with a heavy thud.
My office is spotless. Modern black furniture. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Everything in perfect order.
A stark contrast to the chaos in my chest.
I drop into my chair. For a second, I stare at the skyline.
Buildings rise like giants. Cars crawl like tiny ants. Life goes on, indifferent to whatever storm hits me today.
I hate that.
I reach for the stack of documents on my desk, but my hand stops when I see the date in the corner of my calendar.
April 17.
My stomach tightens.
I close my eyes for a moment.
Of course.
Of course it's this day.
The day I found out.
The day I walked into an apartment I paid for and saw another man's jacket draped over the back of her chair.
The day I learned that love is a weapon people grin while using.
I inhale through my nose.
I should have stayed home.
I should have taken the damn day off.
I should have burned the whole calendar.
A knock hits the door.
I ignore it.
A second knock. More hesitant.
"What?" I snap.
Becka opens the door just enough to peek in. "I'm sorry, sir. You asked to be reminded when your meeting with Finance was ready to begin."
"I'm not going."
Her face falls. "Okay. I'll reschedule."
She leaves quickly, closing the door behind her.
I look down at my hands. They're shaking.
Barely—but enough.
I flex them, force the tremor to stop.
I hate today.
I hate the weakness it drags out of me.
I hate the memories that claw their way to the surface like they have every right to still exist.
I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling.
It's been years.
I should be over it.
I shouldn't still feel the echo of betrayal like a bruise under my ribs.
But some wounds don't fade.
Not when they're stitched into the way you see the world.
My phone buzzes.
A name flashes across the screen.
Adriana.
My stomach drops so hard I almost feel it physically.
Her.
After all this time?
The message preview pops up before I can stop myself from reading it.
Adriana:Hope you're doing well, Liam. I heard your company is expanding. Congratulations.
My blood turns to ice.
Congratulations.
Like she didn't tear my life in half.
Like she didn't smile while breaking me.
I don't open the message.
I delete it immediately.
I delete the thread.
I block the number.
I throw the phone onto the desk harder than necessary.
The noise echoes through the office.
My breath shakes. I hate that too.
I stand abruptly and walk to the window. The glass is cool when I press a hand against it. The city is too bright, too alive.
How dare the world keep moving when mine once stopped?
A knock interrupts my spiraling. Not hesitant this time—firm, solid.
It's Edward.
He walks in without waiting.
"You fired the wrong guy," he says.
"I fire whoever I want."
"Yes, but usually you fire them for a reason."
"They were incompetent."
"They spilled coffee."
"They spilled it twice."
He sighs and sits across from me. "Talk to me."
"No."
"Liam."
"No."
He leans forward. "Okay. Then I'll guess. Something set you off this morning. Something specific."
I straighten my cuffs. "Drop it."
"Was it her?"
My jaw freezes.
He knows.
Of course he knows. He always knows.
I don't answer.
"You should've taken today off," he says quietly.
"I don't take days off."
"You should've taken this one."
I stare out the window again. "It doesn't matter."
"It clearly does."
"It doesn't," I repeat.
He runs a hand through his hair. "You can either talk, or you can keep unleashing your inner demon on the entire company."
"They'll survive."
"Will they?"
I don't respond.
He exhales sharply. "Fine. Be stubborn. But at least pretend to be human until the end of the day."
"Pretending is exhausting."
"So is damage control."
He stands. "I'll have your afternoon meetings postponed."
"Don't."
"I am anyway."
I grit my teeth. "Edward—"
"You're not functional today. I'm not letting you sabotage half the company because your past won't stay buried."
I glare at him. "Get out."
He holds my stare for a few seconds.
Then he nods slowly. "Call me if you need anything."
"I won't."
"Call me anyway."
He leaves.
The office is silent again.
Too silent.
I walk back to my desk, pick up the phone again, and check my blocked messages even though I know Adriana can't message me anymore.
The rage comes in cold, then hot.
What does she want now?
Why message me after years of silence?
What right does she have?
I clench my jaw so hard it aches.
Work.
I need work.
It's the only thing that ever pulls me out of this.
I yank open a file.
But it's for the upcoming collaboration with Starlight Enterprises—and the moment I see their company name, I think of her assistant.
Elizabeth.
Calm.
Steady.
Unimpressed by my temper.
She didn't flinch the last time I looked at her. She didn't scramble. She didn't try to impress me.
She just… existed.
Quiet but unyielding.
Something about her steadiness irritated me and anchored me at the same time.
I close the file.
I don't want to think about her today either.
I don't want to think about anyone.
The phone rings.
I answer it with a curt, "What?"
Becka's voice comes through, soft and overly careful. "Sir, the design team is waiting for your feedback on the conceptual sketches. Should I tell them to hold?"
I exhale. "Send them in."
"Yes, sir."
I hang up and sit back.
The door opens two minutes later. The design team files in—three people. Nervous, uncertain, overly formal.
They set the sketches on my desk.
I look at the first one.
It's not bad.
But today, everything feels wrong.
"This is incomplete," I say coldly.
The designer stiffens. "Sir, it's just a rough—"
"I didn't ask for excuses."
He swallows. "We can revise—"
"You're going to redo all of them."
All three freeze.
One finally speaks. "All of them? Sir, this is—"
"Is there a problem?" I ask quietly.
They shake their heads.
I lean back. "Good. Close the door on your way out."
They leave quickly.
The door shuts.
Silence again.
I press my thumb against my temple.
I hate the way my chest feels—tight, heavy, volatile.
I hate the memory in my head.
I hate that a single message from the past could unravel me like this.
I stand abruptly and walk to the window again.
Monday.
The board meeting with Starlight is Monday.
I will be composed by then.
I'll be ice again.
I'll be the version of myself the world expects.
But today… today is a day I should've stayed home.
Should've locked myself in a room.
Should've let the past haunt me in private instead of letting everyone taste the shrapnel of it.
I close my eyes.
I hear the echo of Adriana's laugh.
I hear the quiet apology she whispered years too late.
I hear myself saying nothing, because what do you say when the person you trusted the most is the one who destroyed you?
I open my eyes.
Enough.
I turn from the window and force myself back to the desk.
I will work until I can't think.
I will push until the past loses its grip.
I will bury the memory under numbers, meetings, decisions—anything.
Because the world doesn't care that today breaks me.
And it can't matter.
Not anymore.