Chapter 32

VIVIANNE

Kim compliments my dress when she greets us.

~Score one for me. ~

I half expect Liam’s dad to be standing by the entrance, talking too loud and smiling too wide. But he’s nowhere in sight—and Kim is actually being pleasant.

“Dinner isn’t ready just yet. We hit a snag with the turkey,” she says. “So just make yourselves at home.”

She looks flawless, aside from the slight bags under her eyes.

Somehow, even those work for her.

Maybe she really is a witch.

She disappears, leaving Liam and me alone.

After the last two nights in California, something’s shifted. There’s a spark in his eyes when he looks at me—one I haven’t seen in a while.

I lost count of how many times I caught him staring at me on the jet.

“I really enjoyed last night,” he says, breaking the silence.

“It was really nice, wasn’t it?” I laugh softly, settling onto the couch. Liam sits beside me. “It’s been a minute since we’ve just—clicked like that.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, lighting his eyes.

I hate what that smile stirs in me, especially because I can’t do anything about it.

“And your gift?” He raises his eyebrows. “I can’t believe you remembered—it was such a small detail.”

“I’m really glad you like it.”

His fingers graze mine. “I ~love~ it. I might hang those plaques in my office,” he says, like he’s already made the decision.

Before long, Kim calls us into the dining room.

The table’s dressed to impress—wicker chargers, gold-rimmed white plates, and tiny place card holders shaped like maple leaves. Gold napkin rings, orange-tinted water goblets.

The table is filled with food—way too much for just a handful of people.

Liam and I take our seats as Mr. Stryder walks in.

“Hello,” he says flatly, barely glancing at me.

He sits down across from us with practiced ease, like this is just another family dinner.

Everything about him makes my shoulders inch up.

I’m surprised we’re the only ones here.

“Where are Sarah and Jenny?” Liam asks, as if reading my mind.

“Your sisters couldn’t make it,” Mr. Stryder says, bored.

“Sarah said Jacob and the baby are a little under the weather,” Kim adds, smiling politely. “Jennifer is spending the day with William’s family.”

She shoots a loaded look toward her husband—tight-lipped, barely masked.

He doesn’t react.

“Well, the table looks lovely,” I offer.

“Thank you,” Kim says with a soft smile.

There’s something different about her today.

Nicer.

Calmer.

Or maybe I just want it to be that way.

“Well, let’s eat,” Kim says.

As if on cue, a few staff members emerge and begin serving us.

The table holds many of the Thanksgiving staples—turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, mac and cheese, and rolls.

The whole nine yards.

After dinner, once everyone is stuffed and happy—except Mr. Stryder, who I’m pretty sure takes pills to maintain his sour mood—Liam and I slip away down the hall.

Kim catches us before we get far, waving us into the living room.

Mr. Stryder is already seated, looking like he’s about to boil over.

Liam tenses beside me.

Kim, unbothered, gestures to the coffee table where Monopoly is already set up.

I flash a wide smile. “Wow, I love board games!”

I can’t remember the last time I played. My family hated board games, so I rarely got to join in.

Liam’s knee brushes mine every time he shifts, sending warm pulses through me that I try not to read into. But no matter how I fight it, the feelings keep creeping in.

After the game and a slice of pumpkin pie, we head upstairs, both worn out from the travel—and from dealing with his father’s ~wonderful~ mood all evening.

“You were amazing out there, Viv,” Liam says, closing the door behind us. “And that dress? You should’ve warned me you were a goddess when we met.”

His grin catches me off guard.

“What can I say? I’m otherworldly.” I laugh.

We fall into an easy rhythm as we get ready for bed, talking quietly. When the lights go out, we just lie there—awake, still, side by side.

It takes a long time, well after Liam’s soft snores begin, for me to finally drift off.

I wake with a start.

Panting.

Sweat beads on my chest and forehead.

Liam mumbles and shifts beside me, still asleep.

I slip out of bed and steady myself.

~When’s the last time I had a nightmare?~

I glance over at Liam, then head for the kitchen.

I just need a minute.

And maybe a bowl of ice cream.

We haven’t seen Nan since we got here. I wonder if we’ll see her before we leave.

The kitchen is dark and still, lit only by moonlight spilling across the spotless counters.

This house is massive. Every detail screams money.

I scoop two helpings of chocolate ice cream into a bowl and return the tub to the freezer. The first bite is cold and rich, and I let it melt on my tongue.

Then—hands grip my waist. Warmth presses against my back.

For a second, I relax into it.

Until the scent hits me. Bourbon. Musk.

My blood turns to ice.

Mr. Stryder.

I spin around, but he steps in, pinning me to the counter.

I twist my head away, instinctively trying to escape.

“Oh, come on, doll-face. We’re alone now. It’s okay.”

His voice is low, his breath hot against my neck as his lips graze my skin. I shudder, revolted.

“Get off me.” I push at him, but he’s stronger—he shoves me back, the edge of the counter digging into my spine.

“Stop trying to deny it. We both know you want this.” His hands roam.

I grit my teeth, fighting him.

He grabs a fistful of my hair, tilting my head so he can bite and kiss my neck. Then he turns me around, bending me over the cold counter.

Everything in me screams ~run~, but my body won’t move.

“Stop,” I plead. “Please, stop.”

My voice only seems to excite him. He growls, slipping a hand beneath my shirt.

Tears spill silently down my cheeks. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“What the—”

Suddenly, his weight is gone.

I open my eyes just in time to see Liam’s fist slam into his father’s jaw.

Mr. Stryder crashes to the floor with a dull thud.

“Don’t you ~ever~ touch her,” Liam snarls. “If you so much as ~look~ at her again—” His voice drops to a terrifying calm. “I will kill you.”

Mr. Stryder stares up at him, dabbing at his busted lip. His fingertips come away red with blood.

Then Liam is at my side, wrapping his arms around me, gently cradling the back of my head. I collapse into him, sobs racking my body.

“Shh—it’s okay,” he whispers, scooping me into his arms and carrying me upstairs.

I sit curled on the couch while he packs. We didn’t bring much, so it doesn’t take long.

Soon, we’re in the car, heading home.

Silence stretches between us.

I don’t know what to say.

Liam’s knuckles are ghostly white as they grip the steering wheel, his jaw locked.

The car barrels down the interstate. I feel the tension ease—just slightly—his shoulders drop and his eyes lose some of their edge.

“Liam.”

My voice is small, but it gets his attention.

“I’m sorry.”

I swallow hard, guilt and uncertainty forming a tight lump in my throat.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. ~I’m~ the one who should be sorry. Who ~is~ sorry.” He reaches over, his hand resting gently on my knee.

“No. It wasn’t you.”

I look at the window, my voice trembling. “I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry your dad is who he is. I’m sorry that you had to do that.”

“Viv.”

He exhales sharply, pulling the car onto the shoulder. The engine hums as he puts it in park.

“I am ~so~ sorry I ever put you in that position.” His voice cracks. “Are you—are you okay?”

The question breaks the fragile resolve I’ve been trying to hold together.

Tears spill over before I can stop them, trailing down my cheeks as a chill settles into my bones.

“Come here,” Liam whispers, reaching for me.

I let him pull me across the console, into the curve of his body.

He holds me there, arms tight and trembling, his breath jagged at my temple.

For a while, it’s just us. The dark road. The soft sound of my crying.

Then Liam speaks, low and sharp.

“He thinks this is the end of it. But it’s not. He’s going to pay for what he did to you.”

I lift my head, startled by the calm steel in his tone.

“I don’t care if it takes months. Years. I don’t care what it costs me.”

His eyes are locked on the road, but his hand tightens around mine like a vow.

“He’ll never touch you again. Never scare you again.”

In the quiet, we go over everything—dates, lawyers, any evidence we could get on him. Potential witnesses. The lies. Every step we’ll take to bring him down.

By the time we reach the city limits, the path is clear. We know exactly what has to happen next.