Chapter 41

LIAM

Knowing she’s leaving the city makes me feel empty again. She said she just has to wrap up loose ends, then she’ll be back.

Maybe there’s hope for us yet.

Having her here felt strange—like being revived.

She was the air I didn’t know I needed until it was too late.

We talked and laughed yesterday, and for a while, it felt like old times—only better.

Her dark hair, those icy blue eyes—they’re stuck in my head.

The way she smells, the sound of her laugh—they’ve haunted me since she left.

Beth might be carrying my child, but she will never have my heart.

When I arrive at Mom’s dinner, I look for her to let her know Viv can’t make it.

I can’t find her in the living room, so I start looking elsewhere.

There are people all over the place—though not as many as the party she threw last night.

I hear voices coming from the dining room and head that way, hoping it’s just my mother hounding the staff about everything being perfect.

She’s always different when my father’s around—everything’s a competition.

It has to be bigger. Cost more.

More booze, more people—just more.

“We can’t tell him,” my father’s gruff voice says.

“You have to. If you don’t, I will,” my mother snaps back. “James. So help me God.”

I freeze. Her tone is sharp. Lethal.

I hold my breath and press myself against the edge of the door.

“No,” a third voice cuts in—familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

“Of course ~you~ wouldn’t want him to know.”

~Know what?~ What are my parents keeping from me?

“It’s ~my~ child, and I’ll do what I want. He doesn’t need to know anything.”

The voice clicks into place. Beth.

I’m confused, not fully understanding what I’m hearing.

“Do you know what will happen if he finds out?” she hisses.

“And? If I figured it out, so will he. He’s not stupid, James! My God, you’re—” Mom sounds exhausted.

“He took the DNA test. It came back positive. As far as he knows, there’s irrefutable proof it’s his,” my father spits.

“But it’s not, James! It’s ~yours~!” she screams.

My jaw drops.

My father? Beth and my father?

I shift off balance, my body swaying and causing the door to creak, giving me away.

The conversation stops. Everybody looks toward the door.

A weight lifts, clearing my shoulders.

I look at the three of them, all of them staring back at me.

My mother looks proud. And in that moment, I understand.

I turn and leave, ignoring Beth as she calls after me, begging me to stop.

I don’t. I’ve heard enough.

I need air.

I pace in front of my car, heart hammering.

Beth—she’s been playing a role this whole time.

Using me. Using my family.

I pull out my phone and call Viv. She doesn’t answer, so I text instead.

Vivianne

We need to talk. Tonight. It’s urgent.

***

A little while later, she’s sitting on the couch across from me in her hotel room, arms folded, eyes cautious.

I tell her everything—about the conversation I overheard, about Beth, about the DNA test—rigged, no doubt.

Then I tell her the rest.

“I should’ve done this sooner. I’m going to take him down. I’m going through with our plan,” I say.

Viv blinks, uncertain. “You’re sure?”

I nod once.

“For what he did to you. For what he’s doing to me. He won’t get away with it. Not anymore.”

She doesn’t speak, but her body stills, like her breath has caught.

“I didn’t go to the police then because I was scared—of what it would do to the company, to my mother, to everything I thought I was supposed to protect.”

“I started working with a lawyer a while ago. I have the footage—security logs at the office and outside his house. Witnesses who saw me leave his house with bloodied knuckles.

“And there are messages. Enough to open a case. Enough to get him arrested.”

“And the board?” she asks.

“They’re all ready—waiting for me to call for the vote.” Hope blooms in my chest at the look on her face.

“What are we waiting for, then?” she asks, inching closer.

“Morning,” I say, the room suddenly charged. “We’re waiting for morning. Stay. Help me take him down.”

“Okay.” Her voice is small, but her gaze stays locked on mine—a million things swirling in those beautiful eyes.

“Hey, what are y—”

I scoop her into my arms, pulling her close, kissing her like she’s rain after a year-long drought.

The rest of the world doesn’t matter.

Just her.

“What—” she starts, but I kiss her again, pressing her to the wall, my hands in her hair as I devour her.

“Liam,” she breathes.

I growl—the sound of my name on her tongue is a beautiful thing.

I don’t feel guilt.

I don’t feel hurt.

I feel nothing but love. And hope.

She’s forgiven me. And it’s time I do the same.

It’s time I prove I’m worthy of her.

I search her face—flushed, glowing—mesmerized by the gleam in her eyes.

“I don’t— Okay, so what does that—?”

“It means I’m yours, if you want me. All yours. No contract, no conditions. Just me and you,” I say, my heart feeling full, vulnerable as I lay myself bare.

“Mine?”

“If you’ll have me, Viv. Please—please have me.”

I wait, holding my breath as she takes it in.

A smile slowly spreads across her face. She throws her arms around me and kisses me—like she hasn’t seen me in years, like I’m the only person left in the world.

I lose myself in her, letting go of everything else.

VIVIANNE

I’m holding a thick manilla envelope, Liam’s hand resting on my knee as the car pulls into the station. Nerves flood me, a wave of nausea settling low in my stomach.

“Liam.” I glance at him, searching the calm in his eyes.

“We’ve got this, Viv,” he says. “First stop here. Then his house. Then the board. I’ve already called a meeting—they’ll be waiting for us.” He squeezes my knee.

When we climb out, I tighten my grip on the envelope like it might fly away. Liam and I walk side by side into the precinct.

“Detective Colton, please,” Liam says to the woman behind the desk.

Her auburn hair is pulled into a neat bun, her navy-blue uniform crisp and perfectly tailored. She nods and picks up the phone, dialing.

It’s not long before a man appears, his brown eyes locking on Liam’s. They shake hands, then he turns to me and does the same.

“Detective Eric Colton.”

“Vivianne Pierce. Nice to meet you,” I say with a polite smile.

“We spoke on the phone. I’ve brought the evidence,” Liam says, motioning to the envelope.

I hand it over, watching as the detective undoes the clasp and peeks inside.

“Come with me. We’ll need your statements,” he says, already turning down the hallway.

We’re led into a small room—just a table, three chairs, and a camera.

After what feels like an eternity, our statements are taken. Detective Colton reviews most of the evidence with us, asking questions and taking notes.

“All right. You’re free to leave,” he says at last, standing. “I’ll pick him up. We’ll get this scumbag off the streets.”

We leave the police station and head straight for Mr. Stryder’s home. Liam is determined to see his father in cuffs—ruined—and I can’t say I blame him.

On the way, he makes a short call, a satisfied look settling on his face.

We wait out front, the silence thick between us. Then I hear it—the sirens. Two cop cars roll in, lights flashing. A swarm of news vans follows.

I grip the edge of my seat, heart racing, watching it all unfold like I’m outside my body.

The door opens, and I spot Nan first—her expression solemn as she speaks with them briefly. I wonder if she ever suspected.

Kim appears a moment later, tense and fidgeting.

And then—he comes out

Mr. Stryder is just as smug and composed as ever.

Until the handcuffs click into place.

His expression falters, and for a split second, I see it—the shock, the fear.

Good. Let it sink in. Let him feel even a fraction of what he made me feel.

Kim starts to panic, pacing and shouting.

The reporters shout questions, cameras flashing in rapid bursts. It’s chaos. But all I can focus on is the man being loaded into the back of the squad car, no longer untouchable. No longer in control.

A weight I didn’t know I was carrying lifts just a little.

Only when the doors shut behind him do I let myself exhale.

Liam reaches for my hand, and I take it without hesitation.

We don’t say a word as we leave and head straight for Stryder Corp.

The drive is quiet, tense—charged with everything we’ve just done and everything still to come.

At the boardroom table, I sit beside Liam, our fingers entwined and resting on the glass tabletop. Liam starts the meeting, laying everything out—the charges, the looming media storm, the blow to the company’s reputation.

There are eleven board members, plus Liam. One by one, they nod along.

“I move that James Stryder be removed from his seat, stripped of ownership, shares, and all voting rights,” Liam says, glancing around the table.

“I second,” one of the members says with a firm nod.

“All in favor, raise your hand.”

I squeeze Liam’s hand.

All twelve hands rise.

“Motion carried.”