Chapter 3

The memory of their first few months together flashed in Chloe' s mind, a bitter contrast to the man standing before her. Back then, after the corporate battles had cooled into a simmering passion, he had pursued her with a singular focus. He' d show up at her studio with her favorite takeout, his presence a silent, comforting weight in the chaotic world of fashion. He' d listen for hours as she talked about her designs, his usually cold eyes softening with an interest she now realized was probably just a tactic. He had made her feel seen, cherished. It was a cruel illusion.

"Get in the car, Chloe," Liam said, his voice leaving no room for argument. It wasn' t a request.

She stood her ground. "No."

He took a step closer, his height and presence overwhelming. "You have no money and nowhere to go. Your father has cut you off, and he sent those men after you. Do you want to go back to him? Do you want to marry Nathan?"

The name hit her like a punch. He knew. Of course, he knew. He knew everything. The thought that he knew about the marriage proposal and did nothing, said nothing, until she was cornered on a dark street, sent a fresh wave of fury through her.

"That' s none of your business," she said, her voice tight.

"Everything you do is my business," he stated, as if it were an undeniable fact of nature. He opened the car door. "Get in. You can stay at my place until you figure things out."

Defeated and exhausted, Chloe slid into the supple leather seat. The car was an extension of him-impersonal, luxurious, and suffocating. The ride to his penthouse was silent and thick with tension.

He led her into the apartment that had been their home. It felt alien now, every object a monument to a lie.

"You can have the guest room," he said, gesturing down the hall. "I' ll have some things sent over for you in the morning."

"Don' t bother," Chloe said, stopping in the middle of the living room. "This is temporary, Liam. I' m not staying. I' m not one of your projects you can control. As soon as I find a job and an apartment, I' m gone."

Liam turned to face her, a humorless smile playing on his lips. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the glittering city lights below. "You think it' s that easy? To just walk away and start over with nothing?" He looked back at her, his eyes dark and knowing. "You won' t last a week, Chloe. You' re not built for it."

His condescension was infuriating. "You don' t know anything about me."

"I know everything about you," he countered softly. "I know you need this. The comfort, the security. You pretend to be a wolf, but you' re not."

Before she could form a retort, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor changed. The coldness melted away, replaced by that familiar, gentle concern. It was Olivia. It was always Olivia.

"I have to take this," he said, already walking away.

Chloe sank onto the sofa, the fight draining out of her. She could hear the low murmur of his voice from the other room. It was the same soft, soothing tone he used whenever Olivia had one of her "episodes."

He came back a few minutes later, his face set in a grim line. "That was Olivia. She' s... not doing well. She' s worried about you."

"Worried about me?" Chloe scoffed. "Or thrilled that I' m right back where she wants me? Under your roof and out of her way."

Liam' s jaw tightened. "Don' t talk about her like that. She' s been through a lot. The doctors say her heart is weak. Any kind of stress is dangerous for her." He ran a hand through his hair, a rare sign of agitation. "I owe her. She saved my life when we were kids. I' ll never be able to repay that debt."

He was defending her. Vehemently. Hearing him speak of his debt to Olivia, a debt Chloe could never compete with, was like swallowing glass. It shredded what was left of her heart. The story was his shield, the justification for every time he chose Olivia over her.

"So I' m supposed to just accept it?" Chloe asked, her voice dangerously quiet. "Accept that I will always come second to your sense of guilt?"

He didn' t answer. He didn' t have to. The silence was his confession.

The next evening, he found her sketching in the guest room, trying to lose herself in her work. The silence between them for the past twenty-four hours had been a heavy, suffocating blanket.

He stood in the doorway, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. "Get dressed. We' re going out."

"I' m not going anywhere with you," she said without looking up from her sketchbook.

"It' s not a request," he said, his voice flat. "There' s a party. For Olivia. Her family is hosting it to celebrate her recent 'recovery.' It would look strange if we weren' t both there."

Chloe' s head snapped up. Her heart clenched. He wanted her to go to a party for the woman who had systematically destroyed her life. He wanted her to stand there and smile, playing the part of the supportive partner, while he doted on his true love. It was a new level of cruelty.

"No," she said, her voice shaking with suppressed fury. "Absolutely not."

He walked into the room, his shadow falling over her sketches. "You will go, Chloe. You will put on a nice dress, and you will smile, and you will not cause a scene. You owe me that much for taking you in."

His words were a cage, locking her in. He was using her homelessness, her desperation, as a weapon against her. She had no choice. She was trapped again, not by thugs in an alley, but by the man who claimed to care for her. The party wouldn' t just be an ordeal. It would be a battlefield, and she was being sent in completely unarmed.