Chapter 1

The heavy scent of old cigars and expensive whiskey hung in the air of the private club room. It was a comfortable smell for Liam. He looked at the cards in his hand, a decent full house, but he wasn't focused on the game. He was focused on the easy talk that flowed around the green felt table.

This was his refuge, his weekly poker game.

Across from him sat David, his face sharp and analytical even in the dim light. David could dissect a legal argument like a surgeon, and he rarely lost a case or a hand of poker. To his left was General Olivia, her posture perfect even when slouched in a leather armchair. She ran a significant portion of the nation's military intelligence, yet here, she just complained about the terrible river card that ruined her straight. On his right, Richard, a man who looked more like a wild-haired professor than a financial wizard who could make markets tremble, was laughing loudly, chips stacked high in front of him.

These three were his friends, his real family now. They had found each other when they were all at different low points, building a bond that had nothing to do with their impressive day jobs. Here, they were just four people playing cards. The world outside, with all its noise and complications, didn't exist.

"Your bet, Liam," Olivia said, her voice calm and direct.

Liam tossed a few chips into the pot without looking. "Raise."

Richard folded instantly. "Nope, I know that look. You're bluffing, but I'm too rich to care enough to find out."

Just as David was contemplating his move, a sharp knock echoed from the heavy oak door. They all looked up. No one ever disturbed their games. The club staff knew better.

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

Liam sighed, putting his cards face down. "I'll get it."

He walked over and pulled the door open. A young woman stood in the hallway, her face illuminated by the soft lighting. She was dressed in expensive clothes that seemed a size too small, her makeup perfect, her expression impatient. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice flat.

The young woman looked him up and down, a flicker of disgust in her eyes. It was a look he knew well. He'd seen it a thousand times on his ex-wife, Sarah.

"Are you Liam?" she asked, her tone sharp, demanding.

"I am."

She sighed dramatically, as if his existence was an inconvenience. "Finally. I'm Emily."

The name hit him. He looked closer, past the hard shell of confidence and the expensive facade. He saw the ghost of a little girl with pigtails he used to push on a swing. The same eyes, but now they were cold. The same mouth, but it was set in a permanent sneer. This was his daughter. He hadn't seen her in five years, not since she chose her mother's world of wealth and status over him.

A strange feeling settled in his chest, a dull ache from a wound long since scarred over. He remembered a bright, happy child. This person was a stranger.

"Emily," he said, the name feeling foreign on his tongue.

"I'm getting married," she announced, not as a happy daughter sharing news, but as a CEO issuing a directive. "To Mark."

Of course. Mark. His former business partner, the man who had been sniffing around his wife for years, the man who now lived in his old house, with his ex-wife, and apparently, with his daughter too.

"Congratulations," Liam said, his voice devoid of any emotion. He started to close the door. "I wish you well."

"Wait," she snapped, sticking her designer shoe in the doorway. "I'm not here for your congratulations. Mother says you have to be there. It's a family event."

Liam almost laughed. Family. The word was a joke coming from her.

"I'm busy," he said.

"Don't lie. What could you possibly be doing? The security guard said you were just in here playing cards." Her eyes judged his simple clothes, the lack of any visible wealth. "Look, it's important for the family's image that you show up. Just be there, sit in the back, and don't embarrass anyone."

The sheer nerve of it was almost impressive. He remembered the divorce. Sarah had told the judge he was an unfit father, a failed businessman with no ambition. She had systematically poisoned Emily's mind against him, telling her that he was the reason for all their problems. And Emily, a teenager at the time, had soaked it all up.

He remembered paying for her private school tuition, the best in the state. He remembered funding her equestrian hobby, buying her horses that cost more than most people's cars. He had given her everything, and in return, she had stood in court and told a judge she'd rather live with her mother and Mark, who could give her a "stable, successful home."

His heart, which had been numb for years, felt a flicker of the old, bitter anger. The demand, the entitlement, the complete disregard for him as a person. It was all Sarah, channeled through the daughter he no longer knew.

"I'll think about it," he said, his voice cold as ice. He closed the door in her face, ignoring her indignant gasp.

He walked back to the table, the comfortable atmosphere of the room now spoiled.

"Who was that?" Olivia asked, her sharp eyes missing nothing.

"My daughter," Liam said, picking up his cards. "She's getting married."

Richard whistled low. "Didn't know you had a daughter."

"I don't," Liam said, his eyes hard as he looked at his winning hand. "Not anymore." But as he said it, a new thought began to form in his mind. An opportunity. A wedding was a public affair. A gathering of Sarah and Mark's entire world. A perfect stage.

Maybe it was time to collect a debt.