15. Liam
15
LIAM
T here's a problem.
I know it the way I know when a deal is about to go sideways—the air shifts, the energy tightens, and suddenly, every instinct I have is screaming at me to get out as quickly as possible.
Only this time, it's not my bank account or a business deal on the line. It's Ava.
I keep my expression neutral as I scan the room, my hand resting lightly on the small of her back, guiding her away from the refreshment table and deeper into the crowd. It's a delicate balance—making sure she doesn't pick up on my tension while also staying close enough to shut down whatever the hell is about to happen.
The gala thrums around us—laughter, the clink of champagne flutes, the sharp murmur of society gossip dressed up in silk and diamonds. On the surface, it's just another night of excess in North Hill. But beneath it?
Something else is brewing.
And then I spot the anomaly near the far wall, half-shielded by a decorative column. A man stands with a drink in one hand and a phone in the other. He's not mingling or chatting. He's watching.
More specifically, he's watching Ava.
A sharp jolt runs through me, but I force my expression to remain neutral, my grip on Ava's waist tightening just enough to anchor myself. She doesn't notice—too caught up in conversation with some socialite whose name isn't worth the space in my memory, laughing lightly at some harmless bit of gossip.
Completely unaware that across the room, some asshole is snapping photos of her—and for what?
I can feel the anger start to simmer. There's no way I'm hanging back and letting this happen.
I press a little closer to Ava, leaning in like I'm whispering something flirtatious in her ear. "Stay here."
She barely gets a chance to react before I peel away from her, my path direct. I reach him in four measured strides.
"Delete the photos." I keep my voice civil.
The guy barely glances up from his drink. "Excuse me?"
I step closer, close enough that he has to tilt his chin to meet my gaze. His whole demeanor screams hired help.
"I said," I repeat slowly, "delete the photos."
His lips twitch, like he's amused. "And if I don't?"
I smile. It's not friendly. "Then I take your phone, break it in half, and throw you out of this party myself."
The guy exhales, giving me a look like he's deciding whether this is worth the fight. Then, slowly, he raises his hands, still gripping his phone. "Relax, Carter. I'm just doing my job."
"Your job," I echo, my voice flat.
He nods once. "I'm a private investigator. Hired to gather a little intel."
God damn it. "By who?"
But I already know.
The PI tilts his head, his smirk widening like he's enjoying himself. "Come on. You're a smart guy."
"Of course." A slow, seething fury unfurls in my chest, wrapping around my ribs like a vise.
Vanessa Chase is a parasite. The kind that latches on, feeds, and refuses to let go until she's drained every last ounce of control from the situation. And right now? She's feeding off the chaos she's created.
I knew tonight was a risk. I knew setting this trap meant walking a fine line between calculated strategy and outright disaster. What I didn't expect was to walk directly into her game instead of forcing our mystery texter into mine.
And yet, here we are.
The PI is still standing in front of me, and now, he's beginning to shift uncomfortably under my glare, his camera hanging from a strap around his neck. He's older—mid-fifties, maybe—dressed in the kind of forgettable black suit that's meant to blend in, the kind that practically screams I'm here on business.
"What do you have on Ava?"
"I told you," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I'm just here to observe."
I don't move, don't even blink. "Bullshit."
He sighs, clearly realizing I'm not going anywhere. "Look, Carter, I don't care about you. I don't care about your little romance. I was paid to watch her." He nods toward Ava across the room, his voice dropping just enough to make my blood turn to ice. "Just her."
It's instinct, the way my fist clenches. The way my entire body coils, ready to move. Because if Vanessa thinks she can hire someone to dig into Ava, to collect leverage like she's another asset in a business deal, she's about to learn exactly how wrong she is.
But before I can do anything reckless—before I can even decide what I'm about to do—the PI glances behind me and frowns.
"Uh, you might want to keep an eye on your girl."
My head whips around just in time to see Ava slipping through the ballroom doors.
Following Vanessa.
She's obviously had one too many glasses of champagne, and when Ava's over-served, she risks hurting herself most of all. I swear under my breath and immediately move.
By the time I push through the exit, Ava is already halfway across the parking lot, her emerald dress catching in the night breeze like a warning flare. Vanessa is ahead of her, walking toward a sleek black car idling near the curb, a driver waiting patiently. But Ava isn't letting her go that easily.
I know that look.
It's the same one she had when she walked into Vanessa's gallery without backup. The same one she had when she confronted me about the past I didn't want to talk about. The same one that says she's made up her mind and absolutely nothing is going to stop her.
I move fast, keeping to the shadows along the edge of the building, close enough to intervene but not close enough for Ava to catch me yet. Not before I know exactly what Vanessa is about to pull.
She pauses just before reaching the car, turning slightly, as if she knew Ava would follow.
The quiet surrounding me means I get to hear everything.
"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Vanessa muses, amusement curling at the edges of her lips.
Ava crosses her arms, heels clicking sharply against the pavement. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you."
Vanessa exhales, slow and measured, then tilts her head, appraising Ava like she's something interesting beneath glass. "You really think this is your fight?"
Ava doesn't flinch. "I don't think. I know."
There it is. That fire, that stubborn recklessness that has driven me half-mad since the day I met her. And for the first time tonight, Vanessa actually seems intrigued.
She takes a step closer, just enough to drop her voice to something silkier, something that isn't meant for anyone but Ava.
"I'll give you credit," Vanessa murmurs. "You're more of a problem than I expected."
Ava doesn't so much as blink. "Good."
Vanessa laughs softly. "Oh, darling, you don't want to be a problem. Because problems get solved. And you won't like how I handle solutions."
Something inside me snaps.
I move forward, ready to put myself between them, to make it clear that Vanessa doesn't get to threaten Ava—not with her words, not with her games, not with a single breath.
But then, before I can reach them, Vanessa smiles.
Not in victory. Not in warning.
No, this smile is different. This one is sharpened into something cold.
"Tell me, Ava…" Her voice dips, casual but lethal. "Do you actually believe he'll choose you in the end?"
I freeze mid-step.
Ava stiffens, but I can't see her face from this angle.
Vanessa tilts her head, eyes glittering. "You think I'm the villain here. And maybe I am. But the difference between us? I know who Liam Carter really is." She exhales, as if savoring the moment before delivering the killing blow.
"You don't even know the whole story, Ava. When he's done with you, he'll go back to the life he knows."
A beat of silence.
And then—just for the briefest flicker of a second—Ava hesitates.
It's small. Barely visible. But I see it.
The way her posture shifts, the way her fingers tighten around her clutch, the way her breathing changes.
Because the thing about Vanessa Chase? She doesn't just make threats.
She plants seeds.
And watching Ava now, I know—this one is going to grow.
Ava's eyes crinkle at the corners. She's trying so hard to stay strong, and just watching her makes me want to pick her up in my arms and shield her from whatever mess she's gotten herself into. "You really should stop underestimating me, Vanessa."
But even as she says it, her voice isn't quite as steady as it was before.
Vanessa notices. Of course she does. And that damn smile curves even wider.
Before Vanessa can say another word, I step between them, my presence cutting through whatever twisted game she's trying to play.
"That's enough," I say, voice low, dangerous.
Vanessa doesn't even flinch. If anything, she looks almost pleased.
She glances between us, as if confirming something, then exhales softly, as if Ava's reaction was all the confirmation she needed.
"Well," she muses, stepping back toward her car. "This has been delightful."
Nothing more is said as she slides into the back seat, the driver shutting the door behind her.
The car pulls away, tires whispering against the pavement.
And just like that, she's gone.
But the damage has already been done.
I turn to Ava, but she's already staring at the spot where Vanessa just stood, her expression carved from stone.
"Ava." My voice is quieter now.
She doesn't look at me immediately.
Instead, she lifts her chin, tilting her face toward the stars as if they might pull the tears back where they belong. The night light catches on her trembling lips, but she smooths it away, steadying herself with a grace so practiced, so quiet, it shatters something in me just to watch.
Then, finally, she looks at me.
And that's when I see it—a flicker of doubt, faint as a breath, barely there, but there, nonetheless.
Small, almost imperceptible. But there.
"No, of course," she replies, shaking her head. "I… please take me home."