Chapter 3 Liam
LIAM
The crystal chandeliers catch on every diamond in the room. Old money dripping from every conversation, every carefully practiced laugh. I adjust my cufflinks—Cartier, because appearances matter in places like this—and accept a flute of champagne from a passing server.
Mayor Pike works the crowd near the podium, all teeth and handshakes.
My jaw tightens watching him, this bastard who went on local news calling me a “parasite on justice” for defending Tony Marcello.
Never mind that everyone deserves legal representation.
Never mind constitutional rights. Pike needed a scapegoat for his tough-on-crime platform, and I fit the bill perfectly.
Cost me the Ashford Industries retainer. The Wellington Foundation account. Three board positions I’d spent years cultivating.
All because this sanctimonious prick needed a headline.
I sip the champagne, scanning the room. Xavier mentioned Cora Pike, the mayor’s precious daughter, is a participant in the Hunt. My chance to finally—
There.
She stands near the silent auction tables, navy dress hugging curves that her father probably wishes she’d hide.
Chestnut hair swept into some complicated updo that probably took her stylist an hour.
Emerald eyes that would be stunning if they weren’t so carefully vacant, that false smile every politician’s daughter perfects by age twelve plastered on her pretty lips.
The kind of girl who’s never pumped her own gas, never waited tables, never wondered if she could afford both groceries and rent.
But there’s something else. The way she holds herself, spine a little too straight. The smile that doesn’t quite reach those eyes. And when an older woman in pearls touches her arm, I catch it—the flinch. Barely there, covered almost instantly, but real.
Interesting.
I move closer, positioning myself near the auction table she’s examining.
Some hideous vase that costs more than my first car.
She leans in to read the description card, and I notice the makeup.
Expertly applied, but there—just at her jawline.
The slightest discoloration her foundation can’t quite cover.
My fingers tighten around the champagne flute.
“The Qing dynasty piece?” I keep my voice light. “Overpriced, if you ask me. But I suppose that’s the point of charity auctions.”
She turns, and up close, she’s even more beautiful.
Those emerald eyes meet mine, and I watch her calculate. Recognize me, probably—most people in Ravenwood’s upper circles do. Criminal defense attorney. The man her father loves to hate.
Her smile turns sharp. “Everything’s overpriced when you’re paying for the right to tell people you donated.”
Quick. I like that.
“Liam Hayes.” I extend my hand.
“I know who you are.” She takes it anyway, her grip firm. “Cora Pike.”
“The mayor’s daughter.”
“Unfortunately.” The word slips out before she can catch it, and something flickers across her face. Not embarrassment—frustration at the slip itself.
I file that away and release her hand, though I note how her pulse jumped when our palms touched.
Six women in the Hunt this year. Xavier confirmed it when I called.
Perfect.
I’ve spent three years rebuilding my reputation after her father’s little media campaign. Three years of taking smaller clients, watching my carefully constructed network crumble because William Pike needed a villain for his re-election bid.
But revenge isn’t why I’m studying the faint bruise beneath her makeup. The way she positions herself with the auction table at her back, protecting her angles. The practiced smile that never wavers, even as her eyes dart toward her father across the room.
No, revenge would be simple. Crude.
This is something else entirely.
“Your father’s quite the orator.” I nod toward the mayor, who’s holding court near the bar. “Though I imagine you’ve heard enough speeches to last a lifetime.”
She laughs, but it’s hollow. “You have no idea.”
“Actually, I think I might.” I lean against the table, careful to keep my posture open, non-threatening. “My father was a state senator. Every dinner was a campaign opportunity. Every conversation had an angle.”
Truth strategically deployed. I watch her process it, see the slight softening around her eyes.
“Was?”
“Died when I was in law school. Heart attack during a fundraiser, ironically enough.” I pause, let sympathy do its work. “I’m guessing your father still views you as an extension of his political brand?”
Her fingers tighten around her own champagne flute. “Is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, Mr. Hayes?”
“I’m an attorney, Ms. Pike. Psychoanalyzing people is practically in the job description.” I offer her a smile that’s disarming. “Though I promise my interest is purely conversational.”
A lie, of course.
She studies me with those remarkable eyes. There’s intelligence there—not the rehearsed talking points of a political puppet, but something genuine, and it makes this vendetta more interesting.
“Mr. Hayes, we both know there’s no such thing as ‘purely conversational’ in Ravenwood.” She takes a deliberate sip of champagne, her lipstick leaving a perfect crescent on the glass. “Everyone wants something.”
She’s smarter than I anticipated.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Xavier. I excuse myself momentarily and step aside to take the call.
"Liam." Xavier's voice comes through my phone, smooth as aged whiskey. "I assume you've seen the updated participant list for the Hunt."
I step away from the crowd, finding a quiet corner near the silent auction tables. "I have. Six prey this year instead of the usual five."
"Sharp as ever," Xavier says with what sounds like approval. "Then you know Cora Pike has been added."
My jaw tightens. "I was under the impression my request for her inclusion at purgatory was... exclusive."
"Plans change," Xavier says, now sounding amused.
"You're not the only one interested in the Pike girl.
Dominic Vega convinced me to invite her first, after all.
Then Ryder Caldwell made his own compelling argument why I should manipulate the results to ensure he catches her.
Seems the mayor has made quite the collection of enemies. "
I watch Cora across the room, the way she slips between conversations with practiced ease, all while keeping a subtle distance from her father. "And you're telling me this, why?"
"Consider it a courtesy. Three hunters, one target. Makes for an interesting game." Xavier pauses, letting the implications settle. "May the best man win."
The call ends. I slide the phone back into my pocket and reassess the situation. Dominic Vega—the developer whose waterfront project Pike torpedoed. Ryder Caldwell, whose gambling enterprises suffered under Pike’s moral crusading.
Three men, each with legitimate grievances against William Pike. Each now focusing those grievances on his daughter.
I watch Cora laugh at something an elderly donor says, noting how her eyes remain alert, watchful. She’s more compelling than I expected. More complex.
This Hunt became considerably more complicated. Dominic is ruthless, strategic. Ryder is unpredictable, adaptable. Both men are dangerous in their own ways.
But I’ve never lost a case I truly wanted to win.