Chapter 38 Liam
LIAM
Iscroll through the phone records one more time, double-checking before I make the call. William Pike’s romantic history isn’t easy to track—the man’s careful about covering his tracks—but even the most meticulous predators leave evidence.
She answers on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Ms. Conner? This is Liam Hayes.” I keep my voice professional. “I’m an attorney investigating William Pike’s history of domestic abuse.”
A prolonged silence stretches between us. Then, “How did you find me?”
“I’m good at what I do.” I lean back in my chair. “I believe you might have information relevant to protecting someone currently suffering similar abuse.”
Another pause. “His daughter?”
My grip tightens on the phone. “Yes.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
True to her word, Melissa arrives at my office exactly sixty minutes later. She’s elegant, poised—the type of woman Pike would parade around campaign events. But beneath her composed exterior, I recognize something familiar in her eyes. The same haunted vigilance I see in Cora’s.
“Thank you for coming,” I say, gesturing to the chair across from my desk.
Melissa sits, smoothing her skirt with trembling hands. “I never thought I’d speak about this again.”
“Take your time.”
She inhales deeply. “It started with small things. Criticism about my appearance, what I wore, and who I spoke to. If I disagreed with him publicly, he’d squeeze my arm until I nearly screamed, all while maintaining that perfect smile.”
My jaw clenches. The pattern is painfully familiar.
“Eventually, it escalated.” She pushes up her sleeve, revealing a faint scar along her forearm. “He shoved me into a glass table during an argument. Twenty-seven stitches. He convinced me to tell the doctor I’d fallen.”
“What finally made you leave?” I ask.
Melissa’s eyes meet mine, filled with shame. “He threatened to kill me if I ever embarrassed him again. I believed him.”
I nod, fighting to maintain my professional demeanor while rage builds inside me. The parallels to Cora’s story aren’t just similar—they’re identical. The same calculated cruelty, the same public facade hiding monstrous behavior.
“Your testimony could be crucial in protecting his daughter,” I say carefully.
“Is she safe now?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “She’s with people who would die before letting him hurt her again. Will you testify?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle. “Against Pike?”
Melissa’s fingers twist together in her lap. “He’ll come after me.”
“We’ll protect you,” I promise. “The same way we’re protecting Cora.”
Her eyes dart to mine, searching for deception. I hold her gaze steadily. This isn’t just about revenge anymore—it hasn’t been since the moment we realized what Pike was doing to his own daughter.
“Can I think about it?” she asks finally.
“Of course.” I slide my card across the desk. “But don’t wait too long. Pike’s accelerating his gubernatorial campaign, using Cora as a political prop.”
Melissa nods, tucking the card into her purse. “Does she have evidence? Records of the abuse?”
“More than you’d imagine possible. She’s been documenting everything for years.”
A hint of pride flashes in Melissa’s eyes. “Smart girl.”
“She wants to destroy him,” I say, leaning forward. “Not just legally—she wants to obliterate the image he’s spent decades crafting. The loving father. The family values candidate.”
“He’s neither,” Melissa whispers.
“I know.” I stand as she rises to leave. “One more thing—did he ever mention abusing his wife? Cora’s mother?”
Melissa freezes, her hand on the doorknob. “He told me once, when he was drunk, that Elaine didn’t die of cancer as everyone thinks.”
My blood runs cold. “What did he say?”
“That she was going to leave him and take Cora. He said sometimes—” her voice breaks, “—sometimes accidents happen to women who don’t understand their place.”
I struggle to keep my expression neutral even as fury rises in my chest. “Thank you for telling me.”
After she leaves, I sit motionless at my desk, mind racing. If Pike killed Cora’s mother, this isn’t just about domestic abuse anymore.
I walk through the door of Dominic’s penthouse feeling like my bones might shatter.
The weight of Melissa’s words—those terrible implications about Cora’s mother press against my chest until breathing becomes a conscious effort.
My hands shake as I set my briefcase down, not bothering with my usual meticulous routine of unpacking files.
“Liam?” Ryder looks up from the couch, his arm draped around Cora’s shoulders. “Jesus, what happened to you?”
I try to respond, but my throat closes. Dominic appears from the kitchen, wine glass in hand, his expression shifting from casual to concerned in an instant.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says, closing the distance between us.
Cora untangles herself from Ryder and approaches. “Is it my father? Did he do something else?”
“No, it’s—” I run a hand through my hair. “Just a difficult day.”
It’s not a lie, but it’s nowhere near the truth. How do I tell her that her father probably murdered her mother? That the cancer story a fabrication? I can’t—not yet, not without certainty.
Dominic guides me to the couch, pressing the wine into my hands. “Drink this.”
Ryder shifts to make room, his fingers brushing my shoulder with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Want to talk about it?”
I shake my head, taking a long swallow of wine. “Not right now.”
Cora nestles against me, her head resting on my shoulder. Her touch nearly breaks me. This woman, who’s survived so much, who doesn’t even know the full extent of what she’s survived.
“We’ve got you,” she whispers.
We settle into a movie none of us really watches. I focus on their warmth instead—Dominic’s solid presence beside me, Ryder’s casual affection, Cora’s trusting weight against my side. By the third act, Cora has migrated back to Ryder’s lap, her eyes growing heavy until sleep claims her.
I watch her peaceful face, feeling both protective and terrified. When I’m certain she’s deeply asleep, I catch Dominic’s eye and tilt my head toward his office.
He nods, understanding without words.
Dominic closes his office door behind us. I pace the length of his mahogany desk, struggling to organize my thoughts.
“Liam, what the hell is going on?”
I take a steadying breath. “I tracked down Melissa Conner today. Pike’s ex-girlfriend.”
“And?”
“She confirmed his abuse pattern, but there’s more.” My voice drops. “She told me Pike once implied he killed Cora’s mother when she threatened to leave him. Said Elaine didn’t die from cancer as everyone thinks. That accidents happen to women who don’t know their place.”
Dominic’s face hardens to granite. “Jesus Christ.”
“It’s just an implication, not proof, but—” My voice breaks unexpectedly, the professional mask slipping. “I can’t stop thinking about Cora growing up with that monster, thinking her mother died of cancer when he might have...”
I sink into the leather chair by the window. “This feels personal, Dom.”
He sits across from me, leaning forward. “Why?”
The question hangs between us. I could deflect; maintain the careful distance I’ve always kept. Instead, I find myself speaking truth I’ve buried for decades.
“My parents never hit me. They just... weren’t there. Physically present but emotionally vacant.” I stare at my hands. “When I was eight, my little sister drowned in our pool while they were hosting a fundraiser. I found her body.”
Dominic reaches for my hand. I let him take it.
“That night, after everyone left, my mother told me never to speak of it again. Said it would damage my father’s judicial career.” The words feel foreign in my mouth. “We moved three weeks later. They never mentioned her again. No grief counseling, no acknowledgment. It was like she never existed.”
“Christ, Liam.” Dominic’s fingers tighten around mine.
“I’ve never told anyone that.”
He moves to kneel before me, his hands framing my face. “You survived. So did Cora.”
The gentleness in his usually commanding eyes undoes me. I lean forward until our foreheads touch.
“We’ll get him,” Dominic whispers. “For Cora. For her mother.”
I’m not sure who moves first, but suddenly his lips are on mine. The kiss is tender at first. His tongue slides against mine, and heat builds between us. His hands thread through my hair, pulling me closer.
We break apart, breathless, foreheads still touching.
“We should get back to the others,” he murmurs against my lips.
Dominic pulls back slightly, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity I’ve rarely seen from him outside the bedroom. There’s something different in his gaze now—a vulnerability that makes my chest tighten.
“You know,” he says, his voice rough, “I always thought I was the one who preferred being alone. That independence was strength.” His thumb traces along my jawline. “But we’ve all been alone in our own ways, haven’t we?”
I nod, not trusting my voice. The confession about my sister has left me raw, exposed in a way I’ve spent decades avoiding.
“Cora with that monster,” Dom continues, “Ryder bouncing between gambling halls, you with parents who couldn’t see you, me building empty penthouses no one lives in.” His fingers thread through mine, squeezing once. “But that’s done now.”
“Is it?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
“Yes.” The certainty in his voice is unmistakable.
“None of us have to worry about being abandoned again. Not emotionally, not any other way.” Dom leans forward, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss so brief yet achingly tender it nearly breaks me.
When he pulls back, his expression is resolute. “We’ve got each other now. All of us.”
What he doesn’t say hangs in the space between us—that this unexpected family we’ve formed isn’t just for the contractual year from the Hunt. What we’ve built together has foundations that could last far beyond that. Neither of us gives voice to it, but I see the certainty reflected in his eyes.
I squeeze his hand back, a silent acknowledgment of everything unsaid.