Chapter 21
Liam
Ifucked up.
I fucked up.
Somewhere down the line between hooking up with Roxy and seeking my revenge, I started to care.
About her.
It snuck up on me without my realizing.
And now?
I’m left without access to Lock’s intel—not that I ever had that in the first place—and in this weird limbo in my relationship with her.
Marry me.
I want to. An unexpected development for sure.
Why, though?
The question has been playing on a loop in my head. The answer is too obvious, and too elusive.
Why? Because I want her to want to marry me. And that’s as far from her motivation as possible.
It’s also fucking confusing, because I never imagined myself as a married man.
The only woman who got close to breaking that determination looks fragile in the large hospital bed. Not talking to me.
Roxy Moretti Lock has been betrayed by all the men in her life, and now, I have become one of them. The realization sits heavy on my chest.
The only thing I ever wished for was to break free from him.
I threatened that. Not deliberately. Not with cruelty. But she still believes she has to sacrifice her career to save her sister. Still believes her only currency is herself.
And I put her in that position.
The bag of electrolytes hangs beside the hospital bed, half-empty now, dripping steadily into her vein. The quiet rhythm of it feels accusatory. Clinical. Measured. A slow correction of the damage I helped cause.
Some color has returned to her cheeks. The gray has receded. I can breathe again. Barely.
But relief doesn’t erase what’s underneath.
I am not used to feeling this way. Unsteady. Reactive. As if something vital has slipped beyond my control.
My entire plan was precise. Calculated. And it detonated the moment she walked into it.
A thirst for revenge would only keep me connected to him. I don’t want to give him so much power.
Roxy’s words settle somewhere deeper than I want them to. This hatred has been my compass for so long that I don’t recognize the landscape without it.
I thought I was severing the tie. Instead, I was reinforcing it. Every move I made was still about him. Still orbiting his shadow.
I told myself I was dismantling him. In reality, I’ve let him define me. If I let it go, what remains? Who remains?
I look at her.
Pale, stubborn, too proud. Definitely smarter than me. More grounded. More free. I nearly took that from her.
The thought lands with a clarity that feels almost violent. If I continue down this path, I don’t just lose her.
I become him. The distinction matters more than I expected.
Because this woman—this infuriating, relentless woman—is forcing me to confront the possibility that there is something more important than winning.
More important than revenge.
More important than proving him wrong.
The idea is foreign. Uncomfortable.
But it’s also… undeniable.
I straighten in the chair beside her bed, the decision forming before I can fully dissect it.
Fine.
“Okay,” I hear myself say, the words rougher than intended. “I’ll marry you.”
I take a deep breath and look at my hand. I’m not flexing my fingers. The sentence didn’t trigger angst or panic. It sparked determination.
I want a chance to help Roxy. To stand by her. To be there for her as much as she allows me.
Which isn’t much at the moment.
She is the one I choose.
The realization is a sledgehammer and a comfort blanket all wrapped in one.
Now, I flex my fingers.
Roxy sighs. “I’m a bit preoccupied with my health at the moment.”
“Sorry.”
Fuck, I’m doing everything wrong here. Relationships require a degree of emotional navigation I don’t naturally possess. I’m operating without a blueprint here.
I stand up and walk to the door. “I’m going to see if the doctor can come and talk to us. What’s taking so long, anyway?”
“There is no us here. Let me make myself clear. I’m tolerating you here because…” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
I flinch. So many times, she reminds me of how little I mean to her. I might not like it, but she has no reason to see me in a different light. I gave her no reason. To the contrary, actually.
I fucked up.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to give up.
“You proposed. So there is an us.” That’s my argument? I’m completely unequipped for what this is. I don’t even know what it actually is.
“You rejected me. So there is no us.” She looks away.
How do we keep ending up in this ridiculous headlock?
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fair enough. Let’s find out what’s going on here, and let me take you to a hotel. After you rest, we will talk. I’m sure there is a way to appease your father and save your sister where you don’t have to sacrifice everything.”
She turns her head back to me, and I catch a beat of surrender in her eyes. Or I wish it were there.
Quickly, too quickly, she sets her jaw and scoffs. “You clearly know nothing about my father.”
“I’m willing to learn.”
She swallows, and the air between us fills with something that isn’t regret and betrayal. If I were a fool, I would say it might be hope and understanding.
“Every time I think I have you pegged, you surprise me.” She sighs.
“Not always positively, I reckon.”
I step closer to her bed. Not too close. I can’t bridge the gap between us. Not yet.
“We can agree on that.” Her sigh sounds so final. Like she’s giving up—capitulating to a destiny she doesn’t deserve.
The need to take her into my arms is overwhelming.
But I’m still the villain here. She’s so close, and yet… it’s like there is a glass barrier between us.
I can clearly see her exhaustion, her pain, her inner turmoil. I can even see the resignation in her eyes. This is not a surrender I want for her.
I can see all of that, but there is nothing I can do. Nothing to help her through this. Nothing to erase her perception of me.
So I stay on my side of the glass and observe, feeling like the biggest idiot. I have to fix this—if not between us, at least for her.
The door opens, and a tall woman, who could be anywhere between thirty and sixty years old, looks up from a chart, giving Roxy a tired smile. “I’m sorry it took us this long, Ms. Moretti. How are you feeling?”
“A bit better. Stronger. Tired.” Roxy returns the doctor’s tired smile with her weak one.
“What’s wrong with her? Is she going to be okay?” I demand, ignoring my common sense, which is trying to remind me I lost the right to ask these questions. I’ve never had it to begin with.
Roxy’s doctor smiles at me with compassion. “You need to make sure she rests.”
“But she’ll be okay?” I press.
The physician turns to Roxy. “Have you been under a lot of stress lately?”
Roxy snorts. “You could say that.”
Fuck. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t shown up, she wouldn’t be this stressed out.
I hurt her. Not only emotionally. I fucking hurt her physically. I shove my hands into my pockets before I punch something.
“You need to remove yourself from stressful situations. It’s not good for the baby.”
Remove yourself from stressful situations? Roxy has just removed herself from one only to get into another if she pursues her plan to save her sister. Fuck.
Then the words hit me.
Baby?
My eyes land on Roxy, who is staring at the doctor, blinking.
“You’re pregnant?” I blurt out and turn to the physician. “She’s pregnant?”
Because yeah, asking twice would make this any more comprehensible.
“You should leave, Liam,” Roxy says.
The doctor’s smile vanishes as she darts her gaze between us. “Is he not the father? I’m so sorry. I assumed…”
I’m going to be a father. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The words are addressed to the two women, but they are a statement to reinforce all I feel.
Not just about staying here at the moment. About staying. Full stop.
I’m going to be a father. I’m not going anywhere. I’m having a baby.
“I’ll be right back.” The doctor scurries away, probably to avoid the awkwardness she caused.
“Did you know you were pregnant?” I breathe out.
Roxy looks the same. Exactly the same. And yet, nothing is.
Something in my chest shifts, sharp and irrevocable. I look at her, and see more than the woman who challenged me, tempted me, dismantled me piece by piece.
I see gravity. Continuity. Consequence.
A future.
It’s not the word pregnant that changes her. It’s the way it changes me.
Because suddenly, every path I’ve taken, every plan, every grudge, every carefully nurtured revenge, feels small. Temporary. Like crutches I no longer need.
This matters.
In this moment, right now, the differences between us cease to exist. And without any conscious decision, any calculation, any deliberation, I’m thinking about showing up.
About doing something right instead of proving someone else wrong.
“You really think I would have been so careless if I had known?” Roxy says quietly. She closes her eyes, dragging in a breath like she’s bracing for impact. “Jesus.”
The words land like a fracture.
My brief, fragile surge of certainty falters. Not because I doubt this, but because I don’t know how she feels about it. About us. About the possibility that just detonated my world.
“Am I the father?” The words tumble from my mouth, the underlying doubt tainting the moment.
She snorts. “I wish I knew.”
It’s like she stabbed me with a poisoned arrow. She doesn’t know who the father is? How many men has she been sleeping with?
“Fuuuuck,” I growl, and leave before I say or do something I would regret. There has been enough of that already.
The pain reverberates through my knuckles, up my forearm, into my elbow where it tingles red and angry.
Motherfucker.
Unlike my arm, the wall I punched seems unaffected. I lower my forehead to the cold plaster, letting the sting anchor me.
“Sir.”
I more sense than see the security guard.
I push off the wall. The uniformed man in front of me looks at me with compassion.
“I’m okay.”
He glances at the wall that survived my outburst better than my hand. “Maybe take a walk outside.”
I nod, turning toward the elevator. With a shaky, bruised hand, I reach for the button, but I can’t press it.