CHAPTER TEN
Liam
The house was already awake by the time I came downstairs.
It didn’t feel the way it usually did. The people moving through the corridors still greeted each other, and the security team still changed shifts with the same discipline they showed every morning.
Breakfast had been laid out exactly as it always was, yet none of those familiar routines managed to settle my mind.
Every time I looked toward the staircase I found myself expecting Nora to appear, and every time the stairs remained empty.
I remembered the look on Nora’s face before she disappeared behind that locked door.
I’d handled the situation badly. The thought stayed with me from the moment I’d left Nora outside that bedroom until I found myself standing in my study an hour later.
My mistake had been believing that pushing harder would force the truth out of Nora, a woman who’d spent years surviving by keeping it locked inside herself.
Whatever had happened before Nora came into my life had taught Nora that silence was safer than honesty, and I’d walked straight into that wall without recognizing it for what it was.
I crossed the room and stopped beside the window overlooking the front gates.
Two of my men were speaking to each other near the entrance while a vehicle rolled slowly through the security checkpoint before continuing toward the road.
Nothing about the scenery suggested there was any danger, but I knew better than to trust appearances.
Someone had found a way to deliver that letter, which meant someone was either very lucky or very determined.
I’d built my life assuming luck was rarely responsible for anything.
A knock sounded against the study door before one of my men stepped inside, carrying a folder. “We’ve checked the envelope, boss. No prints, and no security cameras picked up anyone near the property. The courier company listed on the postage doesn’t exist.”
I held out my hand and he passed me the folder without another word.
“A fake courier?” I asked.
“Looks that way,” he replied.
I opened the file and studied the photographs taken of the envelope.
Every detail had been examined, and nothing gave us a useful direction.
Whoever sent the letter hadn’t acted on impulse.
They’d planned it well enough to leave almost nothing behind, and that told me more than any fingerprint could have.
“They weren’t trying to kill Nora,” I said after a few moments of silence. “If they wanted Nora dead, there are ways to do it.”
My man nodded. “They wanted her frightened. They wanted her to know they could reach her wherever she ran.”
The room fell quiet again. Fear was a weapon like any other.
Used properly, it made people careless. It made them run when they should stay still and hide when they should speak up.
Whoever had written that letter understood what they were doing, and judging by Nora’s reaction, they’d achieved precisely what they wanted.
I closed the folder and placed it on the desk.
“Double the men on the gates,” I said. “Rotate patrols every hour instead of every two. Nobody comes onto this property without being searched. If any cars slow down outside the perimeter, I want to know about it before they drive away.”
“Understood,” my man replied.
“And find out where that envelope really came from. I don’t care how long it takes.
” After he left, I remained alone in the study.
My thoughts had already drifted back upstairs.
The look on Nora’s face hadn’t been the expression of someone hiding a secret.
I could keep demanding answers from her, and eventually Nora might tell me something simply because she’d run out of ways to avoid the conversation, but that wasn’t good enough.
If Nora was ever going to trust me with the truth, she had to believe I was willing to listen instead of interrogating her.
For that to happen, I needed to help her feel safe.
***
The smell of garlic and butter filled the kitchen long before I carried the dishes into the dining room. It had been years since I’d cooked a meal by myself. I didn’t cook, not because I wasn’t able to, but because there was never really a reason to, since the house had professional chefs.
Imagine their surprise when I told them to leave the kitchen to me that evening. One of them said that dinner would be ready in an hour if I let them handle it, but I wasn’t looking for a meal. I was looking for something the staff couldn’t make for me.
I wanted a table that didn’t feel like another room where Nora had to answer questions.
The dining room was quiet when I finished laying everything out.
Two plates sat opposite each other under the light hanging over the table.
The meal wasn’t fancy. It was roast chicken, potatoes, vegetables, and fresh bread.
It was simple, so we wouldn’t spend the evening thinking about the food.
If tonight went the way I hoped, our conversation would be more important than what we ate.
I’d just put the serving dish in the middle of the table when I heard footsteps in the hallway.
They slowed down when they reached the doorway.
When I looked up, Nora was standing there.
She stayed where she was, her hand resting on the edge of the door as her eyes moved around the room.
I could see her trying to understand what she was looking at.
“You cooked dinner yourself?” she asked after a moment, her voice full of surprise. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m sure it’s not going to work.”
“Nora. You’re out of your bedroom. That’s good.
” I finished adjusting one of the plates before looking at her.
“Our conversation yesterday made me realize that trying to force answers out of you doesn’t work.
It only pushed you away. I asked the staff to leave the kitchen because I wanted tonight to feel like dinner, not another interview.
Whether we talk or stay silent is up to you. ”
She kept looking at me for a few seconds before walking into the room.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who responds to a conflict by cooking,” she said as she pulled out a chair.
“Most people pretend nothing happened or try to finish what they started. I’m not sure if I should be relieved or suspicious. ”
“You can feel however you want, Nora,” I said as I sat opposite her. “I wouldn’t blame you for either feeling.”
A small smile touched her lips before it disappeared. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I’d seen since the letter arrived.
I served the food without rushing us. Nora thanked me quietly as I put her plate in front of her.
Then I served myself, and for a minute the only sounds were the clink of cutlery against porcelain and the rain tapping gently against the windows.
Sometimes I caught Nora looking at me, but she looked back at her plate before I could say anything.
I didn’t mention the letter. Eventually she put her fork down and looked at me.
“I spent most of today expecting you to come upstairs,” she said.
“After everything that happened yesterday, I thought you’d want to finish our conversation.
When you didn’t come I wondered if you were angry with me or if you’d given up. ”
“I was never angry with you, Nora,” I replied.
“I was frustrated with myself because I handled the situation badly. I thought that if I kept asking questions, you’d eventually tell me what I wanted to know.
Now I think I was trying to solve you like I solve problems, but people aren’t problems to be solved. ”
She stayed quiet, giving me room to continue.
“I grew up in a family where hesitation was seen as weakness and certainty was rewarded, even if it wasn’t deserved.
The men around me thought that problems should be confronted immediately, and force was almost always the answer.
Nobody talked about patience because patience was seen as indecision.
By the time I was old enough to understand why it was wrong, that way of thinking had already become part of me. ”
Nora listened carefully, neither interrupting nor looking away. “I’ve heard people talk about the O’Connor family,” she said after a pause. “Most of what I heard wasn’t very nice. Listening to you now makes it sound like your life was decided before you could decide what you wanted.”
I thought about the question before answering.
“There were moments when I imagined a life without the O’Connor family responsibilities.
Every person imagines a different life at some point, but accepting what you’d have to give up to make it real is the hard part.
My family didn’t just give me a name; they gave me responsibilities and expectations that existed before I was born.
Walking away would have meant convincing myself that those things no longer mattered, and I never managed to do that.
Maybe that makes me weak. Maybe it just makes me my father’s son.
Either way, the choice was never simple for me. ”
The room became quiet again. Nora looked down for a moment, turning her glass slowly in her hands as though she was thinking about something. I just let her think. I’d learned that some silences should be left undisturbed until the person is ready to speak.