Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LIAM
“ M r. Wright, we’re ready,” the producer informs me, gesturing toward the setup by the fireplace. Chairs are arranged, lights on stands brighten the area, and two cameras are positioned strategically. My spacious living room suddenly feels cramped, filled with the interview crew and their equipment.
“Great,” I reply, checking my watch. “She should be here any minute,” I add with a hint of forced confidence, silently questioning whether Chloe will actually show up. She’s already late.
“Is Chloe doing okay?” my mother whispers, pulling me aside. She’s dressed in a silver jacket with a matching blouse and pants, styled for the camera. My PR agent thought having mother’s blessing on the relationship would help soften the whole thing, so she’s prepped and ready for her moment in the spotlight.
“No, I don’t think so,” I respond quietly as I adjust my uncomfortably warm sports jacket.
Grateful for a reason to escape, I follow my mother through the open doors leading to the darkened patio and the softly illuminated pool beyond. I expect the cool breeze to be a relief, but my nerves are wound too tight.
I need to see her . This interview should help smooth things over after our leaked text messages revealed our fake dating arrangement—as long as the reporter sticks to my strict instructions to avoid any questions about the night of Chloe’s police visit. She doesn’t need to relive that trauma.
“Are they close to identifying the hacker?” my mother asks in a low voice. Though we’re standing well away from anyone else, her caution is prudent with the media circus around us.
I exhale, my frustration palpable. “No, they’re not going to.” I shake my head. “My tech team says it’s rare to trace these things back to a specific individual or group, especially when the hacker was as careful as this one.” I’ve let Chloe down. The weight of my failure presses down on me. I told Chloe I’d take care of it, and I haven’t.
I wouldn’t normally burden my mother with this, but the words spill out before I can rein them in. My stress is peeling away my usual restraint.
“Have you told her?” my mother asks, though her tone suggests she already knows the answer.
“Not yet.”
“Liam, don’t protect her too much or she won’t trust you,” she advises gently.
I let her words sink in, knowing she’s right. I just don’t know where the line is.
Then, the doorbell echoes from the front of the house, making my heart race—she’s here.
I've instructed my staff that I'll be the one to answer the door.
My mother gives me a knowing smile. “Tell her everything.”
I get her hint—she isn’t just talking about the hack.
Damn. Here it goes.
As I open the door, Chloe looks up at me, her expression tinged with uncertainty, yet she is undeniably breathtaking. Her chestnut hair falls in perfect curls over her taupe long-sleeve dress that modestly brushes past her knees, paired with elegant white heels.
“Hi,” she greets softly, her beauty capturing me so completely that I find myself staring a moment too long.
“Can I come in?” she asks, her smile mercifully breaking through.
“Yes, please,” I say, stepping aside.
She moves to enter but pauses abruptly as a voice intercepts her. “You must be Chloe!” My producer catches her just inside the doorway, offering her a hand. Cathy’s demeanor is overly friendly but she's one of the best producers in town. “I’m Cathy Barron.”
I see Chloe’s smile falter as she shakes her hand. “Ms. Barron?” I know Chloe remembers Cathy interrupting us with phone calls when we were on the yacht.
“Oh, please, just Cathy.” She smiles, tossing her golden curls with a practiced charm. “Good luck tonight. They’re all ready for you.” She winks at Chloe, who looks like she wants to crawl into a hole. “Liam, I’m sorry I have to run, but everything’s set,” she says, giving my arm a squeeze. Chloe’s gaze locks on the touch, and I notice her wince at the gesture.
I shift away from Cathy. “Thanks for your help,” I say with a polite nod. Cathy offers a bright smile before slipping past Chloe out the door.
Chloe looks unsettled by the interaction, a trace of hurt in her eyes.
“Chloe, I—” I begin, wanting to ease her concern, but she shakes her head dismissively.
“This way?” she asks, not waiting for an answer, as she strides purposefully past me toward the brightly lit living room.
Surprised by her brisk pace, I hurry to keep up. “Do you want to talk first?” I suggest gently.
“No. This is what we should do, right?” She glances sideways at me, but her heels keep clicking across the floor.
“Yes,” I confirm, though I secretly wish we could have a moment alone to talk first. She seems determined to either face this head-on or simply get it over with—I suspect the latter.
We settle on the loveseat near the fireplace, and the reporter, Susan—who Chloe met at the movie premiere—takes a seat in the chair opposite us. I hope Susan’s familiar face makes this a little more comfortable for Chloe.
I gently take Chloe’s hand in mine. She turns to me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, followed by a shy smile before she looks away.
She’s distant. Something is wrong. I need to talk to her .
Before I can say anything, Susan begins the interview.
“Liam and Chloe, the media’s buzzing with rumors about your relationship,” Susan starts cheerfully. “Fake relationships, mixing business and pleasure—Liam, can you set the record straight? Was Chloe your life coach?”
I offer a smile. “No, I was referred to Chloe for life coaching, but we connected on a personal level first, and we never entered a coaching agreement,” I explain simply.
“Is that so?” Susan raises an eyebrow, looking intrigued. “Chloe, what stopped you from taking on Liam as a client?”
“Honestly, I could tell he wasn’t ready to do the work as a client.” Chloe lets out a light chuckle, her delivery smooth though I sense the underlying jab. Her acting skills have improved.
Susan laughs, picking up on the humor but not the nuance. “And why’s that?”
“He likes his life as it is.” Chloe shrugs nonchalantly. “The people I work with want to make big changes.”
“But your relationship is a big change,” Susan points out, her gaze shifting back to me. “Liam, you’ve never been in a public relationship like this before,” she says with a light laugh.
“This is different,” I reply honestly, glancing at Chloe to meet her gaze. I want her to know that I’m serious. Her green eyes hold a hint of vulnerability and I want to reassure her.
“Different how?” Susan challenges. “There are rumors circulating that your relationship is fake. Text messages where you refer to yourself as Chloe’s boss,” she looks at me closely. “Is this all for show, Liam?”
Fuck. She’s smiling, but Susan is ruthless.
I feel Chloe’s hand tighten in mine; I know she must be feeling anxious.
I give Susan a confident smile. “No, not at all. This is the most serious I’ve ever been,” I assert.
Beside me, Chloe shifts slightly, and I sense her eyes on me now, maybe surprised by my answer.
“And recently, I also made the decision to invest in her company. Chloe’s brilliant at what she does,” I add.
“So now he’s your boss?” Susan probes, turning to Chloe.
Both Chloe and I chuckle at the suggestion.
“No,” Chloe clarifies smoothly, sticking to the story ironed out earlier today. “We like to joke about that. Liam does hold a small equity stake, but I’m very much in control,” she states, her tone both amused and assertive.
“She truly is,” I affirm, keeping a light-hearted tone and subtly hinting at dynamics beyond business.
Susan smirks, catching on. “So, this is real between you?”
“It is,” I confirm without hesitation, because it’s the truth.
There’s an undeniable reality to what Chloe and I share. I squeeze her hand a little tighter. She’s giving me a tender look for the cameras, but beneath it, I detect her doubt.
“You seem very close, considering you’ve only been together less than a month,” Susan observes.
“I think sometimes you just know,” I reply casually.
Susan laughs. “You ‘just know’? I’m not letting you off that easy. What exactly do you know, Liam?”
I turn to Chloe, whose eyes are searching mine, filled with nerves about what I might say next. She looks both strong and vulnerable, and I’m suddenly aware of how much I could hurt her.
“I fell in love with Chloe before I even realized it,” I answer Susan but speak directly to Chloe, my gaze locked with her emerald eyes. “Time didn’t matter,” I explain. Maybe we’re like her parents, who married after only four days of knowing each other.
A tumult of emotions plays across Chloe's face. For a moment, tears seem to threaten her composure, but she blinks them back. Her look is full of questions, wondering if my feelings are genuine.
“Wow,” Susan interjects, jarring me back to our on-screen task. “And Chloe, how do you feel?”
Um," Chloe looks down at her lap and hesitates before answering. "I feel the same," she responds softly while avoiding eye contact with me. Suddenly, I fear she may call it quits and end this whole charade.
But then she takes a deep breath and meets Susan's gaze with determination. "I didn't want to fall for Liam," she admits, turning to look at me. She seems on the verge of tears. "But I did," she confesses, and I believe her.
My heart soars but also breaks as I see the pained look on Chloe’s face, as though she’s been forced to reveal too much, too publicly. This interview may have been a mistake.
“Alright, we either owe these two an Emmy, or they are truly in love,” Susan concludes brightly. “Thank you, Liam and Chloe…” Her voice trails off as my mind races.
I told Chloe I love her, and she reciprocated. It feels profoundly real.
But the exposure has unnerved Chloe more than I anticipated.
As the interview ends, Chloe withdraws her hand from mine, snapping me back to a cold reality without her contact. She stands and, before I can say anything, she’s walking away.
I quickly stand up but my mother appears in front of me, blocking my path. “That was so sweet, hunny,” she gushes. “Wish me luck.” She fluffs up her hair, ready for her turn in front of the camera. Somehow, she didn’t notice how Chloe left—there’s something wrong.
I need to talk to her.
“Good luck, Mom. And thank you.” I give her a quick kiss on the cheek before rushing past her to catch up to Chloe.
I see her slipping out the front door as I pick up my pace, determined to close the distance between us.
As I reach the porch, she’s already halfway to her car parked beyond the media vans. It’s a dark night, with only faint lighting along the edges of the large stone driveway.
“Chloe!” I call out, closing the front door behind me.
She turns around, but there’s a hesitation, like she’d rather escape than talk to me. I know she’s hurting, but I don’t want her to push me away.
“Where are you going? Please don’t leave,” I beg as I reach her.
We’re finally alone. The media people won’t start loading back into their vans until they finish interviewing my mother.
“I can’t stay,” Chloe’s voice is tense and strained. “Didn’t you get what you needed?”
“Chloe, I’m sorry it got so personal,” I offer gently.
“It’s just business,” she brushes off my apology. “Do you know if they’re close to tracing the hacker?” she asks, trying to change the subject, her expression guarded.
I let out a heavy sigh. “They can’t trace it.” I shake my head, watching as she deflates with disappointment. “I’m so sorry.”
I reach out to comfort her, but she steps back. She holds up her hand, silently halting me as she gathers her thoughts. I feel a pang of sadness at her rebuff, but I know her mind is racing with this news.
“I’ll pay the ransom if you want me to, Chloe,” I say earnestly. “But there’s no guarantee they won’t leak the rest of the files. We can’t trust them to keep their end of the bargain.”
Chloe presses her lips together, her gaze intense as she considers my words.
“No,” she decides firmly. “He shouldn’t get a dime.” Beneath her controlled exterior, her anger simmers close to the surface.
“Okay,” I nod, relieved she’s not willing to cave to these criminals—or to her ex-boyfriend, if he’s indeed behind this. She’s convinced he’s involved, and she might be right.
A soft breeze catches a strand of her curly brown hair, fluttering it across her face. She brushes it aside. “I’m going to visit my dad for a while,” she announces abruptly.
The news catches me off guard.
“What? In London?” I ask, stunned.
She nods. “I’m sorry for the early break up.”
“This is a break up too?” I ask, my voice heavy with disbelief, not expecting the double punch. I’m utterly confused.
“This… arrangement isn’t working for me anymore,” Chloe explains in a business-like tone, still trying to restrain her feelings.
“What the hell, Chloe,” I blurt out, frustrated now because she wants to throw everything away. “Tell me what’s really happening,” I insist, desperate for her to connect with me.
She releases a sharp breath, her own frustration evident. “You want to know how I really feel?” she asks pointedly.
“Yes, please,” I urge.
“I feel like shit ,” she confesses bitterly. “I just had to hear my eight o'clock client tell me how disappointing I am because I’m ‘getting paid to fuck a celebrity’—his words.”
Oh, damn.
“Lucas is still up to God knows what. My clients’ secrets will be all over the internet soon,” she continues, her frustration mounting with each word. “And seeing Cathy touch you like that,” she gestures back to the house where it happened, “makes me feel like a jealous girlfriend, which is absurd since I’m not actually your girlfriend!”
I shake my head; she’s got this all wrong. “Chloe, there’s nothing going on with Cathy. I promised you fidelity and I meant it.”
She looks at me, her emotions raw. “Well, you’d better set clearer boundaries if you want a real girlfriend. A real girlfriend isn’t going to like another woman touching you like that,” she advises me, her voice edged with pain.
“I’ll set better boundaries then,” I try to reassure her.
She nods, her face a complex tapestry of anger and sorrow. “You can start with me. This arrangement isn’t normal or healthy, and I can’t do it anymore.”
I'm taken aback. I want to argue, to convince her that she's wrong. But I'm at a loss for words.
“You told me you loved me during a press interview,” she remarks with a scoff, though her eyes shimmer with tears.
“I meant it,” I respond earnestly.
“Did you?” she questions, her voice breaking. “I think we’ve been method acting a little too well. I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and I don’t think you can either.”
I shake my head. "That's not true."
But she has made up her mind. "I'm sorry," she says softly before turning to get into her car.
I watch her silently as the engine starts. She gives me one last look—resolute in her decision, but I can see the hurt in her eyes.
This is the moment—my final chance to stop her.
Maybe she wants me to stop her, to convince her to stay.
But I’m paralyzed, unsure of how to keep her here when her every instinct is to flee.
As her car pulls away and the sound fades into the night, I remain motionless. The quiet envelops me, oppressive and heavy.
I exhale, forcing myself to regain composure—I need to go inside, thank the media people, and act like everything is okay.
Act .
All the fucking acting.
No wonder Chloe doesn’t know what to believe. I can’t blame her for walking away.
But as I make my way back to the house, a dull ache throbs in my chest.
I recognize the feeling. It’s a distant bad memory; something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
It’s the unmistakable pain of heartbreak.