Chapter 31 Liam
LIAM
Wednesday morning finds me striding through the courthouse doors, my suit freshly pressed and my confidence armor-plated as always. Four days of vacation—if you can call the Hunt that—and I’m ready to be back in my element.
Except something’s off.
The security guard who usually greets me with a friendly nod keeps his eyes down.
The clerk at the front desk suddenly finds her computer screen fascinating when I pass.
Even opposing counsel, who normally can’t wait to spar with me in the hallway verbally, makes a sharp turn to avoid crossing my path.
The back of my neck prickles. This isn’t normal.
“Morning, Patricia,” I call to my secretary as I approach my office, keeping my voice light despite the unease settling in my stomach.
Patricia glances up, her expression a mix of concern and something else, embarrassment? She’s been with me for seven years, through cases that would make most people’s skin crawl. I’ve never seen her uncomfortable around me.
“Have you seen the news, Mr. Hayes?”
“No.” I toss my briefcase onto my desk. “Court doesn’t start until ten. What’s so urgent?”
She hesitates, then slides a folded newspaper across my desk. “Page six.”
My jaw clenches as I unfold the paper. There, below a salacious headline about “Prominent Defense Attorney’s Secret Life,” is a grainy but unmistakable photo of Ryder and me disappearing into a private room at Purgatory, his hand on my lower back.
“Fuck,” I whisper, scanning the article. It doesn’t name Ryder—small mercies—but it’s filled with insinuations about my sexuality and quotes from “anonymous sources” questioning my moral character.
Patricia watches me cautiously. “Judge Hammerton’s clerk called. She wanted to know if you still plan to appear for the Donovan hearing today.”
I set the paper down, mind racing. This has Pike’s fingerprints all over it. The timing is too perfect—right after the Hunt, where we humiliated him by claiming his daughter.
“Mr. Hayes? Are you alright?”
“Fine,” I say, straightening my tie. “Tell her I’ll be there.”
I let the newspaper fall to my desk and straighten my shoulders.
“Patricia, listen to me.” My voice comes out steadier than I expected. “I have absolutely nothing to hide. Yes, I’m bisexual. And I’ll make that very clear to anyone who asks.”
Her expression softens. “I support you completely, Mr. Hayes, you know that. But—”
“But nothing. My sexuality doesn’t affect how I do my job. Never has, never will.” I move around the desk, perching on the edge closer to her. “I’m the same lawyer I was last week. The same lawyer who’s won more cases than anyone in this firm.”
Patricia sighs, tucking a strand of gray hair behind her ear. “Three clients have already called this morning to pull their cases. Carson, Moretti, and Calloway.”
My jaw clenches. All three are connected to organized crime in some way—macho guys on the wrong side of the law who apparently have taken offense to their attorney desiring men. The kind of clients who pride themselves on traditional masculinity while breaking every other social norm.
“Screw them,” I say, adjusting my cufflinks. “If they want an inferior defense because they can’t handle who I sleep with, that’s their problem.”
I stand up, sliding the newspaper into my trash can. “Anyone who matters knows my worth is in my results, not my bedroom preferences.”
Patricia hesitates. “Do you want to address the rumors publicly? I can set up a statement or call our PR contact.”
I consider this for a moment, weighing the implications. A statement could either defuse the situation or pour gasoline on it. The wrong move now could cost me more than just a few homophobic clients.
“Let me think about it,” I say, straightening my tie. “I need to consult with a few people first. I’ll let you know how we’re proceeding before noon.”
“Of course.” She nods, professional as always, despite the awkwardness hanging between us. “I’ll hold your calls except for emergencies.”
I retreat into my office and shut the door with a quiet click. Once alone, I exhale heavily, shoulders slumping as I lean back against the door. The carefully maintained facade I present to the world—successful attorney, confident playboy, man in control—feels suddenly fragile.
Mayor Pike’s retaliation came faster than expected. I should have anticipated this—the man didn’t get where he is without understanding how to destroy reputations. The question is, how far will he go? How much does he know about our arrangement with Cora?
I loosen my tie and pull out my phone, scrolling past several missed calls from clients until I find Dominic’s number. He answers on the third ring.
“This better be important, I’m in the middle of something.”
“Pike made his first move,” I say without preamble, crossing to the window to stare out at the city skyline. “There’s a photo of Ryder and me at Purgatory in today’s paper. Nothing explicit, but enough to raise questions about my... sexual orientation.”
I pause, waiting for Dominic’s reaction. “My secretary wants to know if I should make a statement.”
Dominic is quiet for a moment, and I can hear papers shuffling in the background.
“So, Pike’s playing dirty already,” he finally says, his voice low. “Did he expose your relationship with Cora?”
“No, simply made implications about my sexuality. The photo only shows Ryder and me.”
“Interesting,” Dominic muses. “He’s testing the waters, seeing how we’ll react.”
I pace to the window, watching the city below. “My firm’s already feeling the pressure. Three clients pulled their cases this morning—all connected to families who’d rather their attorney not be caught with men.”
“And you’re considering a statement?” There’s a hint of judgment in his tone.
“I didn’t say I wanted to make one. I said my secretary suggested it.”
“Good. Because a statement would be a mistake,” Dominic says firmly. “Making a statement suggests there’s something to defend, something shameful about what you’re doing.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “That’s my read too. If I address it, I legitimize the attack.”
“Exactly. These things die down if you don’t feed them. Pike wants a reaction. The bastard wants to see you scramble.” Dominic’s voice hardens. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
“So, we do nothing?”
“Not nothing. We continue as normal. You show up to court, win your cases, and act like nothing’s changed. Because nothing has.”
He’s right. I’ve spent my career defending people society condemns. I’m not about to start apologizing for my own choices.
“Agreed. We’ll let it die down.”
“Good. Now I have to go. Keep me updated if anything else happens.”
“Before you go,” I say, my tone shifting to something deliberately lighter, “I hear we’re having dinner together again tonight.”
“Ryder’s cooking again.” There’s a pause, and I can practically see Dominic adjusting his tie at his desk. “Something Mexican, he said.”
“I’ll bring wine. Red or white?”
“Red.” Another pause. “You know which one I like.”
I smile into the phone, unable to resist pushing. “I know what you like in many areas, Dominic. Some you’re only beginning to discover.”
His sharp intake of breath is audible. “Liam—”
“Relax. The door’s closed. No one’s listening.” I lower my voice. “Besides, we live together now. Hard to maintain plausible deniability when you fucked me during the Hunt.”
“That was... different,” he mutters. “The Hunt is different.”
“And yet you couldn’t look away when Ryder and I were rubbing our dicks together.” I lean back in my chair, enjoying his discomfort perhaps more than I should. “Don’t worry. I’ve seen how you watch when you think no one’s paying attention.”
“We’re not discussing this now.” His voice is tight.
“Fine. Tonight, then. After dinner.” I pause. “All four of us together.”
“You’re impossible.” But there’s a new roughness to his voice that tells me he’s riled up.
I hang up with a smirk, picturing Dominic’s tight expression.
For someone so commanding in business, he’s remarkably skittish about acknowledging what happened between us.
During the Hunt, with Cora as his shield, he had no problem fucking my ass, exercising that dominance he’s so proud of.
I can still feel his grip on my hips, the way he claimed me.
But the moment anyone suggests he might enjoy men outside the context of the Hunt, or worse, that he might enjoy surrendering control himself, he practically breaks out in hives.
Classic Dominic—happy to fuck us, but never to be fucked.
As if receiving pleasure somehow diminishes his precious control.
I’ve seen the way his eyes linger on Ryder’s body when he thinks no one is watching, the slight tension in his jaw when I stand too close.
The hunger is there, buried beneath layers of denial.
He’s built an entire identity around being the man in charge, the one who makes others submit. The idea that he might desire submission himself terrifies him.
I wonder how long his denial can hold against the reality of living with three people who’ve seen the truth beneath the mask. The Hunt stripped us all bare in ways that went beyond physical nakedness.
Dominic can pretend all he wants that the Hunt was an exception, a temporary madness. But now we’re all under one roof, and there’s nowhere to hide from desires that have been unleashed.