Chapter 42 Liam
LIAM
I’m in the middle of reviewing a deposition when Patricia bursts into my office without knocking—something she’s never done in five years of working together.
“You need to see this.” She turns on the wall-mounted TV, frantically switching to a news channel.
The screen fills with Marcus Reed’s face—a client I represented three years ago in a fraud case. We won, barely, after I convinced him to take a plea deal instead of risking trial.
“—attorney Liam Hayes deliberately withheld evidence that would have exonerated me completely,” Marcus says, his expression a perfect mask of righteous indignation. “He pushed me into accepting a plea deal that damaged my reputation permanently when he knew I was innocent.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, standing so quickly my chair rolls backward and hits the wall.
The reporter turns to the camera with practiced concern.
“Marcus Reed’s allegations come just days after Mayor William Pike questioned the ethical standards of certain legal professionals in our city.
Mr. Reed claims Hayes concealed exculpatory evidence to secure a quick resolution, prioritizing his win record over client interests. ”
My phone starts vibrating in rapid succession. Text messages, calls, email notifications.
“This is bullshit,” I tell Patricia. “Reed was guilty as hell. I saved him from fifteen years inside.”
“There’s more,” Patricia whispers, nodding at the screen.
The camera cuts to William Pike standing outside City Hall, looking appropriately concerned.
“These serious allegations highlight the ongoing ethical concerns I’ve raised about certain influences corrupting our city’s institutions.
My office will be calling for a formal investigation by the Bar Association. ”
The calculated precision of the attack hits me like a physical blow. Pike knows exactly where to strike—not at my personal life, which would look like petty revenge, but at my professional reputation.
“Get me everything we have on the Reed case,” I tell Patricia. “Every document, every communication, every note I scribbled on a napkin.”
I loosen my tie, feeling the walls of my carefully constructed life start to compress around me.
I straighten my tie for the fifth time as I prepare to face the preliminary hearing. The courtroom buzzes with reporters—Pike made sure this would be a media circus.
“Mr. Hayes, are you prepared to address the allegations?” Judge Forrester asks, peering over her reading glasses.
“Yes, Your Honor.” I stand, feeling every eye in the courtroom boring into me. “The allegations made by Mr. Reed are categorically false. I have filed a complete response with supporting documentation showing—”
The courtroom door opens with a creak that silences the room. I don’t need to turn to know who it is—the collective intake of breath and sudden flutter of whispers tells me everything.
Cora Pike walks down the center aisle with her chin high, shoulders back, looking every inch the politician’s daughter she was raised to be.
She takes a seat directly behind me, in the first row of public seating. A bold, unmistakable statement of support.
“Proceed, Mr. Hayes,” the judge says, though her eyes flick curiously between Cora and Mayor Pike, who sits rigid with fury on the opposite side of the courtroom.
“Thank you, Your Honor.” My voice steadies. “As I was saying, the documentation I’ve provided demonstrates that Mr. Reed was fully informed of all evidence and potential outcomes of his case.”
As I speak, I feel Cora’s presence like a physical force at my back. I hadn’t asked her to come—hadn’t even rang her to tell her about today’s hearing. This was her choice, knowingly walking into the lion’s den, deliberately positioning herself against her father in full view of the press.
The mayor’s face darkens to a dangerous shade of red. For a moment, his public mask slips, revealing the cruel man Cora has described behind closed doors. A photographer’s camera flashes, capturing his expression.
When I finish my statement and sit, Cora’s hand briefly touches my shoulder—a small gesture that speaks volumes. Her fingers are ice cold but steady.
“I’m here as your friend,” she whispers, just loud enough for me to hear. “Let him try to spin that.”
Cora’s hand slips into mine as we enter the penthouse, the door clicking shut behind us. The weight of the day—Pike’s orchestrated attack, the courtroom tension, Cora’s unexpected appearance—settles around us like heavy fog.
“What you did today...” I start, then stop, words failing me.
Cora smiles, those green eyes catching the dim light. “I just showed up, Liam.”
“No one just shows up for me.” The confession tumbles out before I can catch it, raw and unfiltered. “People show up when they need something. When I’m useful. When I can win their case or solve their problem.”
She steps closer, her hand coming to rest against my chest. “Is that why you think we’re here? All of us? Because you’re useful?”
“Isn’t that what relationships are? Transactional arrangements with better sex?” I attempt a smile, retreating to my default armor of cynicism.
“Bullshit.” She rises on her toes, her lips brushing mine briefly. “Try again.”
I cup her face, thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. “Before you—before all of you—I measured my worth by case victories and billable hours. By how well I performed the role expected of me.”
Her eyes never leave mine, steadying me.
“With you, I don’t have to perform anything. And it terrifies me how much I need that.” My voice drops lower. “How much I need you.”
When she kisses me this time, it’s not like our past encounters—no power dynamics, no games, no audience. Just her mouth against mine, gentle but insistent.
We move toward my bedroom without breaking apart, shedding layers like old identities. Her hands slide beneath my shirt, finding skin, and for once, I don’t calculate my next move or analyze her response.
“I want just you tonight,” she whispers against my neck.
I lower her to the bed, taking my time with each button of her blouse, each inch of exposed skin. When I finally enter her, neither of us is performing or proving anything—we’re just present, connected in a way that transcends the physical.
I watch Cora arch beneath me, her eyes half-lidded and hungry. The careful control I maintain in courtrooms and negotiations dissolves with each roll of her hips against mine.
“Tell me what you need,” I whisper against her ear, nipping gently at the lobe.
She tangles her fingers in my hair, tugging just hard enough to make my breath catch. “Talk to me. I want to hear you.”
“You want the words?” I grind deeper, watching her pupils dilate. “You want me to tell you how fucking incredible you feel? How wet you are for me?”
“Yes,” she gasps, her nails digging half-moons into my shoulders.
I’ve always wielded words as weapons, used them to dismantle opponents. But here, with Cora, they become something else entirely, honest in ways I never allow myself to be.
“Look at you taking me so perfectly,” I murmur, setting a rhythm that makes her moan. “So fucking beautiful and so goddamn filthy at the same time.”
Her legs wrap tighter around my waist, urging me deeper.
“The things you do to me... I can’t believe I found someone so fucking perfect and fucking slutty.” I brush my lips against hers, my voice rougher than intended. “Makes me want to ruin you and worship you in the same breath.”
Cora responds with a sound that’s half whimper, half laugh. “Only for my men.” Her fingers trace the line of my jaw, her touch unexpectedly tender amidst our intensity.
I’ve never understood the concept of making love until now—how it could be both gentle and devastating, intimate and filthy all at once.
I feel her tighten around me as I increase my pace, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. The sight of her—flushed and needy beneath me—unleashes something primal inside me.
“Fuck, Cora. You’re so goddamn perfect.” I grip her hip harder, angling to hit that spot that makes her eyes roll back. “So wet and tight for me. Taking my cock like you were made for it.”
Her back arches off the bed, those perfect breasts pushed toward me. I lower my head to capture one nipple between my teeth, tugging just enough to make her cry out.
“Liam, please—I’m so close—” Her voice breaks as I slide my hand between our bodies, my thumb finding her clit with practiced precision.
“I love you,” I whisper against her skin, my voice rough with unexpected emotion. “I fucking love you, Cora.”
Her eyes fly open, locking with mine.
“Say it again,” she demands, hips bucking against me.
I drive deeper, feeling my own control fracturing. “I love you. Love how filthy you are for me. Love how you take my cock. Love everything about you.”
My thumb circles faster as I feel my own climax building, unstoppable now.
“Coming—” she gasps, her inner walls clenching around me in rhythmic pulses.
Her mouth finds mine in a desperate, messy kiss as she comes apart, swallowing my groan as I follow her over the edge. I thrust through our shared orgasm, pouring everything into her—my release, my words, my terrifying vulnerability.
When she breaks the kiss, her eyes shine with unshed tears. Her fingers trace my cheekbones with a tenderness I’ve never allowed myself to need before.
“I love you too,” she whispers, her voice breaking slightly. “Not just because of this. Because of today. Because you let me see you, the real you.”