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LIAM

The warehouse is damp with the scents of rust, dust, and something more acidic, more bitter, like the lingering trace of bad decisions.

Footsteps echo against the concrete as I step inside gingerly. The space is cavernous, yawning with hollow darkness, broken only by the streaks of moonlight slipping through the broken slats in the walls.

The place looks like it's been abandoned for years. Graffiti stains the metal beams, wooden crates are stacked haphazardly in the corners, and the faint hum of wind whistles through the shattered windows high above.

But I'm not alone.

Vanessa stands near the center of the warehouse, a picture of poised confidence in the middle of decay, her pristine navy-blue coat buttoned up, her hands encased in black leather gloves. Like she's here to attend a business meeting, not settle a war. And, of course, she's not alone.

Cliff Reyes stands just to her right, his broad-shouldered frame practically radiating violence, his dark eyes scanning the warehouse with predatory focus. Beside him, another man lingers in the shadows, hired muscle, waiting for a reason to prove their worth.

Vanessa smiles, slow and indulgent. "Liam," she purrs, tilting her head just slightly. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your nerve."

I keep my hands loose at my sides, my stance relaxed. Calculated. "And yet, here I am."

She sighs, feigning disappointment. "Alone, too. That's unlike you."

I take a few measured steps forward, ignoring the way Cliff subtly shifts in response. "You wanted me alone. I obliged."

Her lips curve, but her eyes remain cold. "How very considerate."

I don't stop moving. Not close enough to be reckless, but enough to make my presence known, to let them feel the weight of what's coming. "This is over, Vanessa."

She arches a brow. "Is it?"

"You've been playing your games for months—sabotaging Carter Holdings, threatening Ava, trying to turn her against me. But you made a mistake."

"Oh?" She folds her arms. "Do tell."

I let the silence stretch just long enough to make her uneasy. Then, I take another step forward, voice even, lethal. "You got desperate."

A hint of surprise crosses her face—too quick to catch, but it's there. I press forward.

"Vanessa Chase doesn't panic. She doesn't make mistakes. And yet, here you are, standing in a condemned warehouse with hired muscle, waiting for me to come alone. That doesn't scream control. That screams desperation."

A muscle jumps in her jaw.

I smile. "So tell me, Vanessa—what changed?"

She shakes her head. "Oh, Liam. Still so determined to be the one in control." She clicks her tongue. "You really don't see it, do you?"

"See what?"

Her smile returns, cold and sharp. "That you've already lost."

I hold her gaze, reading between the lines, dissecting the angles, looking for the trap before it's sprung. The problem with Vanessa is that she never plays one game at a time—there's always another move, another layer, another threat lying in wait. And if she's still smiling, it means I haven't found it yet.

I shift my weight, glance at Cliff. "That why you brought backup?"

Cliff doesn't react, just stares me down like he's waiting for an excuse to put me through a wall.

Vanessa hums. "Consider it… insurance."

I scoff. "That's not insurance. That's a last resort."