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A chill runs down my spine at the way she speaks, but I don't let her see it.

I fold my arms across my chest, forcing my voice to stay steady. "You don't scare me, Vanessa."

She smiles condescendingly and tsks.

"No," she murmurs, running a manicured finger along the rim of her glass. "But you should be scared." Then, she dismisses me with a flick of her wrist.

The insult is enough to make me want to march across the room and slap her so hard she hears church bells, but unfortunately, that wouldn't do wonders for my public image. And while I'm not exactly losing sleep over what Liam thinks of me, I doubt he'd be thrilled about a headline involving assault charges.

Still, it's clear she's done talking, lips pressed together like a vault of useless secrets. There's no point in dragging this out. So, I turn on my heel and head for the door. Mission failed. Zero intel, zero progress, and a burning desire to commit light violence.

I step out of the gallery, blinking hard against the bright sunlight.

It takes me a second to adjust to the sharp contrast between the cold, calculated tension inside Vanessa's office and the crisp, open air of the city. The sky is the same unbearable shade of blue it was this morning, but now it feels even more intrusive, too bright, too exposed.

My heartbeat is steady, but my fingers curl into my coat pockets to keep them from shaking.

I expected smug arrogance, maybe a silk-wrapped threat delivered with an artificial smile. But this—the way she looks at me, daring me, barely bothering to hide the challenge in her voice—this is something else entirely.

"You should be scared."

I will my shoulders to relax as I move down the sidewalk. I won't give her that. I won't give her the satisfaction of knowing she got to me.

But the worst part is that she did get to me. It's not just about what she said—or didn't say—about Liam. The problem is that she's deeply entrenched in matters concerning me.

Vanessa wasn't just staking her claim on him. She was warning me away for my own sake.

Which means I'm a problem.

I don't know why, I don't know how, but she sees me as a threat. And that means I'm getting close to something she doesn't want me to see.

The thought sends a fresh wave of anger through me, scorching away the last wisps of unease and replacing them with a delightful little daydream of yanking her hair out by the roots. Good. If I'm a problem, then I'm clearly on the right track.

I reach the corner and pause, weighing my next move. Liam's office isn't far. I could waltz in uninvited and drop my newfound knowledge on his desk like an anvil. See how he scrambles when I demand answers. See if he's got the guts to keep lying to my face.

A sneaky voice of reason pops in my mind.He didn't lie! He just didn't tell you everything for your own sake.

Yeah, no.

But I already know how visiting Liam will go.

He'll tell me to drop it. He'll look at me with that unreadable expression, say something vaguely protective, and then shut me out again.

No.

I need more. I need something he can't deny, something that forces him to admit the truth.

And I know exactly where to start.

I pull my phone out, already scrolling through my notes. Tyler might be able to dig deeper into Vanessa's past, maybe even find something Liam doesn't know—something I can use. I'm about to draft a message when my phone buzzes in my hand.

A new text from an unknown number.

I stop in my tracks, a ripple of goosebumps skimming across my arm as I swipe the notification open.

You're getting too close. Back off, or your family pays the price.

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